The Collin Family:HighSchool DxD Fanfic

"She's not Angelina, (Y/n)"

(A/N): Before this chapter I want everyone to know that I am not against God or Christianity...although this chapter doesn't necessarily HAVE anything bad to say about it, I just want to put it out there more, before we get into and further into the story...

                                                                                                                                                                    --trinikirito out

Everything was hazy, objects were in front him, yet not...at the same time, slamming his bedroom door shut, (Y/n) isolated himself. With each passing breath, he found himself panicking even more. Stumbling on his way to the bed, he fell and hit his head on the floor. Looking around himself, he came face to face with a black box under his bed. 

Scrambling to a seated position, he quickly took the box from within its confines under the bed. Fumbling with the cover, he removed it and stared at a bottle of scotch and a pack of cigarettes along with a light. 

With shaky hands he removed the top of the bottle and inhaled its scent, memories flashing before him. 

"You shouldn't be drinking (Y/n)! You're only 14 years old for crying out loud!" 

As the voice faded, he quickly took a gulp of the drink in his hand and groaned as it burned his throat. Holding his head, images of the blonde nun flashed through his head...

Her smiling with children...

Playing with a younger version of Luke...

Reading by a fireplace...

Leaning his head back on to the mattress of the bed he looked up at the ceiling until a scream was heard and he shut his eyes tightly. "Ah!" he screamed in agony and an image of the woman hanging lifeless in the kitchen of an unfamiliar house is seen. 

He took another drink.....

And another....

And another...

Eventually more than half of the bottle was gone and (Y/n) wasn't even drunk yet, only hurt and broken. At this point, tears were streaming down his face as the memories of a time he chose to forget a long time ago resurfaced. 

Getting to his feet he walked around the room, taking swigs of his drink at every turn, each time taking a larger gulp. Eventually he came up on the mirror of his dresser and what he saw looking back at him...was a wounded soul...if he had any left...growling at himself, he screamed and threw the bottle at the glass and it broke. 

His disheveled clothes and figure shook as he felt more tears stream down his face, 'I was supposed to protect you...' looking at the pack of cigarettes on the ground he thought, 'But I couldn't even do that...' slowly approaching it, he picked up the white pack of cancer sticks and took one out. 

Placing it on his lips he went to the bathroom connected to his room and entered looking for something. Raising his index finger, a flame emitted and lit the tobacco product. Holding it in his hand, he took a long drag and closed his eyes as the smoke scratched his throat. 

Slowly exhaling the gas, he had a razor blade in his hands, the cigar still hanging off of his lips. Shakily bringing it to his wrist, voices began flooding his mind, all saying one thing...

'Do it! Suffer! You deserve it!' 

Suddenly dropping it, he opened it mouth and the cigarette fell into the sink. (Y/n) talked to himself, 'Stop it, (Y/n)...you know you can't die already...' 

Stepping away from the sink, his back came into contact with a tiled wall and he slid down coming to a seated position. Grabbing his head he closed his eyes only to see Angelina in his head. Banging his head repeatedly against the wall, he broke the tile and took to taking deep breaths as he felt his blood in the back of his neck.