Bad Things

30. Save Me (Part II)

Help me, 

it's like the walls are caving in

Sometimes I feel like giving up

No medicine is strong enough

Someone help me

I'm crawling in my skin

Sometimes I feel like giving up

But I just can't

It isn't in my blood.

____________________________________________

Shawn was early. He glanced down at the glowing green numbers on the radio in his dash.

10:47 A.M.

Blowing out a breath, he looked up at the grimy windows to Nana's diner, watching as the shadows from the breakfast rush moved behind the glass.

Lord, he was really early.

Shawn scratched at the back of his neck and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. The parking lot was full, as usual, and there still seemed to be cars pulling in and looking for a spot.

He shouldn't have been there. God, what the hell was he doing there?

The meeting with Benedict was not supposed to be until noon, yet here he was at 10:47 A.M., staring up at the place like he was lost. Tires crunched through the gravel as several vehicles drove up and down the lanes. Shawn didn't have a God-damn clue what he was doing. He hadn't come to eat, he knew that much, as his stomach roiled uncomfortably at the thought of food.

A horn blared behind him, and Shawn jumped, his eyes catching sight of the other driver giving him the "are-you-going-to-move-douchebag?" look. Shawn cut the engine and the car moved on, probably cursing what an asshole he was, but Shawn didn't care. He didn't care about shit at the moment. The only things he could seem to focus on was the question of why the hell he was there so early, and how damn glad he was to be out of his house. It reeked in there. It reeked of abandonment and loss, and Shawn was sick and tired of smelling it.

He was sick and tired of being the cause of the stench.

Even after beating the shit out of a punching bag and then sparring with Alex for twenty minutes, Shawn still felt the anger and hurt coursing through his veins. It was as if it had become a permanent entity, a part of who he now was. And damn it all to hell, he didn't want it to be. He didn't want to be this bitter. This damaged.

Shawn curled his hand into a fist and banged it against the wheel a few times. God, he was so sick of this shit. Of thinking like this. Of feeling like this. His whole life his father had hammered into his head how men were not emotional, how they did not show vulnerability, but all Shawn seemed to do anymore was feel.