Misfits Oneshots

II

It's a slightly updated version of the last chapter of my septiplier fanfic I wrote in the beginning of grade 6. You should go check it out before reading this. It's called "he loved me" and it's really cheesy.

Tw.
Angst.

  He stayed sitting on his bed, head in hands.
His breathes shaky and strained.

  His heart felt heavy and his stomach whirled with butterflies.
He felt flowers cloud his lungs.

His eyes screamed to shut.
  He knew closing them would let the tears out

His skull began to thrum.
   Holding these feelings in hurt enough as it is.

But fuck.
This shit is hard to hold.

  He'd been on the same spot for the past hour, his voice simply shudders now. His thoughts were running rampant. Nothing was clear. It hadn't been clear for a while. Something in him took him to the phone, gripping it for a short moment before putting it back down in defeat. His hands were too shaky to text anyone. In a slow motion his hand arrived back at his cheeks.

  And that's when it started flowing.
The warm reminders began to make their way down.

   Curling around his fingers and through into his hand.
  He felt them slip through the cracks of his palm to finally slide down on to his lap.

His eyes stayed shut.
   They wouldn't open for a short while.

His body started breaking down, needing some sort of release. He reached for his phone and began calling someone. Not sure if anyone would answer, he continued crying, it was the only way to sober himself. His muffled voice barely audible through his phone mic.

  It took a moment for the phone to stop buzzing.
      They didn't pick up.

  His breath felt lodged into his throat.
As though he was being force fed air.

  He needed to move, his palms rubbing against his legs now. He didn't want to stand though.

It fucking burned.
His skull felt as though it had shattered.

His hands gripped the sheets, his hands losing their grip as he laid back. It's cold. Cold everywhere. Shaking, he looked back up. He heard it again. His phone was blaring. The noise making his head beat like a drum.

  It's in his hands now.
The call.

And he answered.

  The next day didn't take long. The air was empty. Yet heavy. Walking into the house felt broken and almost disrespectful. Something was wrong.

Sirens.

Loud.

Disrespectful.

Ignorant.

Making their way home. Streams of tears draining from his eyes. It wasn't meant to be this way. It was never meant to be like this. He should have just picked up. He should have just done what was needed. He could have been there.

Yet he ignored it.

And it led to this.

He couldn't say he was sorry.

Coming home to this empty home. Coming home with his ignorant bliss. Seeing what he had now lost.

He wasn't there.