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Lo'ak x Tsireya: Saviour Pt 2

Enjoy :)

A/n at the end, please take the time to read it

T/w: Very depressive thoughts; bordering on suicidal & alcohol use

...

Lo'ak hadn't drunk this much alcohol ever. Like, ever. He was only 17 after all.

He stumbled on the pathway, stumbling over his feet. He carried the carton of beer in one hand and the beer he was drinking in the other. As he drank them, he discarded the glass bottles in the bushes of the house he was walking by - giggling at the thought of the teens who would be yelled at in the morning.

The thought kept him occupied until he realised that was him. He was going to be the teenager getting yelled at, wherever he went. He regretted leaving, but in his melancholy state of mind he could see no other solution to getting along with his father. He had to leave at one point, right?

He couldn't go home. He couldn't bare to see the looks on his siblings' faces, on his mother's face. He hiccuped, tears running down his cheek, running into his mouth. His nose was runny and he pressed his hands to his eyes, trying to see past the image of his mother - would she welcome him home or would she tell him to leave again? He didn't want to risk it. What if she told him to leave, as soon as he came back? When he would knock on the door, would she open it just to slam it back in his face? What if she told him she never wanted to see him again? 

Lo'ak's chest hurt. His whole body hurt.

And small Tuk- would she cry for him tonight, or would she wake up in the morning like nothing happened? Would she even ask where he went? Why he wasn't at home?

It would be for the better if she didn't.

Lo'ak threw the empty bottle he was holding. It smashed on the pavement, though Lo'ak couldn't see the shards of glass through his tears. Was it the bottle sparkling on the ground, or was it just another tear?

He fell. When his knees stung, he guessed it was the glass that was shining on the ground. How funny was it; the only thing lighting his life right now was the ground? Lo'ak sat on his heels. He dropped the carton, sagged his shoulders. What the hell was he doing? Why was he here?

Why was he on the streets, or why was he here at all?

He picked up a shard of glass, squeezed it in his hands. Winced when his skin pierced, when red trickled through the lines in his palm and over his knuckles, down his wrist.

Maybe he deserved all of this, all of the pain. Maybe it was all his fault.

What was keeping him here?

His own family didn't want him - well, maybe that was dramatic. But his own father didn't want him, how could that be any more obvious? He told him to leave, goddamn. There is nothing more obvious than that. Other than his family, who else did he have?

Tsireya, he thought. She made him feel so good, so happy. Like there was nothing wrong with him, like he deserved to be loved - not just as a family obligation. She made him laugh, told him he was beautiful and funny and worthy. 

"Tsireya," He whispered. He blearily opened his eyes, staring at the stars. Tsireya was his star - stars could light the way, right? 

He slowly stood up, folding more than once when he lost his balance. He stared down at the carton. There weren't many left. What if just quickly drank the last few? It wouldn't hurt. He knew he shouldn't. What would Tsireya think? What would she want him to do? What wouldn't she want him to do?

She wouldn't want any of this. Not for anyone.

But it doesn't matter what people want. Lo'ak stared at the wounds on his palm. He turned his hand over, following the trail of blood. He looked down at his ripped shirt, his soaked shorts, his bruised knuckles. His ribs ached, his head hurt so damn bad. It didn't matter what other people wanted.