Note: this chapter contains heavy reference to mental illness and trauma; detailed depiction of self-harm; and mention of suicidal thoughts — all of which, some readers may find distressing.

•••

"George?" Levi's voice perks up a little; although it still maintains the same air of mystery that it always has done. His tone hints at pleasant surprise, at the idea that his offer for George to call has been taken so quickly. "How are you doing?"

"Are you busy? I'd hate to be calling when you're busy," George responds, with every effort not to sound too nervous for fear of embarrassing himself.

"I'm not busy. Never too busy to talk to a friend." Just from the way Levi enunciates the words, George can tell that he's smiling; this is enough to encourage him that he's fine to keep talking.

"Well, I've not been great, to tell the truth." He expels a gentle breath; knowing he must now relive everything that happened last night, in order to vent how he feels. "Last night I went out with my friends for the first time in ages. It didn't end well."

"What happened, mate?"

"Well ... " He hesitates a moment, not quite knowing where to start with the explanation. His tongue glides across his upper lip to rid the dryness that has accumulated, before he elaborates. "There was a girl there. Jules. She was flirting with me shamelessly all evening. I—I told her to back off. Numerous times, in fact. But she just seemed so resolute in being around me."

"You didn't cheat on your lass, did you?" Levi sounds concerned, despite knowing that Steph means nothing romantically to George anyway.

"No. Not at all." Even with knowing Levi can't see him, he shakes his head to emphasise his answer. "She nicked one of my drinks after I'd bought it for my friend. Kept following me around. Uh ... " As he draws closer and closer to the climax of the story, his heart begins to palpitate; the trauma of the night comes flooding back. "It—she—I got mad—well, she tried to kiss me, but I pushed her to the floor and shouted that I was gay ... in front of the entire club."

"Yes mate!" Levi congratulates him playfully, as a means of trying to keep the conversation as lighthearted as he possibly can. "So you came out finally?"

"I'll get to that in a minute. So ... so anyway. My friend heard the confession, and was obviously confused. But, um, the security kicked me out for attacking Jules. So I got angry, and stormed out. My friend followed behind me. But then once I got outside, I started feeling horrendous. I mean, really bad." He pauses a moment, feeling a lump in his throat; he swallows harshly in a bid to eliminate the sensation it's causing. "I was sick everywhere, and I could barely stand; barely talk. For the record, I don't remember an awful lot of this. I'm just going by what Andrew told me — my friend."

"Shit," Levi curses, stunned at what he's hearing. "Did you get that drunk?"

"No. That's the thing. After I was sick, Andrew and I saw the security guard carrying Jules out of the club. She was being arrested for possession. And she'd been going around trying to spike people. Turns out, her only successful attempt was on me."

"Oh, my god." The shock is clear in Levi's reply. "So what happened after that?"

"Paramedics came and took me to hospital. I spent the night in there having tests and resting. I still feel rough now. It's put me off going out for a long time — that's for sure." George can feel tears forming in his fatigued eyes, but he rubs them aggressively with his thumb and forefinger to avoid crying. "It doesn't sound like much, but it's really shaken me up."

"No mate — it sounds absolutely awful," Levi reassures him. "But did this Andrew guy not ask about the whole 'gay' thing?"

"Yeah, he did — before Jules got arrested. But I told him that I only said it to get her away from me. I couldn't bear to have him find out the truth in that way; in a moment of my own personal weakness."

"It's not weak at all. You're way too hard on yourself, George." For some reason, this statement of encouragement brings some butterflies to George's stomach. He dismisses the experience hurriedly, as not to become distracted by it. "To admit you're gay to anybody, when you don't know how they'll react, is a scary thing. And in the world we live in at the moment, there's still plenty of people who don't accept it. I know it's scary, George. You don't have to try and self-deprecate to justify the way you're feeling."

"It's just, nobody understands how frightening it is, unless they're gay too," George adds. "It's one thing being an outsider who's more accepting; and another thing being the closeted gay person. You know what I'm saying?"

"I do. I really do. I promise I do. But you know you're not alone in this. There will be thousands — if not millions — of guys who are in the same boat as you right now." He sighs sadly, in such a way that it almost convinces George that Levi does fully understand. He knows, however, that a straight man can never get it; or at least, not to the extent George does. "There will be so many men who are too afraid to be who they are, because they're more concerned about what other people will think. They're too scared of being rejected by family; of being kicked out of their homes; of breaking apart relationships they're not happy in anyway. And it's so, so sad. And I do understand it."

"With all due respect, Levi — a man like yourself could never fully understand." George feels deflated now; he thought Levi was a little more considerate than this. He understands that he's only trying to make him feel better; however, in turn, it seems to be making him feel as if his struggle is just another problem that anybody can go through. As though, despite how personal this situation is, it's just something that should be pushed aside because others have it worse.

"George, I've told you that I do understand. That's why you can always talk to me in confidence — because I understand one-hundred percent."

"Don't hit me with that bullshit," George snaps; there's no aggression in his tone, but his choice of phrasing suggests his frustration. "I know you're only trying to make me feel better, but until you're hiding a huge part of yourself from everyone you know and love — you'll never even come close to understanding just how excruciating this is. Just how draining it is. How much I want to fucking end everything each day, because — by this point — it seems like the easiest thing to do." In disappointment at where the conversation has led to, he shakes his head to himself. "I need to go now. Have a good day."

"B-Bu—George—"

He doesn't give Levi the opportunity to get his response out, as he irately slams the phone back on its receiver. What was originally meant to be a chance to unwind all his negative energy, has become an altercation with a complete stranger that has only made him feel worse. However, much of this sudden, intense anger isn't aimed towards Levi at all — but rather, to himself. He immediately regrets the way he has spoken to Levi; but he is too afraid of picking the phone back up, to call and apologise. He hovers by the phone a few moments, in the hope that Levi will call back first. But when there's no ringing, even ten minutes after the call ended — George accepts that he's ruined his only chance at having a good confidante. He sucks a deep breath in, allowing adrenaline to push him into lifting up the phone and dialling Levi's number again. He holds it to his ear, letting it ring a few times; but to no avail, for Levi doesn't answer.

"Fuck!" George shouts, forcing the phone back down on the receiver once again. He runs his fingers through his greased-up hair; not caring about letting his nails dig into his scalp, with how immense his fury for himself is. He marches up the staircase, making a speedy bee-line for the bathroom. With a combination of adrenaline from his callback attempt, mingling with his weakness from being unwell; he snatches his razor from the cup on the windowsill, that he uses as a holder for his belongings. His legs give out, resulting in the poor soul falling to his knees painfully. With the same hand as he holds his blade in, he rolls the sleeve of his pyjama shirt up to his elbow; this is more of a challenge than he first imagines, due to the rapid shaking which vibrates through the core of his body. Once the dark-haired skin of his arm is exposed, his vision blurs. "I'm doing all of this to myself," he whispers; his utterance is shallow, and haunting. This is the last thing he remembers, as his senses almost seem to tune out entirely; he uses the shaving device as a weapon against his own vulnerable self, running it across his skin until the unmistakeable crimson spills from the fresh wound. His breathing unconsciously hitches, as the pent-up emotions finally come tumbling from his body; the air he's holding releases slowly, as melancholy relief washes over him. This is the moment when reality comes crashing down; as the initial poignant high of his act subsides, he looks down at the bleeding he has caused. His lips part in devastation, trembling as he tries to process what he has just done.

He rushes himself to the bathroom sink; knowing he must hide all the evidence of this brutal attack he's performed on his own flesh. He hopelessly drops the razor in the bowl as he turns the tap on; the water tinges a murky pink colour as it mixes with the blood. He runs his hand over the raw cuts; the stinging sensation brings him to flinch in agony. He knows, though, that this is something he has to tolerate for the sake of ridding any signs of what has just unfolded. "I'm so sorry," he mutters, only just audibly, as he begins to cry. "I'm so sorry for the way I am." His heart-wrenching sobs continue as he cleans himself up, before he presses a towel to his arm. "I'm so sorry for who I've become." He sniffles loudly, not being able to contain his heartbreak. "I'm so sorry I'm not who I wanted to be." His teeth grit together as he sucks another breath in; his brows furrow in emotional turmoil as he closes his eyes. "I'm so sorry I'm still alive. I'm so sorry I'm not dead yet. I swear I'll work on it. I swear." By now, his face is red and blotched, from all the tears he's shed; if he didn't have a headache before — he certainly does now.

He could easily cry his heart out for hours to come; but it is cut short when he hears the front door unlocking from the outside. In an instant, he panics — it must be Steph returning home. Not caring how much it hurts, he rolls his sleeve back down to mask the injuries he's inflicted upon himself; before he locks the bathroom door, so she cannot see him.

"Babe? I'm back!" he hears her call from the hallway downstairs. "I bought you some of your favourite stuff." When he doesn't answer her (for his voice would be cracked, thus giving the game away), she yells out again. "Where are you?"

Knowing he's got no other option but to talk to her, he clears his throat desperately. "Bathroom." As predicted, his speech quivers; but he hopes that the door between them makes this subtler. "I'll be down in a few minutes."

"Alright." Satisfied with his response, she gets to work with unpacking all that she's purchased.

George looks at his reflection in the mirror; humiliation at who he has become overrides all other thoughts he could possibly have. He'd rather not dwell too much on how much of a mess he has become; so instead, he gets to work on splashing his face with cold water, to eliminate the patchiness from his outburst. It takes a while, but eventually he achieves an acceptable level of normality in his skin tone; so he returns his razor to its holder, before heading down to see his partner.

"What did you get?" he interrogates, giving her the most realistic smile he can muster. "I hope you got some good stuff."

"You look like you're feeling better," she comments, bringing him into a hug. "You seem a bit more smiley now. It's nice to see, Georgie."

"Well, I'll get there eventually ... won't I?" he reasons, shrugging as if it's nothing to him. "Nothing that some love from the right people can't solve." He knows this is both an ironic statement, and a lie; but he doesn't wish to worry Stephanie.

"And you have a lot of love from me." She moves up onto her toes to kiss him once. "So we can get through this together. As a team." She withdraws from him, continuing to unload all the shopping. "I got this for you. And some of these." As she holds up various products, George raises his brows to suggest his interest.

However, his mind is solely focused on one thing — how close he is, to giving up on everything.

•••

Bit of a sad one today! But don't worry — it won't remain like this. Hope you enjoyed reading regardless. xx