Trigger Warning |-/

A/N: I'm making two chapters because I'm nice.

   •Tyler•

    I stare at the space on my dashboard that once held my car radio. Now there's just a mass of tangled wires. My stomach drops, and I begin to feel my insides breaking apart. The radio was my one escape. The one thing keeping me safe from the voice in my head while driving. Turning it on was like an assurance that I would stay safe on the road; that I wouldn't pull the steering wheel and end up hurting myself or someone else. Now that assurance is gone.
   
    Jenna's voice makes me jump. "I'm sorry about all of this, Ty." Her voice is soft, but unsteady, like someone trying to balance on a wobbly beam.

   "It's okay," I reply softly, staring down at my steering wheel.

   "No, it's not." I look up and realize why Jenna's voice is so shaky: she's visibly trembling from the cold that my body has apparently chose to ignore.

   Yeah, let your date freeze to death, Tyler.

   I frantically stick my key in the ignition. "I'm sorry!" I take off my suit coat and fit it around her shoulders. Then, I turn the heat all the way up and blast the fans at the highest setting.

   "It's okay. The cold isn't your main focus at the moment."

   I have a sudden urge to cry right here. Why does Jenna have to be so nice to me!? What did I do to deserve this beautiful girl!? Why is she still holding onto this relationship when she knows that I'm a mess inside!?

   That's what I'm wondering. Who would bother to love you?

   I feel a light, gentle hand touch my shoulder. "I'll drive," Jenna whispers. I don't protest. We get out of the car and trade sides.

   Jenna pulls out of the parking lot as I stare at my hands resting limply in my lap. She huffs in anger. "I honestly don't know why he's doing this to you. He just needs to find someone else to pick on. Better yet, he needs to be punished."

   My brow furrows in confusion.
   Is she talking about me? What did I do!?

  A lot.

   "Um...who?"

   "Brendon!" Jenna snaps. I flinch. She sighs. "Sorry. I just figured you had put two and two together already."

  I shrug. "I guess I wasn't really thinking about who the culprit was." It is silent as Jenna takes the route home. Well, the cab is, anyways. As for my head...

   Think of all the conversations we can have now! I can actually talk to you since you don't have that dumb radio to drown me out! Now I can always remind you of what a waste of life you are and increase your existential crises!

   Jenna's voice interrupts my thoughts. "Tonight was nice up until the stolen car radio part. I had a great time."

   "Yeah, I did, too," I reply dully. "Even if it didn't seem like it." Why is she so patient towards me? Why doesn't she just snap at me already for not showing any appreciation?

   Why hasn't she left you?

  "Okay, we're here." I look up to see Jenna turning into her driveway. She parks, and we both climb out.

  "Again, I'm sorry about your radio," she whispers. "Call or text me if you need to." I stand frozen as she leans in and gives me a whisper of a kiss on the cheek. She blushes in the light from her porch. "I'm still getting used to the whole touching thing again. I'm getting better, though."

   I offer a small smile. "That you are." I lightly squeeze her hand. "Goodnight."

   "Goodnight." And with that, she walks up her porch steps and into her house.

     It takes all of my remaining mental strength (which is depressingly low) to make it home and back into my room without crying. I break down the second my foot leaves the last basement step.

  Flinging my suit coat off, I curl up on my bed and let the wave of tears engulf my body and sweep me away. I'm crying over a radio. Why am I crying over a radio? But wait, it's more than that. I'm crying about this past month-and-a-half.

   Men don't cry. Goes to show you're not a real man.

   "I don't care what I am at the moment," I mutter into my pillow now damp from salty tears.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out to see a text from another unfamiliar number.

   (748) 555-2835: The whole radio joke was funny. I have to give myself credit for that scheme. What you gonna do now, little head case? Write a pitiful song about it?

     I shake my head. I can't do this anymore. Throwing my phone on my bed, I pace my room as the voice starts talking again.

  He's right. That was a good joke. You should write a lame song about a dumb radio that no one will ever like.

  "Won't you go to someone else's head?" I growl.

  Hmm......Nah. But I think you know how to shut me up.

  "My radio is gone. I don't feel like playing music."

  I'm not talking about that.

  I feel myself pale. "No. I've been clean for seven months. Ever since I met Jenna."

   Do it.

   "No." I go to my desk and dig through a messy drawer until I find an old rubber band. Slipping it onto my right wrist, I snap it repeatedly, the elastic leaving pink lines on my skin.

   Just once.

  "No." I snap the rubber band more frantically. Tears spill out of my eyes. I can feel myself spinning further out of control.

   She doesn't have to find out.

   "But she will at some point!" My voice rises in pitch. "I don't want to worry her or be a burden!"

   Believe me, even though she says it, she doesn't care enough to worry about you. No one cares about you.

   "Uragh! Just go away!" I clap my hands against my head. The shock from the rubber band has faded into a numb sensation. I need more, but I don't want it.

   Yes, you do. You know you want to get rid of me. Do it, and I'll leave you alone for the rest of the night. Jus td oit.

   Great. He's getting more insistent. I shake my head. "No."

   Y ES.

   "No!"

   Itw on't kil lyou.

  "NO! STOP IT!" I pull on my rubber band so hard that it snaps. I kneel on the floor in defeat, putting my head in my hands and choking back a sob. "Fine."

    Goo dTylr.

  My feet force me to stand, leading me to my bathroom. My hands unbutton my shirt, letting the white cloth fall carelessly to the floor. Do these hands even belong to me? They rummage through the drawers until finding a blade. It's like I'm behind a TV screen, watching the situation unfold on someone else.

    A single tear slips down my face. "I'm sorry, Jenna." Through blurry vision, I lift the blade to the skin on my stomach, pleading silently for her forgiveness even though I know she can't hear me.

   And with that, the blade tears into my soft skin, shattering the seven months of relief that I've savored--all because I had control over a stupid piece of metal.