Endless: REWRITTEN

17. Moonstone

*A/N: The BIGGEST trigger warning ever. Chapter contains a suicide attempt (spoiler alert). If you get triggered by these sorts of things, please skip to the next chapter. If not, read away. Also, play the song to the top to add more mood if that's your thing* 

Robin

All I have in my dingy studio is the mattress from the treehouse and boxes. Stupid, brown boxes with my chicken scratch written on them. And this stupid mattress with no box spring, headboard, or frame. Just a shitty mattress with hand-me-down sheets and blankets and two flat pillows. The bathroom is in serious need of cleaning, the windows have wooden planks over them, and the smell emitting from the fridge should be fucking illegal.

But it's all mine. I earned it. That's what's getting me through it.

I just left three days after Cheyenne's party. That morning, my stuff was still at Mordecai's place. By the time he got off of work, I was gone. I was here, enjoying my new place. Mordecai left me a couple of calls on my phone, but I ignored them all, finally just shutting off my phone after an hour worth of calls. I didn't even give him the address; he'd just come over and judge me on my living situation or mock me for taking too long to do it.

Mordecai is gone. Natalie is gone. I have no one, my windows are barred, my mattress smells like squirrel piss, and only the moonlight is illuminating the room. It's like prison all over again. But... a prison in my head. How can I be free, yet so captured by myself? I'm a slave to my own depression.

It's too quiet, and yet so loud at the same time.

At least in the treehouse, I had the sounds of nature. The sounds of cicada in the trees in the summer and crunching snow in the winter. The sound of rain hitting the sheet metal roof and the leaves rustling the walls. Animals climbing all over the exterior and dropping their food or eggs on the inside. It kept my thoughts preoccupied on something else until I drifted to sleep.

But now there's just dead silence and my thoughts are too...fucking... loud.

I work myself into a headache and go into the bathroom to find the painkillers I stole from Mordecai, with a glass of water in hand. I try to shake just two, but half the bottle always ends up falling into my palm. And I just stare at the amount in my palm. Taking all these might put me to sleep, a sleep I've been secretly craving for years.

No one would find you until days later. Your job would fire you, no one knows your address, your phone is off... no one to save you and then judge you for doing it. It'd be done.

It'd be done. You'd be done. The fight would be over, the war won, the thoughts silenced. And no one would have anything to say. You'd be missed, but life goes on.

I shove them all into my mouth. Then I take in a huge glass of water. My mouth involuntarily spits them back into the sink, unable to shove the amount down my throat. I grip the sink, shaking like a leaf in the wind as my own demons laugh at my failed attempt. My second failed attempt. My hand grips the glass and I turn around and chuck it at the wall, the glass shattering into a million crystals.

I scream. At what, I'm not sure. All I know is that I'm screaming and crying and I can't fucking breathe and I feel nauseous and dirty. Everything is trembling and breaking up into complicated puzzle pieces around me and I conclude that maybe I did swallow all those pills and this is what it's like to die.

I fall to the floor and curl in on myself. I plead to any God out there to make everything go away, or at least make the universe stop breaking apart before my eyes. Do something to make it all go away.