Someone Out There Loves You (Adopted by Frank Iero)

68

ALEXA

Looking through the piles of clothes covering my floor, I realised so had no clean shirts. None. I didn't have many clean clothes, but zero shirts. I picked up a few that I thought were the cleanest and smelled them, but there was no way I could get away with it. No amount of deodorant or perfume could cover up that smell.

The depression was taking its toll. I didn't have any energy or desire to do laundry - I didn't even have it in me to carry it downstairs and put it in the wash for Frank to do, not that I would give him that burden in the first place, but in a hypothetical world where I would, I couldn't even muster the strength to do that. My basic self care had well and truly deteriorated. I was lucky if I showered once every three days, ate a proper meal three times a day, and evidently I would be lucky if I had clean clothes every day.

The taxing part in particular was hiding it from Frank. For the most part it was relatively easy - most of the day I was at school getting high, and I could hide in my room claiming I was doing homework when I'd get home, although sitting in front of homework would be a more accurate description, or in the basement where the lighting wasn't good enough to notice. But how long could it go without him realising I was looking more and more a mess? My hair was incredibly greasy and unwashed, the amount of deodorant and perfume I was wearing to cover up the smell of not showering, the lack of energy I had, how often I would lie down in bed, unable to get up. I was hoping it would go away when midterms finished and I could go back to normal, but it didn't. If anything, it was worse.

Biting my lip, I looked around my room hopelessly, praying that by some stroke of luck there would be something clean somewhere. All my hoodies were dirty, my long sleeves were dirty, my tshirts were dirty. I literally had nothing to wear to school.

It was one of those mornings where everything felt impossible from the get go. Still in my dirty hoodie that I'd been wearing for the past week that was definitely starting to smell, I slowly made my way to Frank's room. I knocked gently on his door, biting my lip hard the entire time and looking at my feet.

"Lex?"

Frank's voice was warm and loving, making me want to cry.

"C-can I open the door?" I asked weakly. If I were to have spoken any louder, my voice would have cracked.

"Yeah, what's up?"

Pushing the door open, I continued to stare at the ground. I swallowed the lump in my throat and took a deep breath.

"C-can I, um, can I please maybe borrow a shirt to wear? I haven't done laundry a-and I don't really have anything clean to wear," I whispered, shame weighing my head down. I could feel tears pricking to my eyes despite how much I told myself to cut it out.

"Oh uh, yeah, sure." He looked at the shirt in his hand which I was guessing he was about to put on and held it out to me. "Is my Jawbreaker one okay?" he asked, his brow slightly furrowed.

I gave a small nod, hugging myself. "Yeah, that's good. Thank you."

When I met his eyes his face fell.

"Lexa darling, what's wrong? You know I don't mind you stealing my shirts," he said, trying to keep it lighthearted with a half smile but the sadness in his voice was prominent.

I took the shirt from him and wiped my face with the sleeve of my hoodie which was pulled over my hand.

"I know," I whispered.

"What's got you so upset?"

I held onto his shirt tightly, looking back down at the ground. The tears were beginning to fall faster, any longer and I wouldn't be able to come back from it. I wanted to tell him how much I was struggling, that the sight of my room was bumming me out, that I was unproductive and unmotivated and letting my self care and basic hygiene slip because I was depressed but then I was also depressed because of all that and I couldn't for the life of me get out of that cycle of hell. But how could I tell him that without telling him everything else I had been hiding for weeks now?