GONER

28 • The Job of A Mattress Store

A/N: Seeing as this story will have to end eventually {{tears come to me after I think of this}}, I've started a lot of new joshlers. They're called The Complaint, Deep Breathing, and Control. So if you could check those out, I'd be very grateful :-)) Goner is forever my main, though, so.

Trigger warning in the beginning. Stay safe :-))

This is unedited, but I always do it later l o l

***

The thing about hurting yourself, is that you're never actually free from it. I've accepted that, but a lot of people don't understand it. Just because I've managed to stay clean, doesn't mean I'm not still addicted to it. I very, very, very much am, and this just proves it. If I was somehow over the sight of my own blood, I wouldn't be on the bathroom floor with a kitchen knife in my hands and a lump in my throat.

And this time, it had nothing to do with Josh. It had to do with the fact that I felt so alone and cut off from the world, and now that I had someone to talk to, it was so much worse being by myself. It all felt a hundred times more severe and heavy, and I just wanted to be able to sit next to someone, and not speak, and still feel okay. But that was a long shot, just like everything else.

~~~

"Do you think you can just leave?" My mom laughed quietly, and oh my god, she had more wine in her shaky, dainty hands. "Without asking me? How will I know where you're going?"

"If I die, I'll call you," I said slowly, shrugging my shoulders.

"You don't even have your phone."

"And who's fault is that, mom?" I asked almost inaudibly, slipping my feet into my shoes. I knew that vans weren't the most comfortable to walk in for significant amounts of time, but I couldn't care less, because the oncoming pain doesn't, and won't ever, compare to the feeling of staring at that stupid knife, or at her.

"Be safe," she said slowly, and I almost told her thank you. "Don't wanna have to do too much paperwork." A look of disbelief fell over me, and she shook her head, a small smile on her face. "It was a joke." She poured more wine. "Lighten up." Even more. "You take things too seriously."

"Bye, mom," I choked out, shaking my head.

~~~

I didn't know where I was going when I walked out of the door, and I kind of knew where I was.

I was walking towards a McDonald's without any intention of actually eating there, mostly because my feet were killing me, and because I wanted somewhere to sit. I needed to be somewhere people wouldn't talk to me, without blatantly ignoring me, and a fast food restaurant seemed the perfect place. God, I could pass out in one of the booths if they'd let me.

And it was so cold. It was so cold that my hands were almost frozen in their places around my jacket sleeves, and my fingers felt so brittle and weak. The features of my face felt very permanent, and I didn't want to walk anymore.

"Hey, Tyler!" Someone screamed, and I automatically went to panic. I hated when people shouted my name, and it took me a few painful seconds to gather the strength to turn my head in the direction of the voice. And it was Murphy, and I've never been so relieved to see a drug addict in my life. He probably shouldn't have shouted at me the way he did, because he also told me I seemed to be one to panic, but he waved, and then I saw that he wasn't alone. There was no one with him, but he held a blunt in his hand, along with a bottle of, what looked like water, and he waved it in the air.