This has the same trigger warning as last chapter, plus suicidal thoughts. Stay Alive, frens. |-/

Jenna

After dropping Brennan off, Josh and I head to Tyler's house. We talk about what we're going to say to Tyler and about whether we should confront him with the possibility of him cutting or not.

"I think we should wait to ask him about that," Josh says. "If we confront him when he's upset about something else, then it might just add to his emotional burden."

I nod. "That's probably the better alternative."

We pull into the Joseph's driveway. Josh parks and turns off the engine. He looks at me and breathes deeply. "Have you seen Tyler very upset before?"

"Well," I begin, "there was the time that he had that panic attack in the woods, another time when he didn't get out of bed before school, and the car radio thing."

Josh shakes his head. "If he left without saying anything to us, then he could be more upset than that. Let's just say that if he yells at you, don't take it to heart. He's just a man of strong emotions who has a difficult time expressing them without music."

I nod, which Josh takes as a signal to end the conversation and climb out of the car. We walk up the porch steps to the front door. Zack answers when we knock.

"Hey Josh, Jenna, what are you guys doing here?" He leans against the doorway.

I decide to talk instead of Josh. "We just wanted to check up on Tyler after his last game. Is he here?"

Zack nods, then a pained look crosses his face. "Yeah, but he seemed kind of upset when he came home. He went directly downstairs without eating or talking to anyone. I think he just wants to be left alone."

"May we still see him?" Josh asks.

Zack sighs. "Well, try what you can. I'm not sure how much you'll get out of him."

I murmur a thank-you and follow Josh downstairs. The basement light is on, but when we reach the bottom of the stairs, Tyler is nowhere to be seen. Josh and I look at each other. We examine the room. Tyler's gym bag is carelessly thrown on the floor by his bed. His ukulele, keyboard, and drum kit sit in their usual places. The TV and video game console lay untouched. Everything in the room is in its normal place. We turn to the rooms that branch off from the main one. The closet door is halfway open, revealing darkness beyond. However, Tyler's bathroom is the complete opposite, the door closed and its light shining through the crack underneath. I motion to Josh, and we walk up to the door, pressing our ears against the white wood. Muffled cries come from the other side. Josh frowns at me.

I knock on the door. The sobs stop. "Go away!" Tyler yells in a watery voice.

"Tyler, it's me, Jenna. Josh is with me. We just wanted to check on you and see if you're okay."

Silence. Then: "Does it look like I'm okay?"

"I don't know, we can't see you," Josh jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

A sigh comes from the other side of the door. "Could you guys just...leave? Please?"

I lean against the door frame. "Tyler, please open the door. We just want to help you."

"I don't need help. I just need silence."

Somehow I think he's not talking about us being quiet, but maybe someone else.

This time Josh speaks. "Ty, we're concerned about you. We just want to help. What happened at the game?"

"Just leave me alone!" Tyler yells. "I'll talk to you some other time! The real Tyler isn't available right now!"

Josh lightly puts a hand on my shoulder. "I think it's best that you go," he whispers. He guides me away from the door and out of Tyler's earshot. "I'm going to stay here and wait for Tyler to come out of the bathroom. I think he'll feel less threatened if there's just one person here. He needs his brofriend."

I nod. "Okay. Just tell him to call me."

Josh nods. "I will. Now, I'll take you home then come back here."

"We're leaving, Ty. Please feel better, and call me if you need to," I say. He doesn't answer. Josh escorts me up the stairs and out the door, where the concern and worry for my boyfriend only grows.

Tyler

You're such a failure. You lost your last basketball game and messed up in front of the college representatives. You're never going to get that scholarship now.

I sit on the floor of my bathroom, my back pressed against the side of my bathtub, the fiberglass chilling my back. (A/N: That moment when you yell from your room asking your mom what material bathtubs are made of XD) I clamp my hands over my ears.

Jenna, Josh, your family, your parents, your teachers, and the whole world is disappointed in you. Did you really think you could impress anyone? It's not like anyone would care if you got the scholarship or not, because no one is going to remember your name after you're gone.

Maybe the voice is right. Who would remember me one hundred years from now? I'll just be another body in the ground, another name on a headstone. No one will miss me. No one will wonder what my life was like. No one will even know my name. I'm too small to the rest of the universe to even matter.

That's right, Tyler. Nobody cares enough about you to remember you. You don't matter.

"Just leave me alone," I whisper. I look down when I feel warm drops on my hands, and only then do I realize that I'm crying again. If only I had made the team win the game, then I would've had a better shot at a scholarship. Now Josh, Jenna, my family, and many others are all disappointed in me.

The voice grows louder and more insistent until it's a blend of multiple voices all wanting the same thing.

Kill yourself.

Just get it over with.

You'd be doing everyone a favor.

No one will miss you.

Pathetic

Stupid

Waste of life.

Skeleton

Rotting flesh

The tears come again. "Please stop," I whisper in a hopeless plea.

I'll stop when you're dead, or when you find something stronger than me to block me out. Like that's gonna happen, right?

"That's it," I say. I stand up on shaky feet and stumble over to my counter. I stare at my blotchy, tear-stained face in the mirror while my hands rummage through the drawers for my blades. The razor has seemed to be the only outlet to my mental pain lately. I take off my shirt. I've learned not to do it on my arms or legs. That's where people notice the scars. And I don't want people—especially Jenna and Josh to find out.

I force myself to make three more cuts near the ones I made yesterday across the middle of my stomach. Sadly, it seems to get easier every time I do it. I stop after the fourth, the pain banishing all of the negative thoughts and voices from my head. It numbs me. Pulling my gray shirt back on, I look in the mirror one last time, then splash water on my face. I unlock my door and switch off my light. My jaw drops when I almost trip over Josh sitting cross-legged on the floor, blocking the path to my bed. Two microwaved taquitos sit on a paper plate in his hands.

"J-Josh," I stutter. "I thought you left."

He shakes his head. "You know me better than that. Of course I'd stay."

"And Jenna?" I gulp.

"I took her home, said you would feel less cornered with only one person here."

"Oh," I murmur. I hang my head. "Sorry for being such a jerk and trying to push you away."

"You're okay," Josh replies. His eyes wonder to my stomach area, making me feel self-conscious. I look down to see my shirt sticking to my body, red seeping through and staining the gray fabric. Crap. So much for hiding my cutting relapse.

Josh whole face turns sad like an abandoned puppy, which only makes me feel worse. "Oh, Tyler—"

"I got my period," I blurt, completely out of excuses. Then, I completely break down—again.

"Aw, come here." Josh stands up and puts the plate of taquitos on my bed, then holds out his arms. He embraces me without saying anything else. I lean into him stiffly but gratefully. We stay standing by my bed. "Why do you do this?" he whispers rhetorically. "You've forced me to stop. What makes you think Jenna and I would allow you to get away with doing it yourself?"

I shrug. "I didn't think you guys would care." I sniff and wipe off a tear on Josh's shoulder.

Josh pulls away just enough to look at me seriously. "If we didn't care, then why would we have come over tonight? If you thought we didn't care, then why would you try to hide your relapse? If we didn't care, then why did we come to your game? Tyler, if we didn't care, then why on earth was I talking to Jenna about the possibility of you cutting again on the way to the school?"

I start to cry even more. "I just want to show Jenna that I'm strong, that I'm a guy worth having in her life. I don't want her to see how broken I am. That's why I stopped cutting when she showed up. When I was around her, the voice was quiet, at least most of the time. She is my antidote. She dulls the slicing words and scars that the voice leaves in its tracks. It was moderately quiet until she got kidnapped. T-Then my radio got stolen, and it made the voice talk even more. I didn't want Jen to know that it was getting stronger, because I didn't want her to worry. I just want to be the guy that's right for her."

"Tyler, Jenna wouldn't have even dated you if she didn't see something in you that touched her. She knows that you're struggling right now, but she thinks you're strong because you fight. You're a fighter. And not only that, you make other people fight, b-but in a good way. Just look at all of the people here in Columbus and beyond that you've inspired—that we've inspired—through our music. Actually, you're the one that's done it all. I just play the drums. You're the one that sings the inspiring lyrics telling everyone that there's hope out the window and to keep fighting through the darkness so they can see better days. Heck, I'm pretty sure you've kept people from killing themselves­, Tyler. And that's a big deal. You saved someone's life. And now you've gotta save your own."

"But it's so hard, Josh," I sob. "It's so hard when there's a voice constantly in your head, judging and criticizing your every move. I can't live one minute when it's speaking. All it wants me to do is to kill myself."

Josh puts both hands firmly on my shoulders and looks me square in the eyes. "You're not going anywhere with Jenna and me around. You've inspired too many people to leave like that. Don't you see? Music battles the voice. Has your voice ever criticized you when you were singing?"

I stop to think for a moment. "Well, no—"

"Exactly! There's no room for it to talk in your head when those inspirational lyrics are streaming out of your mouth. Just try to sing or write a new song when those thoughts and feelings get to you. Even if you need to cut, at least try the song thing first. And get more rubber bands. Or squeeze ice cubes until your hands go numb and hurt.

"Remember when I started cutting back when I was fourteen and fifteen, around the time that I almost got kicked out of the house? I remember you were so upset when you found out. You told me to try to play drums to see if it helped at all, and it did! So what I'm saying is: Please find a different emotional outlet. I know it's hard to stop, but you can do it if you've made other people stop through your music. I believe in you."

I offer a small smile. "Thanks Josh." I glance at my bed behind him. "I think our taquitos are cold."

Josh laughs. "Really? I give a long and emotional speech and all you want to talk about are taquitos!?"

"What, I'm hungry!" I complain. We both laugh and sit on the floor with our food, leaning against my bed.

Josh takes a bite and swallows. "I can't believe you were so desperate to keep your cutting a secret that you said you got your period. Boy, if Jenna was here..."

My face heats up. "You'd better not tell her."

"Or what?" he challenges.

"Um..." I grapple for some reasonable threats. "I'll kick you out of the band."

"Pfft, like anyone will believe you."

"I'll post it on our website and on my YouTube channel."

Josh gasps in mock horror. "You wouldn't! Anything but that!"

I grin evilly and ruffle his flaming-red hair. "I'm glad you stuck around, partner."

He shrugs. "It wasn't a problem. I'll do anything for my fren."

It's silent for a moment. "So, I mean, you can like, go home...if you want," I say awkwardly.

"Nah, I can stay a little longer. We should play Mario Kart to loosen up the mood."

I shrug. "I'm game." I throw the paper plate in my desk trash can and walk over to my TV, which Josh is turning on, along with the gaming console.

"Mario Kart cures everything." Josh and I laugh as he picks Luigi. I pick Mario, as usual. We start our first race—Mushroom Gorge—and I win. I realize something as I race: the carts don't have radios, and the racers aren't going through existential crises because of that. They're just getting on with their lives. They're too focused on their ride and on the race ahead of them to notice that they don't have a radio. Maybe I need to be like them. I just need to find something else to distract me from my thoughts.

"Ugh, why am I such a deep person!?" I groan.

"There's nothing wrong with being deep," Josh says, making his character maneuver around a banana peel.

"If you just heard how deeply I was thinking about Mario Kart, then you wouldn't be saying that."

Josh laughs, and we continue to play. "So, how many songs do we need to finish our next album? I want like a...Goldilocks album."

My brow furrows. "A Goldilocks album?" I laugh.

"Yeah, it's like an album that doesn't have too many songs or not enough songs on it. I don't want a really good album that only has six songs on it, because then I'll want more. But if the album makes you exhausted or relieved after listening to the last song, then you know you have too many. I want enough to be satisfied. So, how many songs do we have written right now?"

I think for a moment. "Well, there's Ode to Sleep, Holding Onto You, Kitchen Sink."

"Forest," Josh adds. I nod.

"Slowtown."

"Lovely."

"House of Gold."

"Is that all?" Josh asks.

"Yeah, but I'm in the process of writing two."

"What are they called?"

"The one that I showed you on piano a few months ago is Trees. I have all of the words down, but now I just need to write the music for it. Then there's another one that kind of blossomed in my mind back when I had the panic attack in the woods. I haven't given it a title yet, but I took some of the lyrics from Blasphemy and used them. So, with those two, that makes nine songs on an album."

Josh thinks for a moment. "I think we should have twelve to fourteen on an album, kind of like how we did on self-titled. I think fourteen is a good number to have, especially if we're going to have large time gaps between releasing new albums. We don't want to leave our fans with like, seven songs, then not be active for two years."

"Yeah, true," I reply. I let Josh select the race, which happens to be Rainbow Road. A challenge. We fall silent as the race begins.

Josh leaves around ten o'clock after beating me seven to four. My phone pings with a text from my red-haired buddy as I'm brushing my teeth.

My Fren:  I meant 2 tell u that Jenna wanted u 2 text or call her tonite. She was pretty worried.

Me: Ok thank you. Ill just text her bc shes probably asleep by now.

I spit in the sink and rinse my mouth out, then text Jenna.

Me: Hey, Josh gave me a long talk earlier after u left. Im feeling better now. :)

She responds almost immediately.

Jenna: You finally texted! I was getting worried!

Me: Sorry. I didn't mean 2 worry u. And im sorry for pushing you away and yelling at you earlier.

Jenna: It's fine. You were upset.

Me: do u wanna go on a date somewhere on Saturday 2 make up for my attitude?

Jenna: Sure!

I send a smiley face then set my phone on my nightstand. I take Josh's advice about working on more music and sit at my keyboard for a bit, trying to compose something to accompany Trees. It seems like a song that would be relaxing but energizing, joyful but at the same time powerful.

"What would a walk through the woods sound like?" I murmur. I close my eyes and think of birdsong, leaves rustling, and streams bubbling. A piano would definitely be the right instrument for this piece. Pianos are relaxing. Well, usually they are.

I test a few notes. Whole notes make the song seem too slow to have energy. I reduce them to quarter notes. Better, but not energetic enough. I experimentally play an e flat and f sharp in an eighth note exchange. E flat, f sharp, e flat, f sharp, e flat, f sharp, e flat f sharp. I smile at the rhythm I've made. Not too bad.

Eyelids drooping, I take note of it on a sheet of paper then walk over and crawl into my bed. My eyelids shut as soon as my head hits the pillow. I didn't realize how tired I was—mentally, emotionally, and physically. I'm grateful that for once, sleep came so fast.

A/N: I couldn't find another way to end this. Sorry. :\