Note: this chapter contains brief mentioning of toxic relationships; and some heavy suggestion of self-harm and mental illness.

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A few days come and go; and still George is none-the-wiser about when he's going to tell Stephanie about his secret. He has spent numerous hours awake thinking over the subject — rather than sleeping, or even eating. Existence is beginning to become so difficult to him, that he no longer cares for anything that he used to enjoy. Individual minutes seem to draw on progressively longer day-by-day; with something as simple as breathing starting to feel like a chore he has to face. He sits in bed, reading over a diary entry he wrote a few days back — after his humiliating phone call with the stranger called Levi.

Dear Diary,

Last night was a complete write-off. Stephanie went out with some friends, and I was left alone. The phone started ringing, so I assumed it was her. I picked up, and started rambling on about my sexuality, and the truth about it. After I'd done all that, I felt so relieved that I'd finally gotten it off my chest. But the worst part was, it wasn't even her on the phone. It was a total stranger. He sounded so embarrassed, because he had gotten the wrong number. He was meant to call somebody else. I really wish he'd have called the right number, and that I'd never have spoken to him ... because now I wouldn't be feeling quite so silly.

He did tell me it had taken me guts to admit to everything though, so I'll take the credit where it's due there at least. He told me his name was Levi, and he asked me for my name too. It's not as if we'll ever meet, but I can't take my mind off it. His voice was so mysterious, but his tone seemed sincere enough. I guess the point of me writing this down, was because this stranger is the first person I have ever told about me being gay. So despite it having no impact on his life, it's still a big deal in that sense. Maybe I can use the success of telling somebody in the world, to spur me on and motivate me to tell others. Because maybe, if a stranger accepts me for who I am, then my own family and my friends should too ... right?

Anyway, that's all from me, for now.

Yog x

"What are you reading there?" Stephanie's inquisitive voice causes George to freeze in his position; this is, until, he spots her coming to look over his shoulder. He abruptly snaps the diary shut, which results in her giving him a look of playful disgust. "Babe? Why can't I see?" She reaches her arms out, placing a firm grip on the little book; attempting to prise it from him. "Don't you trust me?"

"It's just very personal, and private." George manages to take control back of his collection of forbidden words; he speedily locks it with the padlock, rendering it impossible for her to open. "You know ninety-nine per-cent of my life. Let me have this one per-cent, please?"

"So you don't trust me?" she presses, her facial expression increasingly appearing irate. "You won't even let your girlfriend look at your writing?"

"Don't use that against me, Stephanie. It isn't about trust; not at all." He forces air through his nostrils, to suggest he's just as hurt at her reaction, as she is at his. "I just can't understand why you won't allow me some personal space. I know you get anxious, but I can promise you — I haven't written a single bad word about you in here." Having calmed down a little now, his expression melts into a much more mellow one; he gives her a closed-mouth smile, to reassure her. "You're fine. Okay?"

The skittish twenty-one-year-old tries her best to see his perspective. It is a long and agonising road to self-acceptance, and to healing after so much hardship in her past. She knows deep down, that George is correct in what he's saying — and that she is being slightly irrational. To finally give him a response, she nods her head. The guilt from upsetting her partner becomes a little too much for her to bear; she pulls herself away from him with no word of warning, moving to the foot of the bed so she's far enough away from him.

"I'm sorry," she mutters, drawing her knees up to her chest, embracing them tightly with her arms to keep them in place. "You deserve better."

"Hey, don't talk like that." Reaching across the bed to her, he cups her cheek with one hand. He uses his thumb to slide slowly over her soft skin, caressing delicately as not to encourage a reaction of fear from her. "You're wonderful. If anything, you deserve better."

"I could never deserve better than you," she corrects him, her voice a touch louder than before. "You're the first person I've ever met, who makes me feel safe."

Unspoken remorse simmers in George's head; but to give her some kind of response, he sighs. "Well, I'm glad to hear that. Regardless of what happens to us in our lives, I'll always have your back. Even if we don't stay together for life. You agree?" His eyebrows raise, taking them from a perfect arch, to a perfect curve.

"We won't ever break up, will we?" Her expression dissolves into one of apprehension; she leans the side of her head against her arms, which are still hugging her legs. "We don't have to think about things that won't happen, right?"

"Stephanie ... "

"Why do you keep calling me that?" She interrupts before he can continue with his sentence, uncoiling from her bundled-up position on the bed; standing up in offence. "You only ever call me my full name when something is wrong. Are you leaving me?"

"Hey—hold up now," George tries to calm her; he raises his arms in surrender. "I never said anything about it happening today. All I'm saying is — nobody can predict the future, can they? How do you know something won't come crumbling down out of our control, or something? Or what if we just fall out of love? Nothing is promised, ever. In an ideal world, we'd know who our soulmate is. But even with the way things are going for us, there's no guarantee for anybody that any relationship will last a lifetime."

"I don't know; it just sounds as if you're trying to break up with me." She scowls, backing away from the bed slightly. "If you are, just get it over with."

George's heart is racing; he's surprised she cannot see it palpitating through his chest. Now would be the perfect opportunity to come clean about everything he needs to say, and he contemplates confessing extremely seriously. However, he isn't given a chance to respond — as Steph aggressively makes a bee-line for the bedroom door.

"Where are you going?" George calls, his head jerking up like a meerkat's, to try and catch a glimpse of her as she turns down the hallway.

"Out!" she shouts back, with only brief elaboration. "I need some time by myself."

With those words uttered, George hears the front door bang shut. He freezes for a moment; his mind is trying to catch up to what has just occurred, but it perplexes him. Once he's processed what her reply was, he questions to himself, whether to go after her. But his logic remains, that if she wants to make a dramatic entrance — let her do it, and don't interfere. She is difficult to get through to when she's angry; something she learned from her ex-partner. He knows it isn't her fault, although it does strain the near-nonexistent relationship the pair still have. He has spent months, turned to years, trying to help her through her trauma — alas, the blame always comes back to him somehow.

With the house to himself once more, he racks his brain over what to occupy his time with. He isn't feeling the brightest lately, so it's hard to come up with ideas that don't bore him. With tears of frustration clustering in his amber eyes, he blinks harshly to provoke them into falling — not caring if they should stain his face, or not. Out of his character, he smashes his diary against the bed frame, in some feeble attempt to vent his rage at the whole situation he's gotten himself into. He can't even be too irritated with Steph, because what he is hiding is far worse, than her being annoyed with him. At least, that's the logic he follows, as his mind unfortunately spirals. He forces himself up from the mattress, heading towards the bathroom. Once he's there, his eyes scan his surroundings, in an effort to find something in particular.

George spots what he's looking for; grabbing it from the windowsill in a smooth, sharp move. His fingers aimlessly fiddle with the object in his hand, as his legs become slightly weakened, to the point of him needing to take a seat on the edge of the bathtub. It becomes a challenge to determine whether various aspects of his surroundings are real or fake; his senses distort, making the poor soul feel disorientated. He never expected that keeping a secret could make him feel quite so mentally unwell — but here he is, his vision blurred, having given in to dizziness; holding a razor blade within his trembling grasp. George's entire demeanour presents as though he has become possessed; the only thing he feels he can control in this moment in time, is his ability to sit upright — and even then, he is swaying subtly due to a slight lack of balance. For a moment, he miraculously tunes back in with where he is; his eyes widen simultaneously with his brows furrowing deeply, as he catches on to what his numbed mind is instructing him to do.

"What the fuck?" he questions rhetorically to himself, staring at the razor in disgust. "What good is this going to do, Georgios?" He throws the blade across the bathroom; it ricochets off the wall, eventually settling on the rug that's sprawled across the ground. His disappointment in himself is excruciating as he closes his eyes tight, with his eyebrows still knitted together. "This is all a joke, isn't it? Some sick fucking joke." His heart-wrenching war with himself continues on, as he debates against his own worst enemy, in regards to his emotions. "You need to just get on with this shit. Life doesn't bend itself to fit you. Just grow a pair and tell her what's going on."

His gaze shifts back over to the shaving device-turned-weapon that rests beneath him. His fury melts very rapidly into despair. His flushed face — a result of intense emotional overload — bows down, but yet his eyes remain on the razor. His brain persists relentlessly, in trying to tell him that what he's thinking of doing is a good idea; and with the more time that passes by, the more he finds himself agreeing with the sentiment. It reaches a stage of temptation, where George decides he must sit on his own hands, in order to refrain from making any regrettable choices.

"I can't do it," he whimpers to himself, in reference to his earlier commentary about confessing to Steph. He sniffles, as a reflex to his tears slipping past his nose; tickling his nostrils on their way down to his jaw. His lashes, wet and darkened from crying, touch elegantly against his upper cheeks as he closes his eyes; the fuzziness his vision has taken on, is too much for him to tolerate. "Why can't I just do it?"

Finally, he falls victim to his own inability to control himself; his hands are set free as he stands from the edge of the bathtub. George bends down, taking a hold of the shaving device once again. Woozy from having everything, yet nothing on his mind, he pulls off the safety cap that previously protected the young man from any potential damage. His cedar brown waves fall over his forehead, as his head tilts to watch his self-inflicted attack unfold. He positions the blade; it hovers just over the skin of his inner wrist, threatening to slice with just a single movement more. With a shaky breath inwards, George closes the gap between the weapon and his arm; but before he can make any form of incision on himself, the phone starts to ring downstairs. This is enough to startle George into releasing the razor from his grip; it drops to the floor once more, as he stumbles out the room to go and answer the call. Thinking it could be Stephanie, he brings the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" His voice quivers, thanks to the events which have only just been prevented by chance.

The familiar, enigmatic tone of the male stranger from before, greets him in response, on the other side of the line.

"Oh, finally. I've been trying to find this number again for ages. Hey, George."

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Chapter four! Someone tell me why it took me so long to write this one? Hope you enjoyed it, anyhow! xx