If I Stay✔️

37

A/N: I listened to Anson Seabra- Broken as I wrote this and it had me sobbing.

trigger warning: mental illness, suicidal thoughts and depression.

L E O

My eye lids are fused to my waterline as darkness consumes me. My first thought is that I'm dead, but then reality hits me like a fucking bullet and I slowly begin to realise that I've failed.

Out of everything, I thought dying would be simple.

I thought dying would be the easy part.

They say drowning is painful, but they fail to tell you that it's only painful if you fight it. I didn't fight, I didn't swim, I sank and I allowed the water to invade my lungs, I allowed my mind to fall into darkness, and I felt free.

But, like many times throughout my life- that was only for a moment, just a moment. And despite my best efforts, here I am, still trapped in the same mind- the same life I was trying to escape.

Dying should've been easy.

***

Muffled voices surround me, the baritone clashing with a soprano as orders are screeched from my left side to my right. I can feel their hands on my skin, their touches lingering, forcing me into a state of panic.

I can't breathe, I'm gasping, I'm fighting with everything I've got as the burning in my chest builds up. The feeling reminds me the mid-summer sun, so hot that I could combust into a ball of flames.

"You're okay, Leo." A woman's voice says, her southern accent thick like honey, "I need you to calm down for me." She tells me softly but I can't.

I can't calm down, not when all I can focus on are their hands poking and prodding me- hers included as she rubs circles on my forearm. A gesture seen as comforting, so innocent and pure. Yet, here I am, traumatised and immobile.

"You've got a breathing tube down your throat, sugar. I need you to focus on my voice and try to calm down. Can you do that for me?"

I want to scream, I want to slap her hands away and just tell her to stop. But my arms are like jello and I'm tired, i'm so fucking tired.

A cooling sensation evades my veins (a clear indication that they've drugged me) and surprisingly, my panic slowly eases as my once fused lids crack open- ever so slightly.

The fluorescent lights are blinding, their full strength compromised by the four unknown faces that are hoovering over me- studying me. Their bodies protecting me from the wincing glare of the fluorescent glow, almost like a shield.

"I'm going to take the tube from your throat, Leo. I need you to stay still. It'll be over in less than twenty seconds," the doctor tells me, his beryl eyes familiar, yet daunting.

My eyes are wide as I watch him, his left hand grips the plastic tube, whilst his right holds my jaw steady. My throat burns as he pulls at the object, I gag and splutter as my lungs inhale every speck of viable oxygen and the burn only intensifies.

"That's it," Dr Owens cooed. "Just breathe, you're okay." He tells me, watching intently as I continue to struggle. "Let me get you some water, it'll hurt to breathe for a little while."