[It Will Come Back by Hozier]

TRIGGER WARNING: this one's just crazy sad.

FOURTEEN: when you finally fall apart.

My hand was still on fire by the time I realized that I might've actually had to do something about it. I was sitting there on the ground, head against the wall and above me, there was a small dent where I'd punched. I was crying, that much was obvious with my bottom lip in my mouth and my breathing heavy. I cradled my hand, trying to move it remembering when I'd broken my hand years back.

They said if you couldn't move it, it was probably broken and although, it was excruciating... I could move it, at least a little. Reaching over to the bench, I grabbed my roll of athletic tape, compression would help. I started at my fingers, trying not to wince too much when I semi-straightened them out. It was starting to bruise, turning a purple-ish color near the knuckles and I definitely would need to get it checked out.

Stopping once the pain became unbearable, I felt my knees shaking and I would've fallen if I wasn't already sitting. I could feel it spike through my body, my breath coming out shaky and I clenched my other hand as if to divert it.

"Fuck," I breathed through my nose, my breath hitching when pain shot up my spine. I was trying not to think too much about it, tell myself everything would be okay and that I would be fine but my practice schedule was running through my mind and I knew that I couldn't miss another one yet, I'd already missed a practice the day before.

Tears rolled down my face as I tasted metal and I knew I'd split my lip. Licking over the slight wound, I stared down at the worst one, taking a deep breath as I finished moving my fingers to meet each other and then I was wrapping the athletic tape tightly. I held my breath.

This all wouldn't have fucking happened if I just went to class on time. I shouldn't have went on a fucking date, my life was falling apart and I was angry.

I was fucking livid with my situation, mad at myself and the world and the rush of it scared me. I was pulling it a little too tight then, breathing harsher and I could feel pain but it barely burned for a split second, my hand holding tightly onto the roll of tape, watching my fractured fingers twitch and I bit into the rip on the skin of my lip.

Focusing on that made the world go away for a second, especially when I'd loosened my grip, the flushed skin of my exposed fingers whitening again on briefly and then pain coursed through me, my mind wiping.

All I could focus on was that, only watching my skin return back to it's bruised color, my jaw clenching as I sat there.

The pain was so intense then that my eyes screwed shut, my teeth biting down hard and the tears pricking my eyes were rolling down my face. "Fuck!" I was sobbing then, trying to swallow it back and I'd dropped the roll of athletic tape clenched in my hand, throwing my head into the crook of my elbow and I could feel the pain in my chest.

My phone rang, Sullivan's name flashing across the screen and I didn't even want to answer.

I didn't even want him to have my number, I hated that he had my number. How selfish was that? Leading him on the way I did and then just blocking him completely out when I realized I couldn't do it.

I wasn't ready for any of it.

Then I was thinking of how fucked up it was for me to use him the way I did and how I always used everyone.

I sat like that for a while, sat like that until it came close to the time for the rest of the team to roll in for practice and with a heavy sigh, I wiped my face, standing to my shaky feet and picked up the athletic tape.

Alone and angry, I wrapped my own hand, pushing myself to the bathroom once finished to wash the tear streaks from my flushed face and I went to change for practice.

: : :

"Douglas, get your head out of your ass and pass the fucking ball."

My calves were on fire from the hour of drills I'd done on my own followed by coach's two hours of warmup and now I was practicing my pass with Danny. He'd asked about my hand when we'd been paired up, the only time he had to and I'd brushed it off, saying I'd hit my finger and it was feeling a bit off.

That was enough for my coach, the beefy middle-aged man not caring enough to go into specifics and he let me skip the push-ups, opting to make me double my run-time. I was fine.

Everything was going fine and it wasn't necessarily a hands-on sport, I could finish practice and then go to the clinic. I had my insurance card and enough in my savings, I would handle it when practice was over, I was fine.

And I was, until I'd been in the middle of practicing and the coach had started to notice that I'd been slower than usual. My dribble was off and I wasn't passing as quick as normal. We'd switched to groups of four passing across the field and my assist was so weak he'd caught it, the goalie giving me a look and Danny was tapping my shoulder then, telling me to switch positions with him.

"Shit." I was moving too slow again and I was sure they were growing tired of my shitty performance because so was I. I'd been fucking up at everything but I didn't think soccer would be a place I'd fail too but I was.

I was fucking up and I was moving slow and I wasn't pushing myself hard enough so when the coach called it out, I could feel the air in my lungs dissipating. Crouching over, I tried to clear my mind, tried to do better, reminded myself that there were so many other players that could take my place, ones that wouldn't crack under pressure.

I was caving in, my life weighing in where it hurt and Alvarez noticed it.

"Are you okay?" He'd asked, voice small and he was jogging beside me as I kicked the ball, he'd asked once and went to kick the ball away from me to another player, slowing down a bit and his brown eyes were looking into mine as if he was actually worried.

But he wasn't, none of then actually were, everyone depended on everyone's capability though and him being a defender, my performance would automatically affect him. Me being defensive mid-field, I was supposed to be an extra protection but him being unable to judge where I was would be terrible during game-time.

I nodded, knowing that he needed some sort of confirmation. He would have no problem asking in front of others, making sure that I was capable but also letting other's know he. had his doubts because it was already hard enough to get playing time let alone keep it. "Yeah, I'm good." I wasn't, I was nauseous and my heart felt too big for my chest.

But one of the worst things would be letting people know that, I couldn't afford to be subbed, everything else in my life was chaotic enough without my athletic scholarship hanging by a thread so I took a breath.

Normally, before giving my ring back, I'd have twisted it for support. I'd have played with the ring on my finger, thinking about how much Paul believed in me, at least the first year. After realizing that I needed to find my own strength, I would have placed it in my locker before practice but I found myself reaching for it now.

And not finding it there, I let out a heavy sigh, trying to focus back on where I was supposed to be, the second half of practice dragged on after that.

: : :

Danny had a six-pack of cheap beer in our fridge and a gallon water container half-filled with vodka.

Normally, I would have been nervous with drinking inside of my room. The anxiety that came when convincing myself that there was an RA on this floor, even if he was a hall away, it always kept me from dipping into the fridge and grabbing a beer for myself. I was always cautious, even despite Danny's insistence that it wasn't a big deal but after making my way to the on-campus clinic and getting just the news that I was expecting, I found myself cradling a re-wrapped hand and opening the fridge.

Pulling out the gallon, I grabbed an orange juice and drank down half of it before pouring vodka into the rest of the bottle and throwing myself onto my bed.

And when I drank it down almost to the bottom, I refilled the bottle, trying not to think about the fact that it was turning into me just chugging vodka. The burn pushed down my throat and settled in my stomach and even after feeling the euphoria I was looking for, I kept pushing.

There was a smile on my face as I briefly thought about texting Danny and asking him if he wanted to go somewhere, do something. I was thrilled, so fucking happy for once and everything around me felt a bit blurry. Nothing was really that obviously there anymore but I had the feeling to write and that's what I did. I closed my minute-maid bottle and went to sit it under my bed.

Stumbling, I found myself laughing, grabbing my laptop and going to turn to a show I'd been binging before my spiral, I never liked drinking alone. I'd never really been the type to sit down and drink by myself but just the idea that everything around me was falling apart kinda made it more appealing. I was hot.

I was giddy as the theme song played through, going to grab my book and I started scribbling whatever came to mind. I wrote into the night, the buzz under my skin and the warmth in my stomach turning comforting and I was starting to love it. I was liking the feeling, the gentle thrum under my skin and I was sure I was sober even if I knew I wasn't.

And then I was horny, it only washed over me for a second and maybe it was just the feeling of wanting someone near. I think I was starting to feel more bold, less aware of repercussions because I felt myself reaching for my phone before I could stop it. I wanted to talk to someone, wanted to unload and when the sadness of not really knowing who to call went through me, I felt myself reaching back for the bottle under my bed.

: : :

Among everything else that was wrong with him, Wren was so fucking dramatic.

Wren was also late. It was nearly midnight and the fact that I had been waiting up for him seemed a little annoying but I was too drunk to even care enough to acknowledge it. I needed to blow off some steam and I didn't want to drag Sullivan into it so it only felt right to call Wren.

I hadn't called Wren in a while.

"Hi." That was the greeting I got from Wren when he'd finally showed up at my dorm. It was late now, later than expected and he looked more tired than usual. With gym-shorts and a big tee, he stepped into my room, fuzzy slides still on even as I paid too much attention closing the door. Normally he'd have dropped himself on my bed and waited, picked at his nails and smiled up at me with big bright eyes.

He would push up into his knees when I'd gotten close enough and kissed me, pulling me down into him until I fell into it. Wren wasn't patient when he wanted something and it was weird that he'd hesitated. I was staring through blurry eyes, sure my face was beating red and I was already going to pull my shirt off, it hard with one hand but I managed, hoping that would be enough invitation.

When he didn't move to kiss me, I stepped closer. "What're you waiting for?" My hands danced on his waist and I was sure my words were slurred but I didn't care, I didn't care if he could tell how drunk I was. "Come on." My hand was already slipping under his shirt, touching the soft skin on his back and I'd kissed his neck, pulling him closer.

He responded quickly, his small fingers threading into my sweaty hair and pulling me more into his body. I loved that about sleeping with Wren, he never said no, he never rejected me and he was always eager for it. But we were moving slower now, his clothes still on and I realized that very quickly.

I went to pull the shorts off, hand running across pale skin and he was sinking into me. Wren bit his lip, moving to hold my face and he looked into dilated eyes for a second before his lips were on mine again and I could decipher the look he had given me.

I didn't care, didn't think much of it when he was on my bed then, throwing his small body back, I continued slipping the linen material down his thin legs, kissing at the goosebumps that would appear with every inch of exposed skin.

Groaning, I ghosted my lips over his thighs, eyes concentrating on the bulge wrapped in lace. It was a baby blue pair that day, fully sheer and it paired well with the blue gem on his navel. He looked good, a new little butterfly tattooed on his hipbone that matched the one on his neck and I brushed a finger over it, him squirming under my touch.

"This new?" I'd asked kissing the skin, watching as it flushed and that was weird. That was different, I never paid this much attention to his body as it wasn't that attractive to me but for some reason, I found myself lingering.

"No." His voice was soft then and I heard the hesitance so I found myself looking up. I'd like to think I was nicer when drunk because I was sure that he was caught off-guard. He looked worried, eyebrows scrunching and he was threading his hand back through my hair. "Are you okay?"

It was gentle and it kind of freaked me out, there was something in it that made me feel like recoiling, maybe the fact that he sounded like he cared. Wren sat up then right as I was moving to pull his panties off and move faster because it felt too sweet for comfort and I was so fucking drunk.

"Fine?" I'd offered, reaching for the skin on his knee, knowing the spots that made him shiver and Wren jumped. "Come here." I was hoping urging him along would have made the moment move sooner but not seeing him move had made me lean forward a bit. I was playing with the waistband of his underwear and parting his lean legs.

Wren's breath hitched, his crotch raising as if by instinct and he was leaning closer allowing my hand to splay across his thighs and up to push his shirt up. He fell back into the bed, my lips back on his thighs and I was pulling his underwear down when he'd spoken.

"Julian..."

It sounded less like a plea, less like it normally did and it took a second for me to catch on but when I did, I sat back up.

Instantly, I'd paused, uninjured hand still on his body. I didn't know what was up but being with Paul, just any small hint of hesitance would put me on edge. I was always careful around him and it wasn't different with anyone else, Wren didn't want to continue and even if I didn't know why, I got it.

Sea-green eyes were looking into mine and he was pulling his shirt down, sitting back up at the awkward that had appeared out of thin-air. He'd sighed once straightening back out his clothes and he had his hands on his knees. This was weird, I'd never actually sat with Wren and talked, the most we'd done on that front was sit in his car together and I could tell I was starting to sober up.

I was only thankful he hadn't come earlier then because I knew the rejection would've settled in a little too late. I wouldn't have caught it in time, I knew that and I found myself sighing at the same time he went to speak.

"What are we doing?" That was all he had to ask.

"What do you mean?" It felt like his question came out of nowhere and it hit me in the face. "We're fucking." And if he asked, he probably thought we were doing more that that.

Wren laughed then, like it was fucking funny and instantly, I could feel myself growing annoyed. "I mean you haven't called me in weeks and you're obviously not okay."

"I'm fine." That was my response even if it felt like a lie, what I was going through wasn't any of Wren's fucking business.

His eye was on my bandaged hand when I noticed it, I'd pulled it out of his view. Flashes of his eyes flickering down to it before we'd gotten started were crossing my mind and I was sure his, "You sure?" wasn't supposed to sound as condescending as it came out.

I found myself laughing, the idea that he really thought that was his place to ask was building an anger inside me and suddenly, I really fucking wanted to be alone. The fact that I asked him to come over while he assumed I was falling apart was definitely gonna put thoughts in his head that didn't need to be there.

"You get this personal with every guy you're fucking?"

"Wow." His smile turned offended then and he was nodding, reaching for his shorts that I'd thrown on the floor near my bed. "Um, I don't- I don't sleep with anyone else." He'd said, looking over at me to make sure I saw the sincerity in his eyes. "When you called and asked me to come over, I thought you needed a friend..."

I could see how he got it like that, why he was so cautious when he'd walked in. I'd called him and the slurring in my words was probably the first strike.

I softened, going to pull his shorts out of his hands as if I wanted him to stay. "Wren..."

"And yeah, I used to get around but I haven't slept with anyone since the last time we... you're the only guy that I'm-"

"I'm sorry, I-I-I shouldn't have said that." I cut him off, hoping he could salvage the night. The things I said actually affected Wren, I never really thought of it like that and I fucked up. It was my fault even if we weren't together, I'd been friendly with him at some point and he thought I'd wanted his company in a platonic way.

He was shaking his head, standing to pull his shorts up thin, milky legs. "But you meant it." And I didn't think it would hurt him, he normally wanted me to be harsh with him, he had a thing for it and he knew that whatever I said wasn't meant. He knew I didn't intend on hurting him but now it felt too emotional and maybe we never should've continued sleeping together. "And you're drunk, you smell like a liquor cabinet."

"Where are you going?"

"Home," he was reaching for the keys he'd thrown on my bedside table, eyes lingering on the ope bottle and I knew he knew. He was sliding his shoes on when he turned back to look at me, soft smile on his freckled face and I felt bad. "I thought we were friends but you don't even know my last name, do you?" It was silent then and I could see him nod curtly, looking down afterwards and I knew where he was going with it before he said it. "We shouldn't do this anymore."

"We have a good thing going."

He laughed then, it breathy. "I don't know about you but I feel like shit."

"You're using me and I mean, I like it but-" He'd paused, trying to find a way to explain himself and it hit me how much I probably fucked up but what he was saying felt like bullshit, "but me when we're having sex is different from me as a person. And I can't sleep with someone who doesn't respect me as a person."

I found myself rolling my eyes then, traces of worry leaving and drunk, I had no filter. "You're bringing feelings into this?" That was so stupid, that he really thought I'd care about his feelings when I hadn't the entire time we'd known each other.

Whatever Wren and I was began and ended with fucking, he wasn't someone I considered a friend even if we fucked and went to a club once. Wren wasn't my fucking friend and I wasn't his either, we didn't talk and now it feels like that's all we'd been doing. He could've just fucking left without giving me this lecture if he truly felt like this.

"I have feelings." And the look on his face told me I said the wrong thing... again. "Did you forget that? I'm not just some fucking toy, get a Fleshlight for that."

He was so fucking dramatic.

"Wren, come on." I was still horny and if he left, I'd honestly just have t finish myself off because it was way too late to call Ernest. I briefly thought of calling Dixon, I'd gotten over finding hookups on Grindr especially late at night.

Wren was shaking the hand I'd grabbed him with, off. "Let me ask you this." And he was turning towards me, instantly I knew this wouldn't end well. "If I didn't have the sexual history that I have... would you like me?" And he didn't mean it romantically but all I could think of was where saying yes would lead me. Maybe, I wouldn't have initiated a friendship with Wren if we hadn't slept together, but I definitely would've liked being around him once I got to know him.

But when you bring sex into it... I didn't see myself being anything past someone he'd fall into bed with. I didn't want to be his friend because I knew that meant I had to open up and opening up led to more pain than it was worth.

So I said, "No."

He nodded then, probably not expecting it or at least, hoping for a different response. He was nodding again then, biting his bottom lip as he made his way to the door and remorse hit me then, I was sure that his situation was deeper than just me.

"Wren." I was reaching for him but he'd gotten too far then and my reaction time wasn't great. Stumbling as soon as I stood, I spoke again and the slur was more prominent now. "Wren, wait a second, okay?" I was rushing then, realizing how mean what I'd said sounded. "Look, my ex, i-it's messy." I tried to explain, tried to give him just enough so he didn't leave feeling worse than he did.

I feel like shit. "I'm not ready to be with anyone."

"We don't have to be together, I just want to be friends."

But even that felt like too much for me and I was shaking my head then, hand raking through my hair. "I can't."

And he smiled sardonically, "But you can sleep with me?" When I didn't answer, he reached for the door and I probably should've stopped then.

"It's complicated."

"You either respect me or you don't."

He didn't have the right to act like what I did was lead him on especially when I told him numerous times that I wasn't looking for anything, not even a friendship. He made hissing complicated with him own stupid fucking feelings and now he was trying to blame me? "I don't owe you a friendship. I don't owe you anything."

And he paused, going to speak but he thought better of it and he was agreeing, "You know what? You're right." Opening the door, he didn't speak until he was on the way out and I stepped back at that. "You don't owe me a call either, so don't."

: : :

August 9 2016

"You know, if you don't wanna be with me anymore, you could just tell me instead of being so aggressive." Paul sighed, throughout the entire drive to the ER, he'd been silent, his hand curled tightly around the steering wheel. "I don't know what's going on with you but it really feels like you don't even like me these days-"

I spoke before I was thinking and we were sitting in the car again after being seen. "I don't." I tried not to look at him, paid more attention to the way they'd wrapped my hand. I didn't mean it, I definitely didn't and it kind of hurt that he believed me.

He paused and his voice was hoarse when he finally spoke, "What?" He'd spat the word out like it burned his tongue and I briefly felt like taking it back, like apologizing and promising that I didn't mean it, that I loved him.

Picking at my bandages, I tried not to hurt him more than I needed to. Everything had turned so wrong so quickly and I didn't want to pay attention to the broken sound of his voice because if I did, I wouldn't be able to let him go.

"I don't wanna be with you anymore."

My boyfriend sucked in a breath then, head whipping over to catch my eyes and we were sitting in the parking lot of the emergency room, I probably should have waited until we'd gotten home when he didn't have to sit in the car with me on the way back. "Where is this coming from?"

He sounded like he wanted to cry and I screwed my eyes shut, not wanting to see the look on his face. And then, "Are you taking your pills?"

That question was enough to set me off again, I hated it. I hated the looks of concern and the caution he always took, I hated how he treated me like I was so easily breakable. He was so nervous around me all the time and it made me feel like I wasn't a whole fucking person on my own. Since I'd gotten back, it'd been like this and I was sure it would get worse once I left again.

"Jesus Christ, stop fucking asking me that."

I couldn't do it again, all the fucking need to be up under me and making sure I was okay 24/7, he didn't trust me to be alone, he didn't trust that I would be okay, he babied the hell out of me and it would only get worse from there. I needed space, I didn't need the check-ins with him, my dad, my therapist, my sister, everyone. I didn't need the emotionless feeling I got when I was on my pills and I didn't need fucking pills.

"Well you're acting fucking crazy."

And that hit me, my head whipping over to look at him and he flinched back. "I'm crazy?"

"Julian," he sighed and looking back, I knew that wasn't what he meant, "you know I didn't mean it like that." Breathing softly, he took a second before rephrasing himself, "you just- I just mean, I get worried that something like this is gonna happen."

That was low of him, throwing the circumstances in my face and I got defensive.

"This is me, Paul." I'm not gonna change.

"...Baby-"

"No."  Why was he so hell-bent on changing me? That's all they wanted to do, they all were just trying to change me, trying to fix me. No one wanted to accept who I was, they put medication on top of it to throw the problem away and the medication just made me feel less like myself. I wasn't me anymore on them. "I-I just- I don't wanna take them anymore, I can't-"

That wasn't something Paul wanted to hear. "Julian, you left in the middle of the damn day to do whatever for who knows how long."

And I did, I had left and I could see where his worry was coming from. I had left that morning to hang out with Ben and I didn't let him know until I'd gotten back but I was just so sick of checking in with everyone. I couldn't make a single decision by myself. "You didn't pick up when I called you a million fucking times and then you fucking cut yourself because you were mad at me for asking if you were okay."

He was annoyed now, I could hear it in his tone. "Are you even hearing me right now?"

But he was making it sound like I intentionally hurt myself, he was making it seem like I was on edge again and I wasn't. I could make decisions without running them by him, I didn't need him to micro-manage my entire life. "Don't say it like that."

"Well, that's what happened." And as if realizing how he sounded, he tried a different approach. His voice was softer then and he was looking into my eyes. "Y-You haven't been taking your pills and you're harming yourself because of it."

No, I wasn't. "I didn't mean to."

I didn't mean to hurt myself, he was making it sound like I slit my wrists or swallowed some extra pills, I was fine. I didn't hurt myself and I wasn't going to, I just didn't wanna be on pills anymore.

The nights where I didn't feel anything, that's what they did to me. My medication surpassed feelings and I felt so empty, I felt so limp and-and I didn't feel like me anymore and he didn't understand it. He wouldn't understand it, he was just gonna keep expecting me to take them, keep worrying and criticizing and I couldn't do it anymore.

"When you're off your medication, you are a danger to yourself." He said, his voice stern and I hated everything about it. I hated that when I didn't respond, he shook his head and there were tears in his eyes then, he knew where this was going. Paul had constantly been upset about the lack of communication on my part. I never talked to him anymore. "I can't believe you would do something so serious and so stupid without even talking to me, I mean, what the fuck?"

He shook his head and I could tell this was building up, had been building for a while. "We're supposed to talk to each other about these things, trust each other, why are you acting like you can't talk to me?"

Because every time I do, your answer is therapy. "So what?" I knew he didn't know what to do, he didn't know how to handle me not wanting to take my medication and I couldn't fault him. But I also knew where this was going, neither of us were surprised by my next question. "You won't be with me if I don't take them?"

"Julian."

"Answer me."

He sighed and it was silent again.

It was so silent and I swear I could hear my heart breaking, he didn't know what to say because I was right. He didn't want to be with me if I wasn't on medication and I could feel it. He knew that I knew.

And then Paul shook his head before speaking and when he did, it still had a bit of disbelief in it. "No, I won't be with you if you don't care enough about yourself to take your god damn meds." He was saying it like that for a reason, he wanted me to know that he still did want to be with me. He still loved me but love really wasn't enough.

So I sucked in a breath and I said the one thing I didn't want to.

"Then don't."

Instantly, he was pushing tears away and I couldn't even cry. I didn't want to and there really weren't any tears left. Really, I came to this conclusion before that day, I'd known that he didn't love who I was when I wasn't on medication. He was only with me for me in recovery and I'd come to terms with being depressed. I wasn't recovering, didn't want to be, I was always gonna be like this, no use trying to hide it.

"You don't mean that."  His voice was weak, eyes still on the side of my face.

It was silent and then, "You mean that? You're breaking up with me right now?"

And when I didn't respond, like I expected, he processed it. He was upset then and he was sitting back in the driver's seat, mouth moving but no words escaping. He'd let out a shaky breath, looking forward and out the corner of my eyes, I could see the tears streaming down his face.

I couldn't cry but I wanted to, knowing that me not crying was hurting him more and I didn't speak, I let him do the talking, let him get it out and then he was wiping the tears off his face, pushing his hand into his hair and squeezing his eyes shut. "Julian, you always do this."

But he was lying, I'd never given up, I never broke up with him and he wasn't sure what to say to it.

"You always... push me away when things are too painful for you."

After a while, he spoke again, words soft and he always tried. "W-we can fix this, we can-we can talk to your therapist, we can-"

"We can't do anything, Pablo." I knew that, I came to terms with that on my own and I'd tried. I tried so hard to be the boyfriend he wanted and the man he needed me to be and I tried to be perfect and happy and I wasn't. I hadn't been happy in so long, I couldn't be happy and he needed to realize that.

He needed to realize it and he wouldn't.

They wouldn't fucking give up. Seeing him tiptoe around my feelings, watching him hide his tears when I said something that hurt him, I'd been watching him hold back for months and I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't do this to him anymore, checking out and watching him try so hard to pull me back. I was hurting him, I was always fucking hurting him.

"We can't fix this. You cant fix me, okay?" So, please, stop trying. "I'm fucked up, I'm so fucked up and there's nothing you or me or we can do to change that."

A/N:

:) sorry.

Updated: Wednesday, July 24th.

What's your favorite sad song?