The End → f.s

drummer irwie.

"...I'm so sorry guys" I said to photos of them and all of our fans' meet up photos. I can't control my breath. It's all fading for me. My anxiety, my panic it was all coming back to me.

Then I held that sharp thin cutter.

"Long time no see eh?" My heart shatters. I know it is best for me. I know I'll back to this rotten hell.

I slide out the cutter and trace my arm with it and let it sting.

Without an urge to groan. The pain rushes quickly as my tears are dripping like a drainpipe. Blood come out from the cut, it hurts, it fucking hurts but that is all I need.

Then I make a several more cuts. The pain doesn't really bothers when your anxiety took over your body.

After my cutting session I cover the cuts with bracelets the same way I used to do back then. I know my mother will notice it, moreover Harry and Lauren.

But I'm a failure, I'm an embarrassment for them. They deserve a better big bother, a better son. When I'm the one who should be a father figure but I let them down. I don't want to make Harry suffers the way I do. He must not be a failure like me.

And I'm sure he won't be one.

I heard the doorbell ring outside. Sadly I'm home alone so I must get it with my bloodshot eyes. Walking is hell of more painful than cutting because I mostly spends my time at my room, crying, sobbing like a little helpless baby.

I open the door lazily.

And I found a girl smiling weakly but somehow comforts me.

"Hi Ashton" she says. "I'm so glad I found the right place"

I reply with the most common reply. "Who are you?"

She chuckles a bit. "Sorry, my bad. I'm France Gabriel"

"Fey for short"

I look at here from the bottom to the top. She wears a flip flop while Sydney is in almost winter season, her long jet black hair tied nicely on her head and her outfit is only t-shirt with basketball shorts.

The t-shirt says 'Art is not enough'

"Why are you here?" I replied lazily.

"I'm your fans"