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trigger warning : mentions of mental illness, suicide and anxiety.

Zac's heart thudded harshly against his rib cage as he made his way through the teen home. He barely took in the scenes around him, his eyes blurry as he desperately tried to hold back the burning tears that brimmed his waterline. His mind and feet worked as one as they led him to the reception desk. Locking eyes with the woman behind the counter, he gave her a pathetic, barely noticeable, tilt of the lips.

She looked at him with what Zac could only assume to be sympathy. Her eyes staring intently into his as if she knew exactly what had happened only moments ago.

Did she know? Zac thought, swallowing the harsh lump in his throat. Did she truly know how much his heart was hurting, how every given beat felt like a sucker punch? No, he decided, giving his head a slight shake. She couldn't know how this felt. He didn't want her to know how this felt. He wished he didn't know how this felt.

Their stares held for a few moments longer, an unspoken mound of pity pouring to him from her stare alone. Zac didn't like the way she looked at him, he didn't want pity, he wanted answers. He needed answers. He needed someone just to tell him what the right thing to do was. He needed someone to tell him that this was the right choice. He'd never wanted, no, needed, his mother's reassuring hugs and his father's wise words more than he did right now.

The sympathetic smile on her lips faltered slightly, and Zac wondered if she could actually hear his unspoken thoughts, if she somehow knew exactly what he wanted. Whether she did, or not, he'll never know. Instead of saying anything, she lowered her gaze to the wood and pressed the buzzer beneath the desk. A soft beep echoed in the air, the sound alerting Zac that the doors were now unlocked and if he wanted to, he could escape from this same place he'd be leaving his son a prisoner to.

He lowered his eyes from hers, shamefully. Gulping slightly, his feet felt like they'd fallen asleep as he slowly moved towards the exit. His hands frantically gripped the brass handle bars, trembling profusely as he pulled the door from the latch, allowing him to run in the opposite direction of where he should've been going, where Leo needed him to be.

As Zac's feet stumbled from the off white floors of the teen house, to the outside concrete, his cheeks flushed red in an instant, the cold march wind infiltrating his skin like a million prickly needles. The bitter chill caught in his throat and had him gasping. Or maybe it wasn't the chill, maybe it was just him. He was gasping when he should've been grasping — grasping onto Leo in the ways the younger boys eyes had begged him to.

I should've told him that his assumptions were false. I should've reassured him that whatever the voices told him — they were wrong. I should've done more, so much more.

But he didn't. He couldn't do that. How could he give Leo reassurance and tell him that everything would be okay, if Zac himself didn't believe that to be true? Sure, he hoped it would be, but hope and fact are two universes apart.

A broken sob broke through Zac's lips. He doubled over, releasing one pathetic sob after another. He didn't want to cry, but he couldn't stop the tears from falling, each and every droplet filled with the heart aching regret and uncertainty he felt. It was endless. They were endless. All he could do was hope that this feeling itself wouldn't hold the same fate.

After managing to somehow ease the manifestation of his tears, Zac tilted his wet face to the sky and closed his eyes. What have I done? Placing his hands on his hips, he exhaled breath after breath, gasp after gasp. What the fuck have I done?

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