Let Live (An Austin Carlile Love Story)

I Do Not Wanna Die Inside Just to Breathe In

Here's a new chapter for ya. Kinda short, but expect big things soon!

Vote and comment! I love hearing from all of you! You guys keep me writing this story! <3

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Tyler's P.O.V:

I climbed back into the bunk, curling up next to Austin who was still snoring quietly, sound asleep. The feeling of his chest rising and falling, the distinct sound of his heart beating, it was calming, a good distraction from the thoughts swirling in my head.

I was getting better, I was trying my hardest to heal and move on. It wasn't easy, and some days were better than others. Sometimes I was in a good mood, I was happy, I was beginning to feel like my old self again. I would go to the shows, singing along side stage, smiling as I watched Austin and the guys do their thing.

But other days, more often than I would like, I couldn't seem to move, to think. It would hit me hard, like a ton of bricks, and it was all I could focus on. Those feelings of hatred and disgust, the ones I had been working so hard to get rid of, would push their way back to the surface. It was getting to the point where I was making myself sick, the worry eating away at my insides, making my stomach churn, causing me to throw up several times throughout the day. It was hard on Austin, on all of them, to see me like that. It was killing me to see the hurt on Austin's face when I would tell him that I didn't want to go to the show, that I didn't want to do anything, that I didn't want to feel anymore. He didn't know what to do to help; I didn't even know what to do to help myself.

He was doing more than he thought, just by being here, by holding me and reassuring me that it would be okay, that I was safe, that he loved me. He was handling it well, or at least that's what he wanted me to think. I would sometimes hear him talking, though, to Alan or Aaron, the only other two that knew the truth, telling them how he really felt, how he wanted to go to New York and kill Matt, how he wanted to end him, wanted him to pay, to hurt him like he hurt me. Sometimes I wanted that, too, for him to get what he deserved, but I knew it was pointless; it wouldn't make me feel any better.

I was running out of options, I didn't know what to do with myself; I was tired of feeling worthless. I was ready for it to stop, I was ready to move forward with my life, but I couldn't, I was stuck, and I didn't know how much longer I could take it.

Austin stirred beneath me, his breathing changing rhythm as he awoke from his slumber. "Why are you awake?" He asked, his voice husky, not even opening his eyes to look at me. He didn't have to, he knew I wasn't sleeping, and he knew why. 

"Oh, you know," I muttered. He pulled me closer to him, his arms holding me tighter. I nuzzled my face in his neck, breathing in the scent of him, his faded body wash, letting it wash over me, calming my fears and worries.

"Were you getting sick again?" he asked, his voice full of concern. I nodded into his neck, my fingers absentmindedly tracing the scar on his chest. "All of this worrying; it isn't good for you."

"I know. I can't help it." For the first time in what felt like a long time I was being completely honest with my feelings, and it wasn't easy. I felt him sigh, his hand tracing patterns on my back through my shirt, well, his shirt.

"Ty - maybe if you...maybe if you talk about it you might feel better. I know that sounds like it's the last thing you would ever want to do, but - you never know. Maybe keeping it all inside is what's not letting you let go." I listened intently as he spoke; it made sense. He hadn't pushed me to say anything, to explain it to him, to tell him what happened. As far as I know he didn't know much, not as much as I had told Aaron, which I had done by accident. That day, I had no intention of telling Aaron as much as I did, it just happened, and it made me feel even worse than I before. That, the feeling I had experienced that day when they found out, I was holding onto it, remembering what it was like; maybe that was what was holding me back. "You know I'm not pressuring you to say anything, I would never do that. You do what you think is right, what you feel like; I'm just - I just want to help you, and I don't know what to do. I feel helpless because I hate seeing what this is doing to you."