abyss ↣ joe sugg au

four

[Trigger Warning: mentions of depression/suicide]

Charlotte doesn't think she'll ever tell Joe why she went to the middle, why she keeps going back to the middle. Charlotte doesn't think she'll ever tell Joe that she wakes up in the morning, looks up at her breaking ceiling and can't help but feel like she's looking at a fucking mirror. She's breaking, she's broken, she's broke and nobody, however destroyed they are themselves, needs her burdens.

Joe doesn't think he'll ever tell Charlotte why he went to the middle, why he keeps going back to the middle. He believes her, kind of. He believes that she doesn't read the newspapers, hasn't heard the words people speak about him, because she wouldn't keep coming back if she did. Joe doesn't think he'll ever tell Charlotte that he doesn't blame everyone he's ever loved for abandoning him, because if he could run from his own body, he would. Joe doesn't think he'll ever tell Charlotte that he still feels Leah's hands scratching soothingly through his hair as he drives and doesn't think he'll tell Charlotte he's one-hundred-and-twelve percent sure he died next to her.

They were wrong.

It had been two months. Neither of them were keeping count but it had definitely been two months. Both Charlotte and Joe were sat in what had become the usual position, legs dangling over the edge and listening to some indie-fucking-band.

Tonight though, neither of them had said a word as of yet. They'd spent the previous two hours just watching the water run away, closing their eyes occasionally in hope that it was them, rearing off downstream. The silence was comfortable, it always was on nights like this. Joe had given up asking Charlotte why she wanted to die and Charlotte never asked Joe in the first place.

Joe didn't know why he said it. He didn't even mean for it to escape the massacre inside his head. But he couldn't take it back.

"She would of loved it up here." He said, thinking that Charlotte wouldn't be able to hear over the loud music playing through her one earphone but she did.

Charlotte maybe should of felt like an inconvenience, out of place. But she didn't feel either of those things, she didn't feel anything at all. She didn't say anything either, just hugged her knees to her chest and rested her chin upon them.

"She hated being trapped, you know?" Charlotte didn't.

"That's why, you know?" Charlotte really didn't. "She felt trapped. She felt so suffocated in her own home because of her parents and I hated them for it. She hated being moody and upset, she hated crying into my shoulder, I'm just a weight she used to tell me and even though I told her every night before she fell asleep that she was still beautiful when she wasn't smiling, I knew she never believed me.

I planned it all out. My flat still has all the magazine clippings and travel bills in it. I planned it all out so she could be free. Three in the morning was when I drove to her street and turned off the engine. She was waiting and I helped her out the window and she looked so scared, petrified and she was shaking. I told her I loved her and that it would be okay and she fucking believed me. She trusted me to make everything okay again.

But as we were driving, I kept looking over to see if she was okay and her eyes were just fixed on the road ahead, and I saw the sadness in her eyes and it was so painful to see her like that, so I told her to sleep. She pulled the sleeve cuffs of he-my hoodie over her wrists and lent her head against the window and I eventually heard her breaths even out and the song on the radio was playing too quietly and the headlights of the oncoming lorry were too blinding."

Joe pulled his stare from the dark water below to Charlotte, who had said nothing the entire time. She looked at Joe blankly, not even attempting words. All she did was lay out her palm in front of her and Joe wrapped his trembling hand round hers, bringing himself closer to her so he could lean his head on her shoulder. They both knew Charlotte could tell him it wasn't his fault, that the court had found him innocent, that he could sit on this bridge at this time of night because he hadn't done anything wrong but they both knew none of that would bring her back, that Joe would always hold himself responsible for her death because she trusted him and he failed her. Although, Charlotte didn't think he had failed. She got her freedom, it just wasn't like the magazine clippings and travel bills Joe had cluttering his flat.

So that night, two months after they first stood side by side smoking together on the very same bridge, they cried together. Two lonely strangers, knowing only each other's names and the fact they both went to the middle, were now opening locked doors that had no keys, and were tearing down walls that they thought were indestructible.

"You come here because the person who loved you has gone. I come here because there was nobody there to love me in the first place." Charlotte's cheek was against the hood of Joe's jumper, and her breath was shallow. Joe just squeezed Charlotte's hand tighter. Neither of them had done anything more to comfort each other, just a hand squeeze or gentle nudge.

They stayed like this until the sun rose over the water and it was okay to be awake. They had to get off the railing now, before the rest of the city awakens and makes their judgments and shout their accusations. Joe unwrapped himself from Charlotte, and jumped off the railing onto the pavement, turning round to grab her hands and help her down.

They stood there for a moment, eyes still distant. Charlotte turned to Joe first, looked at him with an empty stare and then reached forward. She moved her ice fingers through Joe's fringe and pulled it backwards so his hood fell from around him. Charlotte realized then that this was the first time she had seen him without that black hoodie around his ears and she kind of felt cheated. He stood dazed, features white and his fringe pulled back to display his blue eyes.

"I think I like your fringe better when it's back." She nodded to herself, before turning and leaving Joe stood with his hands dug into his pockets and heavy eyelids.

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