The Forgotten Ring

Chapter 18: Empty

⚠︎︎ Trigger Warning ⚠︎︎ mentions of depression, self-harm, and hospitalization.
If you or someone you know is struggling with self-harmful thoughts or behaviors, call your national suicide hotline (988 in US) or your national emergency number (911 in US)

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Adrien stares at me, his eyebrows furrowed for a moment. I see a look of intense sadness overtake his features for a spilt second before it fades again.

I immediately feel bad for asking. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"No, no," he murmurs. He takes in a deep breath. "I can do this. I just...it's hard to pick just one moment."

I feel a pang in my heart. "Then, I don't know...what caused it in general?"

He looks at the ground and lets out a humorless laugh. "In short, everything kind of fell apart after my mom...."

I nod solemnly. "That can be your whole answer if you want."

"Well, now that someone's finally asked, I want to keep going," he shrugs. "I feel bad about burdening you with this, though."

"Don't be," I say quickly. "It's no burden. I asked sincerely."

He sighs and leans on the wall of the building. I join by his side.

"I think...my whole life I've felt useless. I feel like I've needed to prove myself—to something or someone, I don't know. Maybe myself. I've had this constant pressure to be perfect. And that's what I was.

"I was as good of a kid as I could be. Everything came so easily to me. My parents were so proud. When I got something wrong, they were there for me. I was isolated, but I was happy. It was just me and my parents. Our perfect little family."

He let out a shaky breath. "And then my mom got sick."

I rest a hand on his leg as he continues. "I'm not sure what it was, and if my father did, I don't think he'll ever tell me. One day, my father took her somewhere. She was barely alive by that point. I assume it was some kind of hospital, but I never saw her again. That was basically the last time I really saw my father, too."

I can tell by this point that he's just barely holding in tears. I take his hand softly and squeeze it in reassurance. He shoots a small smile my way before returning his gaze back to the ground.

"I guess that was the most traumatic moment, but really it just set off a chain reaction of more bad events. I was already homeschooled before, but I felt more isolated than ever. I had no friends, and basically no family. My father tried to keep up the image of me being the 'perfect child,' but without Mom to keep him in check, it turned into this obsessive control. I was bombarded with responsibilities and the second I didn't meet his standards, I was punished. At the time, I thought it was just how he handled his grief, so I gave him some slack. But it's been five years now and I'm an adult, and he hasn't stopped.

"It got to the point that I was barely myself anymore. I was just his idea of a perfect son. I obeyed his every word and had no outside influence that wasn't his own. He decided everything for me. I became angry. I started acting out more, little by little. I tried so hard to please him, but he only ever focused on what I did wrong. On top of that, he was never around. I had to schedule dinner with him, and even some nights he didn't show. It felt like he didn't love me anymore. It felt like no one did. I was trapped."

He fiddled with his fingers. "It got really bad in my last year of high school. I convinced myself that I wasn't needed by anyone, that even my friends hated me—the real me. Everyone only knew me as perfect, but it wasn't me!" His voice began to rise in hysteria. "Everyone only liked the person my father had made, and the second that I showed a bit of who I really am, I was shut down. They hated that side of me."