{TRIGGER WARNING}
The staircase let out a single, eerie creek. It was the night, the night that he had been waiting for.
The night where he could end his pain.
A muffled sob escaped his lips; his hands raising to rub furiously at his streaming eyes. He thought he had learned to be indifferent, empty, emotionless... untouchable. But he was wrong. He was scared.
A trembling hand lifted itself to grasp the cupboard and swing it open before he could back out. The same hand tentatively curled its fingers around the bottle, whilst the other began to work its way around the lid, twisting it looser and looser, until it - after what felt like an agonising lifetime - finally separated from the bottle. Without a second thought, he emptied its contents into the palm of his hand.
The boy carefully placed his note on the table. He lined it up exactly with where the bottle sat.
May as well keep things neat.
Shaking, he put the first pill in his mouth, and gulped it down. Then the second. The third. Relentlessly, he continued to about five. The pounding in his head showed signs of his plan working. He was supposed to be happy now.
Alas, no.
He felt regret, and fear, and sickness, and...
He broke down, throwing the rest of the pills in the bin and sliding down miserably against the wall, with his now fully audible wails echoing slightly around the room.
Ashamed, he shook his head to himself, as he heard footsteps approaching rapidly.
Why did he back out?
YOU ARE READING
Therapy - A Bastille AU
Fanfiction"Give me therapy; I'm a walking travesty..." Daniel Campbell Smith, admitted to Pine Walk Hospital, for suicide attempts. Jasmine Walker, admitted to the same institute, for anorexia. They tell you feelings for someone can bloom in the most myster...
