[Novacane by Frank Ocean]

I FEEL LIKE I TRIGGER WARNING EVERY CHAPTER NOW SO I'M SORRY ABOUT ALL OF THIS SADNESS BUT IT'LL GET BETTER SOON, PROMISE xx

TRIGGER WARNING: suicide contemplation.

SIXTEEN: when you try to say goodbye.

"Keep up Douglas!" Realizing, even through my depressive state, that if I wasn't going to tell my father about my failures... I had to at least make some sort of effort. If I didn't have the guts to kill myself, I'd have rather been doing anything else than laying in bed all day dreading it. I was such a piece of shit that doing the bare minimum of getting out of bed, took way too much energy. I was forcing myself to go to practice, to do the one thing that used to make me feel validated.

But maybe practicing with a sprained wrist and a bad temper was a bad idea because I'd been in a bad mood since stepping foot on the field and honestly, I expected to be sent home to cool off or something. In high school, they wouldn't let you play with a sprained finger let alone a sprained wrist, hell, I'd broken my arm and was benched for four weeks.

But in college, either they didn't care or my coach was lenient because he didn't even spare a glance, maybe that was against some protocols but I wasn't inclined on finding out. I just needed to clear my head, soccer normally did that.

Mid-practice, I realized I was lagging, whether it be the lack of working out these past few weeks or the fact that I just wasn't accustomed to an excruciating practice because I'd missed the last few but I wasn't keeping up.

My body was on fire, my calves burned and I could barely breathe as I pushed through drills.

I wasn't good enough, I wasn't fit for this team, everyone there was better than me.

And I wasn't the only one who noticed, Alvarez was on attacking mid-field that day and I was sure it had everything to do with my performance the last practice. He was placed there to show me that I wasn't good enough to miss practice-I could be replaced in a nanosecond.

He was good, fuck that, he was pretty great. Everyone there was, he was extremely strategic and methodical in seconds. Crucial seconds before he even got the ball, he knew exactly what he was going to do, where he would move, what his opponents would do.

I was supposed to defend him in a game and I wasn't good enough to do so. I wasn't as good as him and that was proved when every single time, he slipped me up, he faked me out, he dribbled past me. Alvarez was fast as hell and he was skilled, more skilled than I was.

Back to back, he'd gotten me on my toes just to pass to someone else, I was putting all of my A-game in and I was receiving nothing in return. I sucked, I absolutely sucked now. I sucked so bad that halfway through, sweat pouring down my face, Alvarez had taken his foot off the ball to offer it to me and once I'd gotten it, he was able to steal it back. He was giving me a pained look as he set up for the play and I could tell that I was supposed to be able to hold onto that.

He'd given me a win and I was so slow and so fucking stupid that he reluctantly took the ball back between his feet and I wanted to scream.

"Do you need a sub? Douglas, do you need a sub?" That was Coach yelling again as Alvarez ran past me honestly, I probably did. He'd been yelling at me all day.

"No." Because accepting a sub was basically saying you didn't want to play in the next game and there was no way I was screwing it up for myself more than I already had. I could see Coach staring at me and I was sure that at any point, he'd cut me from the team.

So I panted, the body that I'd been given wanting to quit. My hands were on my knees and I sucked in a heavy breath.

"Well get on the same page, Alvarez is kicking your ass out there!"

Realizing that I was still in the same spot I was in seconds before, I shook my head, going back to my position and waiting for the goal to be made to set back up the drill. Standing beside a sweaty-Dixon, I tried to subdue the anger that those words had sparked in me. I couldn't get pissed at practice, not to the level that I'd been at before and honestly, with how low I'd been the day before, I shouldn't have been there.

But I was low, I hit a really low point and I wasn't trying to stay there, I could fix this, I would cope. That morning, I woke up with tears in my eyes, regretting everything and pushing my fingers over the edge of the hole in the wall. I had an overwhelming feeling of regret and I was starting to remember my last low.

The last time I'd destroyed everything in my room, one reason why I moved in with Paul again. I'd been so down that I got angry, so upset that I'd started ripping my posters off my walls, punching holes in the walls, crying as I destroyed the desktop computer and it'd been so bad that my dad had to run in and hold me down. He was struggling as he pried me away from my trophy case, sobs in my throat and bleeding.

I hated how I was in times like that, I'd burst and everything around me would go up in flames.

Restraining me was hard enough and then he had to sit with me in a clinic talking about medication and lows and highs and more therapy and more of the same shit we'd been talking about. I was tired of the ups and downs but still, I obliged, knowing it would make it easier on everyone else. I was always so worried about making everything easy for everyone, I always worried about how other people would see me, I moved out shortly after and in with my boyfriend.

Maybe I'd wiped it from my mind but it came back in a rushing frenzy of regret, I'd been destructive before and regret came soon after, getting help was next. He'd taken me to the clinic so they could tweak my meds and I'd ended up with a new prescription. Back to back cycles, nothing was ever resolved. My life was a never-ending revolving door of regret and breakdowns and maybe you'll be okay but we're not quite sure when, there were no definite answers to anything.

I was getting pumped full of all this fucking medication and never told when I might be okay again... if I'd ever be okay again.

I always had low periods and high periods, always had to learn how to get back to myself but I'd never been off my medication this long and I wasn't sure if I could do it anymore. That morning, I found myself bargaining with the self-loathing voice in my head, I needed it to leave me alone.

And another thought of suicide had passed through me, but killing myself wouldn't do anything. I wasn't solving anything by giving up, this wasn't me, it was my depression talking. Anger was the channel it chose to go through or whatever the fuck else my therapists and Paul had drilled into me. Paul was always right.

But you don't have him anymore.

Maybe my dad knew I was fragile, maybe that was why he didn't tell me that his girlfriend had moved in, maybe he thought I'd already known. I should've known, she was there the last time I was but it was only for two days and I thought maybe she was there to meet me. Maybe I thought he cared enough that he would want me to be apart of the decision, maybe that was too self-revolving. Maybe I'd write something on vanity.

I'd been so self-involved that I didn't realize that she never left, that her son not being there and instead being at a friend's house was code for my dad trying to ease me into everything. They were living there and he didn't tell me because he thought I wouldn't be able to handle it and he was right.

I thought about killing myself again.

"You good?" The voice that had snapped me out of it was companioned by a harsh hand on my shoulder and I had to hold back the flinch. Dixion was standing next to me, a worried look on his face and I kind of expected it to be Danny. Danny hadn't talked to me that morning, instead rushing out the room before I even sat up and I realized that I'd fucked that up too.

I acted crazy again and talked about his pill addiction because I was angry and he was done with me. I burned all my bridges that the only boy who actually checked in on me, standing in the embers, was a one-time closet-case that I had drunken-sex with. He was looking into my eyes and he actually looked concerned and I realized that I was clenching my free fist so tight, I could feel nails in my palm and bruised skin was stretching painfully over my knuckles.

But I was putting myself back together, I was getting back up. I didn't need my therapy or my dad holding me or my boyfri- Paul- I didn't need Paul. I didn't need him helping me out of bed and washing my hair and making me breakfast and telling me that he loved me, I didn't need that. "I'm fine." I'd shook his hand off, not wanting to be touched at the moment.

I was sure I looked dead, completely and utterly corpse-like and lingering around on campus. The bags under my eyes were deeper than all my emotional turmoil and I couldn't tell whether all the weight I'd lost was a good or bad thing but it'd happened so suddenly, I was sure Ernest was honest about me looking cracked-out.

But that wasn't any of his business nor was it Dixon's place to ask and I could basically hear the eye-roll in his voice then, "Well act like it if you wanna play, you're pissing Coach off."

And I could've been nicer, could've seemed a little grateful for him asking but honestly, I was so tired of people being worried about me- especially people I didn't know well.

Maybe if you weren't such a piece of shit you'd know them well enough.

Maybe my anger stemmed from how low I'd been and my dad still hadn't called back to check in. He still hadn't called to confirm his suspicions that I was acting strange and maybe it had a lot to do with me pushing him away and me being such a confrontational and self-involved asshole, it was my fault that he didn't want to talk to me before... nothing had changed.

Maybe I pushed her away too.

And right before the next drill, Coach called us over to the side to tear into how terrible I'd been. He looked annoyed, wide nostrils flaring and beady eyes were glaring us over. "Alvarez! If I ever see you give the ball up again voluntarily, I will assume you do not want to be here, understood?" He was staring at Alvarez, the shorter guy cowering and everyone knew he was talking about me. I couldn't perform well enough in practice that my opposer felt sorry for me.

Alvarez felt fucking sorry for me and even as he was getting chewed out with wide eyes and his lips sucked into his mouth, hands flexing nervously behind his back, I still felt sorry for myself.

"Yes, sir."

But he wasn't finished and this time, he directed it to the entire team, "It should go without saying that I don't care about your personal friendships, on this field, there is no remorse." Everything was so different and this coach was a constant reminder, I didn't actually remember his last name only that he really didn't give a fuck to know any of our first names. "If you give up the ball, give up the score, I'll assume you're ready to give up your spot."

Maybe he could see how much I was already prepared to be cursed out because he didn't say anything more until the we were back on the field and positions were switched again, now in front of me, stood Dixon and he had his jaw clenched. And he was even more ruthless than Alvarez was, instantly tripping me up and it caught me so far off guard, I felt my back hit the ground.

That was the final thing that set Coach off because as I was standing, he was yelling and all eyes were on me now.

Slowly, I stumbled to my feet, I hadn't eaten much in the past few days, only a banana that I got from the cafe on the way to my class that morning. Sluggishly, I trotted over to him, trying to tune out to repeated expression of my many failures. "If you don't wanna be a part of this you can just leave!" And I hadn't been giving my all, in normal circumstances, I would've kept my balance, I would've been able to at least put up a fight but my heart was hammering in my chest.

I was sure there were grass stains all over my body, my head pounding and I'd braced myself while falling on my free hand, it still slightly sore from my spiral the night before. He'd been yelling at me all day and I was getting sick of it. I was so fucking sick of the voice in my own head telling me how shitty I was, I didn't need it from outside sources.

"There are thousands of athletes that would be happy to take your place!" He was screaming at me, an angry fat old man berating the hell out of me and I was done with it. I know!

You're not good enough, I don't know why you even try. You don't, you don't try because you're a piece of shit and you let everyone down. It's why she left, it's why he left, it's why everyone's left, because you can't get your shit together.

You couldn't even kill yourself to put them out of their misery, you're selfish.

You're never going to be good enough. I'm never going to be good enough.

That irrevocable, irreversible anger was rising again and I was sure it wasn't expected. I didn't expect it myself, didn't expect my breathing to raise and my jaw to clench along with my fists and I was yelling before I could rethink it. "Shut up!"

You shouldn't be here, you don't deserve to be here. Maybe if you weren't then someone deserving could get this spot, Wren wouldn't be hurt, Danny wouldn't be either, everyone wouldn't feel so fucking sorry for you. Jade-Jade wouldn't always have to be on edge about when you'll try your next crazy shit.

Jade could breathe again. You're so fucking exhausting.

"You wanna say that again?" You're so fucking selfish.

You put everyone else's feelings last, you drove her away and now he's marrying a woman he doesn't know! She'll never come back, she'll never forgive you.

You ruined her life.

All I saw was red and I wasn't in control of myself anymore, my body stalking towards him and I was sure I'd have done something I'd regret if the entire team wasn't on high alert. "You've been riding my ass all fucking day, give me a break-!"

I did everything I was supposed to do and it was never good e-fucking-nough. I tried so hard and no one gave a damn, I was so fucking tired of it. Tired of the stress and being such a fucking disappointment to everybody in my life. I ruined everything around me, I always did, and I ran away before people realized. I ruined my dad's life, I ruined everything.

"Get your roommate, Veda." That was Dixon's voice behind me, Danny grabbing me back by my shoulders before I stepped completely out of line. I was fuming, body shaking and my vision was blurry. Shut up.

"JD, cool it." Shut up.

Pushing him off me, I rolled my eyes and I was sure I looked crazy. "Get off me." No one gave a damn about me, they didn't care, no one really cared. My life was falling apart and I couldn't hold on. I couldn't fix it anymore. And instead of responding rationally, I was enraged. I was pissed and ready to ruin it some me.

And Danny was dragging me away, the rest of the team talking amongst themselves, his grip on my shoulder was harsher than need be and I probably should've felt remorseful. I should've cared but all I cared about was myself as usual, I didn't care that I could've hurt someone else. "So you can hit him? Are you tryna get yourself kicked off this team?"

Ripping myself from his grip, I was shoving him off of me and I could actually see the confusion on his face now.

Shut up. "Fuck off."

Danny looked like he was really and truly worried about me and I hated every part of it. "I don't know what's wrong with you but you're ruining your life, man." Maybe I should've paid attention to that, the fact that my outburst didn't do anything because practice was going on behind me. What did you even think you were going to accomplish? "Does that not matter to you?"

You didn't think and it doesn't matter because you're a stupid piece of shit.

Swallowing all the pills in my drawer wouldn't be the worst idea. I just can't do this anymore.

: : :

I called Sullivan.

I tried to call him.

I thought of calling Jade.

I couldn't fix it, I couldn't fix anything anymore. The only way they'd be happy is if I left, if I was gone. If I was gone, Jade wouldn't be so stressed, my dad would realize that he made a mistake and they'd be together and everything would be perfect again. Everyone would get over it.

He would be happy, he would stop drinking to forget me, he'd fix his life and get with Isaiah eventually. Everything would be fixed. It would be over.

Shakily, I reached for the pill bottle in my drawer, my fingertips grasping it maybe I could've played a song to send myself off, maybe if the noise in my head wasn't too loud. I had my Minute-Maid bottle in my hand, drinking whatever left I had before standing.

I didn't say goodbye.

Dumping all the pills on my desk, I watched as some fell over the edge. I'd been saving them up, collecting absentmindedly as I skipped my pills in the morning, maybe I knew I'd do it eventually. Twelve was enough, it had to be, if not, I'd top it off with painkillers and alcohol.

This would be clean cut, I'd finish it, no blood, nothing. Danny wouldn't have to walk into anything messy, he could say the alcohol was mine, that he didn't know where the pills came from. He could pass it off as me keeping drugs stashed around when they searched the room, he wouldn't get in trouble, say he was barely here.

Ernest could say he was at home, that he was reformed from rehab, that he'd never do drugs again.

He would be okay.

Stumbling over, I pulled open his mini fridge, taking what was left of his stash. There were a few cans of corona, the gallon of vodka I'd been watering down over the past few days, I tossed a can over on my bed, knowing he'd need a drink later. Maybe he'd pour one out in my memory.

I could do this, I could finally do something I wanted, stop running from my shit. I would fix everything. Taking a swig from the carton, I popped a pill onto my tongue, hoping it would intoxicate me enough to not be scared of death. Maybe if I was already fucked up, it would be easier to feel that relief when the end actually came. I wouldn't keep thinking and regretting, it would be easy. Everything would be easier, for everyone.

Maybe I should say goodbye, I should say goodbye at least. That was the first thought and maybe I'd been trying to talk myself out of it.

But I should say goodbye.

It wouldn't be fair to any of them, wouldn't be fair to just leave without giving any explanation, wouldn't be fair to find my way out without thanking them for trying. Jade wouldn't forgive herself, I had to let her know that she did everything right.

Let them know that they'd done everything and more than what they were supposed to do and they've helped me more than I thought possible. That even if I couldn't get my shit together, they did everything they could've done.

And I could've written a note but that was so impersonal, the last time I'd seen all of them was so messy and- and I have to see them again. I have to apologize in person or it doesn't count.

Maybe I was scared, maybe it was cowardly to want to say goodbye.

I remembered the last time I'd been so in my own head, the last breakdown, I remembered it so vividly. Off my medication and crawling back to Paul somberly, telling him I regretted leaving him and that I knew I had to get better, maybe those words were for his own benefit but he held me.

And it was selfish, it was so selfish to let him hold me when I definitely didn't mean everything I said but maybe I did... or maybe I wanted to.

Maybe I wanted to believe that the next day would be better... could be better. Maybe thinking about calling him now was me trying to keep myself from doing something so permanent. Who's to say the next day wouldn't be better?

It won't. And even if it is, you're wasting your time.

I called Sullivan again, or at least I think I did. My finger hovered over the number. I thought of his show, how much I laughed. I thought of the stories of his traumatic exes.

I tried to think positive but I was thinking about calling my dad. I was thinking about how much I'd ruin his day. I was thinking about everything, everything all at once.

I was sweating, and crying, all snot-nosed and broken.

And I thought about the last time I'd went back to him, the last time I knew he'd take me back. Maybe that was why I kept leaving, because I thought he would take me back, he had so many times before... until he didn't.

: : :

August 15, 2016

Knocking on his door was the first step to getting my life back, I'd taken too long of a break. I'd been back on my medication for a week now, enough time to realize that I'd made the biggest mistake of my life. He was there for me, there to help me and I pushed him away, again.

Gulping down the golfball sized lump in my throat, I sucked in a breath and I'd been so empty these past few days... nothing exciting me in the slightest, I was still struggling to get out of bed but the first time I was able to for more than ten minutes, I'd asked my dad to drop me off at Paul's.

I'd hiked up the stairs, it just a small apartment building in the heart of Ann Arbor and he was staying there due to this little internship he'd gotten for the summer, he always tried to get internships closer to home and although his school wasn't that far, I appreciated it. My heart was in my hands, it pounding out that same melody, speeding up as I neared his place.

This was the most I'd felt since being re-medicated and even though I hated it, I knew that he was right. I didn't recognize myself off my meds and I had no business attempting to stop them without talking to anyone. I wasn't in control of that because I didn't have the capacity to make such a big decision so radically and rashly.

I had to tell him that, he'd take me back. He was angry but he would take me back, that was one thing we'd agreed on before, that no matter what, we'd always try. If I tried, he would as well.

He loved me and I knew I loved him.

The first step was always the hardest and then the rest would fall in place, my hand was resting on his door, trying to convince my head to let me knock. I was sure he was home, his car was there, there was nothing really stopping me.

Sucking in another breath, I waited, maybe waited for a sign that he wouldn't want to take me back because putting myself out there had been hard enough, I couldn't handle rejection.

And right before I'd knocked, as my fist was rearing back shakily, the door had opened, a stumbling Paul making his way out while simultaneously trying to pack his sling bag, eyes downcast and I should've said something.

I should've spoken when he was pulling his keys out, should've made my presence known but seeing him all perfect and put-together left me speechless.

He'd stumbled into me quickly, dropping the keys and his eyes blinked wide, my hands on his elbows to keep him steady. He looked happy at first, his lips quirking up and his eyes did that little sparkly thing that I felt myself smiling back and that was the first smile I had in weeks.

And then his face turned stone again, backing up almost instantly and reaching to grab his keys, stuffing them in his shorts pocket.

He looked great, clean face and curly hair pushed back by a pair of shades, body covered in an oversized Acne tee and shorts that reached only mid-thigh. He looked so happy but his face said it was the opposite, brown eyes staring me down so much I swear, I almost left.

I almost gave up.

"What do you want?" He'd asked and as if realizing his door was still open, he'd pushed back through it, walking away from me yet inviting me in and I knew then that he still cared.

I hadn't prepared anything, had no real reason for him to actually take me back, no speech or plan or anything. And he was standing in front of me, jaw clenched and arms crossed. He was still wearing my necklace and it hung over the logo on his shirt, he looked pissed but open to conversation and I knew he'd let me explain myself.

"I'm back on my meds."

And his face softened, a sigh leaving as he dropped his arms and sat down on the couch, gesturing for me to follow.

Taking a seat beside him, I tried to keep a distance, knowing that if he didn't take me back, I'd at least want space. I bit my lip before continuing, familiarity cloaking me in comfort. "I'm sorry. I messed up, I should have talked to you."

I should have told you everything from the beginning, we could've talked about it instead of hurting you. I'm always hurting you.

"Why didn't you?"

"I don't like feeling like I need you." We need to be independent, I need you to be independent. Those were his words. "I hate thinking that other people have to worry about me and-and that I can't take care of myself."

Because when people think I can't take care of myself, it makes me think it too and then I feel like I can't do anything on my own and that's not okay. I won't be okay if you leave me and that's not where I want to be.

"Jules..."

And I tried to phrase it in a way that didn't seem like I was blaming him. It was my fault too, for allowing him to take care of me so long. "I'm too... dependent on you. I'm nineteen, Paul, not nine and it feels like you're more of a parent than a boyfriend and I already have a parent, okay?"

"Okay."

It was the most level conversation we'd had in a while and we both made mistakes. "I don't like my meds." Shaking my head when he looked like he wanted to speak, I continued. "But I'm a mess without them and I knew it before I stopped them."

And that's my fault.

"I'm a mess, Paul and I-I don't know how not to be so fucked up. I-I can't-" I'm so fucked up. "I-I don't want to do this anymore. I thought about it again- when I was off my meds, I-I-I was gonna kill myself. I-I wanted to."

"And then we got into that fight and I didn't want you to have to wake up to that." He was crying, that hurt me more.

"You begged me to try. I couldn't do that to you."

Without judgement or reaction, he simply asked, "You told them?"

Nodding, I finally fell into his embrace, letting him hold me and I breathed in the scent of his clothes. His fingertips ran across my hip, circling on the bone and he pressed a soft kiss into my shoulder, it warm under the fabric. "I don't wanna do this anymore, I don't wanna be like that again."

And he cuddled closer, he was always good at that, holding me and warming me all over. His free hand curled around mine and he was trying to keep the questioning light but I knew it hurt him. I knew that he wanted to know everything and I wanted to tell him the best I could. "Why didn't you call me?"

He was making all the motions he did to relax me and it was starting to work, I was starting to feel less worried and his fingers lacing through mine was enough to make my body finally go slack. He pulled my hand up, pressing a kiss to it and I breathed out a shaky breath.

"I didn't think you'd care."

And he paused, tears building up, I could feel them in my own chest... I could feel him crying, it wetting my hand only slightly until he'd let go and he sat all the way up as if it were something he wanted me to remember. And I never forgot it.

I leave in a month, for another three months. I don't know how we'll survive that.

"God, Jules, I don't know what I would do if I lost you." His lips were trembling and he'd reached back for my hand, eyes boring into mine, he was so serious and I knew it was truth, he was so honest at that moment, it scared me. "I don't give a fuck if we're not together, okay?"

He blinked back tears, staring up at the ceiling for a second and I could see how much it hurt him. He always cared, "I don't care if you're with someone else or I'm with someone else or we didn't end well. It could be three in the fucking morning, if you ever feel like this again, call me."

"I love you, Julian, and I'm not gonna stop."

: : :

"Julian." That was Danny, I'd cowered out, pushing all the pills back into my bottle and shoving it in the dresser. I'd put his bottle back, not caring how gone it was, how gone I was. Mixing pills and alcohol did nothing but put you in a sluggish high and my bones felt so heavy as I laid down on the floor. I could only take two. "Hey, hey, are you okay?"

My head felt heavy, it laid back on my bed and my vision was blurry.

I could barely hear him above all the sloshing in my head, it pounding so hard I could basically feel my brains melting and I still had my finger hovering over Paul's contact.

If you ever feel like this again, call me.

"Go away." My voice was slurred, it hoarse and full to the brim with tears, I wouldn't kill myself that night, not with Danny finding me already, I couldn't do that to him. I just needed him to leave, give me some time to fall apart, make sense of this pain in my chest.

I missed him and I never stopped.

"Man, what did you drink?" That was Danny again, ignoring my requests and he was walking over to meet me, kicking things out of his way, he never cleaned really and me being so down, I hadn't been cleaning either. Maybe that was what set him off, what made him aware of how messed up I'd been.

The destruction from my breakdown was still lingering around and Danny was pulling me up by my arms. "Get up." I gave no effort, my body too heavy for myself and I just wanted to lay in bed for the rest of the night. I was so tired. "Come on."

"Jus' go 'way." Hiccuping through it, I slumped my head into the darkness between folded arms, my eyes blinking closed and I just needed to sleep. My chest hurt so bad, it making me winded and Danny wasn't helping.

He wasn't giving up though, despite how shitty I'd been to him and his voice got softer for a second, it sounding worried. It was too late, he was so worried about me, he seemed to care and I wouldn't kill myself when we lived together, not in this dorm. "You could have alcohol poisoning, man, no."

He was a good person, a good friend and I couldn't do that to a friend.

"Please just leave me alone, Danny." And I was sobbing again with no explanation but everything in me hurt again, my entire body hurt from the inside out and I wasn't sure that this would ever pass. "Please."

And it was silent for a second, quiet and I was so sure he'd given up when he'd walked away but I heard keys rattling. He was picking up my sneakers next, tossing them by me and I could barely move to reach them. "Put some shoes on, we're going to the clinic." He didn't see the pills or he didn't think to mention them, he thought it was a drinking problem and I didn't have any intention on correcting him.

If I kept denying, he'd have called someone to get me, it was easier to just go with him and when he'd forced me up, he'd then forced me to the elevators and then my car. Shoving me in the passenger seat, Danny sped to the clinic and I didn't know what I did to deserve any of this.

Pity me.

A/N:

—

—

—

at first, I didn't think people would like this chapter as it's predecessor was more depressing but I think it works because he's going through an episode and there's highs and lows between that in themselves. I also think there's a more resolved ending, like he's coming to terms with it but I don't know.

tell me if it's unrealistic.

Updated: Sunday, August 11th.

Did you expect Julian's college boy story to be this sad/mental health centered? Do you like it?