The Difference Between Fear and Terror

Untitled Part 37

Luke's POV

I can't do this. I can't do this. Why the fuck can't I do this? A dead man could do this, but not me. I can't even call Sang without freaking out.

I'm weak. Why would she ever want me? I'm am completely and utterly useless.

I pull at my hair, trying to calm myself down. A chunk comes out but it doesn't help. I throw it to the side.

I couldn't even protect her from that sick bastard. I am useless, worthless, comparable to dirt.

I scratch down my arm, uprooting the newly formed scabs. Blood trickles out, but it is far from enough.

No, I will have never endured enough punishment for what I put her through.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry for ruining everything. I'm sorry.

I pull my blade out from between my mattress and bed frame.

Life has no meaning anymore.

If I was to just disappear, would anybody notice? I've been in my room for three days. No one has told me to get out.

Nobody would care. I know that both in my heart and in my mind. I'm useless. The team could function perfectly without me. I don't have Kota's genius or Victor's computer skill. I don't have Silas' strength or Dr. Green's medical skills. I can't do anything special.

I am a burden. I am a burden on Uncle and North. I am a burden on the team. I am a burden on society.

I slide the blade across my arm, tilting it to open the cut wider. Blood rushes out.

Pain makes people change. I used to be happy, now I just hate. There is no point to living anymore.

Daydreaming is dangerous. It makes you wish for the unattainable.

I do it again, getting closer, deeper.

I just want everyone else to be happy. If that means i have to be gone, so be it.

And again.

Fuck this shit. Fuck the world.

Again.

I feel something so right even though this is so wrong.

Again.

I'm getting a little light-headed.

Am I a bad person for being apathetic about life? I remember being five and wanting to be a firefighter after they came into our class. I was so full of life, how did I lose that?

Black is on the edges of my vision.

Some pray the death away, but I welcome it with open arms.

I move over to the other wrist. Repeat the motion.

I'm a failure.

Again. Slice and tilt. Slice and tilt.

I'm just done. There is no point in fighting it anymore.

My left wrist. From my palm to my elbow. Drenched in scarlet.

Darkness.