𝑖 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢. [𝐴𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑛/𝐹𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝐼𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠]

♫𝐺𝑜𝑛𝑒♫

I'm just letting you know, this story is very hard to read, even for me who has written it. It consists of self harm, death, and very harsh topics that someone like myself handles quite poorly. So if you have experienced such things or don't take them well, I recommend that you don't read this until you're ready, or unless you won't ever be. It's completely okay with me.

If you are struggling with any of these issues that I have mentioned, or anything else for that matter, please talk to someone about it if you are hurting. Also, my dms are always open if you ever need to vent. Everything will be okay my loves.

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"I craved a glorious escape that was never there for me. I craved and felt hiraeth for something that never existed. Not even the sharp plane of a razor blade on my skin could offer such to me. How could something ever be good enough for someone who wasn't even that?"

Sharp wall molding jabbed into the skin of my back, its hardened plaster scraping viciously as my body slid down the wall of my home. My backside came into contact with the wooden floors with a thump, and tears spilled freely from my reddened eyes, its shape surrounded by a weary black. For hours, I've been trapped in this cellar, this hell that I called a home. My body was engulfed by the darkness that lingered in the corners menacingly, almost as if the absence of light could take the shape of a freely moving form and hiss at me with a dry, eerie voice, "He's gone, he's gone, he's gone". All that surrounded me felt like a reminder of my dad's passing. The books that lay untouched on the shelf that we used to read at night, its covers slowly gathering dust. The green Winnie The Pooh baby blanket he had given to me when I was just born. The framed photo of us outside fishing, his lips turned up into a grin, holding nothing but pure joy as I held my first fish I've ever caught in my tiny, infant grasp. He loved fishing. He used to take me out to the pond every Sunday, since we were not much of a church family, and thought it would be better to venture out deep into the woods to spot our favorite place. To escape. To get away.

I had not realized that just eight Sundays ago was the last time I would ever spend fishing with my father. It was growing dark at that time, and I urged him to catch a couple more so we could fetch my mother to begin cooking dinner. Something inside of him kept his body planted on the dock, and I groaned at his unmoving figure. Cmon, Dad. It's getting cold. I'm cold. Can we go inside and eat? With his famous fishing hat tipped low above his eyebrows, his fixated eyes not leaving the unmoving waters, he muttered a response. I can feel one coming, Y/N. I know I'll catch it. But why? It's getting late. Mama is probably wondering where we are. Just a few more minutes, sweetie. You can head back home now, I'll catch up. When I retreated back home, I had fully doubted his expectations for catching a catfish. Though, when the garage door slammed and heavy footsteps were heard echoing through the walls, I saw him with a million dollar grin... Holding the very catfish he deemed he could catch.

It all happened so quickly. The visit to his pond. His death. The sorrow. All of the events consumed me and ate at my flesh, leaving me to rot with grief all alone in my room. None of what I did was healthy. I have barely eaten a crumb in over the last two weeks, and I have not seen my mother since she had delivered the news of his passing; or, if she were to silently bring my meals up to my room. I physically couldn't stomach anything, couldn't converse with anyone without having the agonizing feeling of dying right then and there. I never expected for him to leave us so quickly. It made me want to scream until my vocal cords ripped apart, and maniacally destroy everything I came in contact with. But it wasn't his fault. The driver that ran into his car held all responsibility for his passing.

Ding!

A light from my phone casted its dull glow in my bedroom, and my hands let loose their nasty grip on my H/C hair. All of the messages I have received within the past couple of months have been nothing but fake sympathetic sorry's and wishes of good health in the future from random relatives I never knew I had. I had not replied to any of them, for I let them sit there, expectantly awaiting my thankful response. In which no one would ever receive such a thing.