pills ✧ tronnor

one

Trigger warning.

"Troye?"

Troye flinched at the sound of his name. The unfamiliar voice was muffled, as though his head was submerged underwater. Unable to tell who it was, he chose not to respond.

"Troye? If you can hear me, open your eyes."

Hesitantly, Troye opened his eyes. The bright, almost white, light from his surroundings burnt, causing him to immediately close them again. Then, much slower than before, he reopened his eyes. His gaze was met by an unfamiliar male figure, who was tall and well-built. As his eyes focussed on the figure before him, Troye could see a smile grow on the figure's face.

"Who are you?" Troye asked, his voice dry and hoarse. He attempted to clear his throat to no avail, and closed his eyes once again.

"I'm Doctor Jennings. I've been observing you for the past few hours to make sure you were okay." The figure smiled, his features soft and friendly, helping to put Troye at ease very slightly.

"Observing me? What for? Where am I?" Troye began to panic, his high confusion and worry making his heart rate increase rather rapidly.

"You're in the hospital, Troye. Don't you remember what happened?" Doctor Jennings lifted his thick, black framed glasses from the bridge of his nose and positioned them just above his forehead.

Troye remained silent for a few moments. "No." he lied. He could remember exactly what happened - most of it, at least. Although it wasn't something that he wanted to remember, it was something he couldn't forget. He knew that lying about his memory was unlikely to help the situation, he wasn't prepared to have to talk about it. All he wanted was to forget it, but it was as if it was permanently engraved into his brain, and it would be a memory that would scar him for the rest of his life. "I mean, yes.. But I don't want to talk about it."

Doctor Jennings nodded slowly. "I understand. But you can't ignore what happened. At some point, you'll need to talk to us about it, so we can get an understanding of why what happened, happened."

Troye groaned. "Fine." He lay back into the pillow and closed his eyes, a sudden wave of exhaustion hitting him like a train. He heard Doctor Jennings leave the room and close the door behind him with a click. No sooner than Doctor Jennings had left, Troye found himself slipping into a dream state.

Troye's head snapped up at the sound of a knock at his bedroom door. "Troye?"

Moments later, Sage poked her head around the door. "Tyde, Mum and I are going to watch a movie. You coming to watch it too?"

Troye shook his head, trying to hide how much his hands were shaking and hoping Sage wouldn't notice his puffy, bloodshot eyes. "Not tonight. I'm tired."

"Okay." Sage replied quietly before disappearing, closing the door as she left.

Troye tried to even out his breathing and calm himself down but nothing was resolving it. His anxiety had been higher than before, causing frequent panic attacks throughout the day. However, unlike the others, this one wouldn't seem to go away. His hands were shaking violently and his body was numb. In an attempt to feel something, he sunk his fingernails into his fist to the point of almost drawing blood, yet he still couldn't feel anything. His vision was growing cloudy and the only thing he could hear was his heartbeat in his ears, like two large bass drums were being repeatedly hit on either side of him.

'You're weak, Troye.'

Troye grabbed at his hair and buried his head in his knees. "Get out of my head." he pleaded, his voice no louder than a whisper. His hands were in tight fists and he was almost certain he would end up pulling his hair out if he didn't let go.

'Weak. Pathetic. Worthless. Stupid. Ugly.' Insult after insult was thrown around in Troye's head, all by voices he felt like he recognised but couldn't place on people he knew. They were growing louder by the second, until they were screaming from inside his brain. Troye shook his head frantically but they wouldn't stop. No matter what he did, they were always there, lodged inside his brain tormenting him day after day.

"Leave me alone!" he tried to scream out, but only a croak left his throat. "Why are you doing this?"

'Kill yourself. Die. Cut. Worthless. Die.'

Troye stumbled from his bed and shuffled across his bedroom floor in a hurry, his clouded vision and lack of hearing making it extremely difficult. He crossed the landing and locked himself in the bathroom, examining his appearance in the mirror whilst trying to ignore the voices still screaming inside his head. His hair was knotted and messy and his skin was white as a sheet, his red, puffy and bloodshot eyes contrasting strongly against the paleness of his skin. His eyes moved from the mirror to the medicine cabinet which was on the wall next to the door.

'Do it! Do it! It can be over so quickly! Do it, Troye. Do it!' the voices began chanting, and Troye found himself reaching for the cabinet door without a second thought. His eyes were drawn to an unopened box of paracetamol capsules, containing sixteen 500mg tablets. Troye knew that, surely, consuming the entire box would be enough to kill him. He looked back into the mirror and hesitated before proceeding to fill up the cup that held his family's toothbrushes with water from the tap. One by one, he popped the individual capsules out of the metallic packaging and lined them up along the outer edge of the sink.

The voices in his head wouldn't stop. 'Come on Troye! You can do it!'

Without thinking, Troye took three of the capsules and popped them in his mouth, quickly swallowing them down with a mouthful of water. As soon as he swallowed, the voices began to fade. He could still hear them chanting and encouraging him to take more, but they were quieter, and he was more relaxed again. He took the next three and swallowed them down, despite the large mouthful of water making him want to throw up. He knew he couldn't. Throwing them back up would bring the voices back and the torment would begin again. He had to finish this. He couldn't let the voices win. After swallowing twelve of the sixteen tablets, Troye began to feel incredibly nauseous. His legs were shaking violently as he tried to stand up. As he lost his balance he tried to grab the medicine cabinet for support, but the door came flying off and the mirror from the outer side smashed into pieces on the floor.

As Troye lay on the floor, surrounded by shards of glass that were slicing into the skin of his arms and hands, he felt as though he was floating. The voices had disappeared and he felt perfectly at ease. They were right, it would all be over quickly. Slowly, his eyes began to droop shut. For the first time in years, Troye felt completely relaxed. Gradually, everything turned black as he fell unconscious, and the colour began to drain from his skin as he lay surrounded by glass, empty paracetamol packaging, and small pools of blood that were gathering on the bathroom tiles. This was it.

He could be happy again.

A/N: I didn't want to make anything too graphic, but obviously I wanted a decent bit of detail to add to the emotion of the story, else it's pointless. I'm sorry about the way this chapter's been structured but it's more of an overview of what's happened and why Troye's in this current state. More will be revealed throughout the story, obviously, but this is just a brief outline of why he's ended up in hospital. I hope it hasn't been triggering for anyone and if anyone reading this IS going through a tough time, PLEASE talk to someone. Please don't suffer in silence, people can help and you can get better. It does get better, I promise.

If anyone IS struggling and needs someone to talk to, you can ALWAYS come to me. Please, please don't suffer alone. People care & want to help you. Stay strong.