⚠️WARNING!⚠️
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A/N: Mentions of drug use, Alcoholism, Smoking, Bad Influence for young audiences, Triggers, Self Hate/SA, Kidnapping, Assault, Might be cringe??

You have been warned.

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Stik sat in his room, the dim light from his phone casting an eerie glow on his face as he mindlessly scrolled through social media. He wasn't really looking at anything, just flicking his finger over the screen, moving from post to post without absorbing a single word or image. His eyes, glazed and tired, kept glancing at the happy, laughing faces of people in their perfect little worlds—friends, families, couples—all seemingly untouched by the weight of life's struggles. He felt a tightening in his chest as he saw pictures of his sister Beth and her family, smiling, basking in some shared joy. Their son, Jr., was perched on Zione's shoulders, arms flailing in excitement as Zione spun around, both of them laughing. Beth stood beside them, eyes twinkling, a soft smile on her face as she watched her husband and son.

Stik's heart sank. He stared at the screen for a moment, feeling that familiar, hollow ache deep in his stomach. He wasn't bitter or angry. Just... empty.

"Why can't I just be happy?"

The thought flickered through his mind like a passing storm cloud, quickly followed by the old, familiar weight of self-doubt.

He HATED being the one to admit his feelings—always had. He never saw them as important enough, as worthy as anyone else's. His thoughts were just noise, background static to the symphony of everyone else's lives. He'd been raised to believe his feelings didn't matter. So he kept them hidden, buried beneath layers of sarcasm and indifference, hoping no one would see how broken he felt inside. He was aware of it, though. The constant awareness that he might be judged or misunderstood if he ever did open up. And worse—what if they just didn't care?

Sighing deeply, he scrolled again, but the act was mechanical now, detached. His thumb brushed the screen, his eyes unfocused. Each post, each picture, was like a reminder of how disconnected he felt from everything. Like he was watching life from a distance, unable to really participate in it. He felt like he was faking it—pretending to be part of something he didn't understand. Pretending to be happy, when all he really felt was numb.

He dropped the phone to his chest, the weight of it like an anchor. His fingers rubbed his eyes, pressing hard as if to push away the dull ache that had been there for weeks—months, maybe even longer. He couldn't remember a time when he'd felt truly happy. Or maybe he just didn't know how to recognize it anymore.

Lying back on his bed, he stared up at the ceiling. The fan spun lazily above, its hum the only sound in the quiet room.

If I died tonight, would anyone be there by my side?

The thought hit him like a bolt of lightning—shark, sudden, and terrifying. It wasn't a thought he had often, but it was one that had been creeping in more and more lately. It felt like a stupid, melodramatic question. He could almost hear the voice in his head mocking him for even asking it. But it lingered there, refusing to go away.

He HATED himself for thinking it. The darkness of his thoughts felt like an unwelcome visitor, lingering too long in his mind. And yet, he couldn't shut it out. He couldn't stop asking it.

He needed a way out. The urge to do something—anything—was overwhelming. Something to drown out the noise, to escape the quiet torment in his head. Something to feel alive again, even if just for a moment. He muttered to himself as he swung his legs off the bed, feet hitting the cold floor with a soft thud.

"Man... I need a release..."

He moved toward his dresser, his movements automatic. It was all routine now. Grab the boots. Pull on the oversized hoodie. Slip into the sweatpants. They weren't much, but they were enough to get him out the door. It was like a ritual, this small act of leaving, as if stepping outside could somehow clear his mind, give him a break from the weight that had been pressing on him for days, weeks, maybe longer.

He grabbed his keys and swung open the door, stepping out into the crisp night air. The world outside smelled fresh, like rain had just kissed the earth. The scent of dew and iron filled his lungs as he inhaled deeply, letting the cool air fill him completely. For a moment, it almost felt like a second chance, like there was still time to fix something—anything. But then that familiar heaviness crept back, a constant companion he couldn't shake.

He locked the door behind him, then turned to slam a small knife into the frame, a note attached to the handle.

"Went out for a walk. Will be back soon."

He'd been doing this for months—putting up the note every time he left the house. It was a small lie, but it made him feel like people might think he wasn't disappearing into his own isolation. He didn't want anyone to think he was spiraling, or worse, to worry about him. So, the note stayed there, just another part of the charade he carried.

He shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets and started walking down the street, no particular destination in mind. The local convenience store, The Blak Market, was only a few blocks away. He walked slowly, letting the rhythm of his footsteps ground him. His earbuds went in, and he cranked the volume up to full blast.

"No Bad Friends" by Coffv & saaaz thudded in his ears, the beat reverberating through his chest. The lyrics seemed to wrap around him like a comfort, though it was just a temporary escape from the noise in his head. The song had been his anthem lately, the chorus looping in his mind even when he wasn't listening to it:

"I can see you here with me; 
Can we just hang out? 
Can we just hang out again?"

The words felt like a call for something he couldn't quite grasp—connection, maybe, or just the fleeting illusion of companionship. The song, the rhythm, the lyrics—they all blurred together as he walked on, lost in the music, lost in his thoughts, as he made his way toward the store. It wasn't much. But it was something.

A small, unspoken cry for help, carried in the words of a song. It wasn't a solution, but it was a distraction, and at the moment, that was all he needed...

A/N: IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG 😭😭😭

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