+ Positively Negative - | Freddie & Joey

20. Freddie + Broken Once, Twice, A Thousand Times [Part Four]

A warning is definitely in order: Angst Ahead. A lot of it. In case you hadn't already noticed (which would be weird as I've piled it on as this story has gone on), Positively Negative is definitely an angsty novel. I would have put it under that category, had Wattpad had one for it. Also, self harm later in this chapter. But, yeah, beware. Brace yourselves, as I will for the onslaught of abuse and hate that will most likely radiate from this.

Try your hardest not to hate me, please. I beg of you all. It Gets Better.  

♥   ♥   ♥   ♥

Chapter Twenty

Broken Once, Twice, A Thousand Times Part Four

Freddie +

Dad laughed, his eyes lowering to the ground. "I don't even know why I'm surprised. Though it can't be denied that it's you," his gaze met mine, "doing the raping this time.”

I saw red. It was unbelievable, as if he'd flipped a switch. I pushed Joey aside as I lunged for my father, yelling obscenity after obscenity, but didn't land a punch.

Hands were reaching out and grabbing me, restraining me as the bastard stumbled backwards, surprised. As if my reaction wasn't to be expected. As if he wasn't in the wrong. Too many people were shouting my name but I wasn't understanding. The information wouldn't go in and be processed. I was too full already of the emotions I was going through. Tears escaped in rivers down my cheeks trying to relieve me of some of the pain as I choked and struggled.

Why?

Why did it hurt so badly?

Because I loved my dad. Because I wanted, so badly, for him to accept me. Because I'd suffered the accusing, judgemental, hateful glares for three years. I couldn't. Not anymore.

Not when I was finally a little more than happy. With Joey.

Not when he was dying.

I elbowed Lou.

That was what calmed me down. And as I watched her fall to the ground I wanted nothing more than to apologise. To hug her, and wipe the tears in her eyes that were, most likely, shed for my sake.

Instead I noticed the gasps that escaped mouths. The derogatory looks my father's colleagues were throwing my way. Mum's shoulders heaving up and down as she cried, my father still cowering by the stairs. Cath dropping to her knees, closely followed by Joey.

Joey.

He began to turn my way, but I'd backed away and fled to my room before that could happen. I didn't want to see an expression that would condemn me from him.

I slammed my door shut. I cried harder. I wept, and sobbed, then got angry and cried more. I swept cologne and pens off my desk, bottles and bottles of miscellaneous items off my shelves and threw papers off too. Books lay strewn on the floor. Nothing was worth anything. There was no point anymore. And with every sweep of my arm I would shout. Wordless, but full of anguish. And something inside me would reprimand. It'd say I was sinking into a childish depression, tantrums. Crying. What happened to dashing to a closet? Keeping myself to myself? The voice screamed that I'd been making so much progress over the years. I was sinking back again. It begged me to stop. But I didn't. Not until I heard a vaguely familiar ringtone. Vibrations in my shirt caused me to freeze momentarily.

Dmitry's phone.

I ripped my blazer off my shoulder and reached for the shirt pocket, pulling the ringing phone out. I pressed the green button.

+

"Freddie?" I said nothing. "It's you right..? Please answer..." His voice is so familiar, but I was right before. With the nostalgia and love it brought, there was a lingering pain.

"I'm here," I answer finally. Lowly.

There was a soft sigh on the other line and a rustle of movement. "I'm glad. I'm glad." A pause. "Are you okay?"

The easiest thing to say would have been "Yeah I'm fine. Good. Perfect." But it was a bare-faced lie, and I couldn't bring myself to say it.

"Why are you being so casual?" I asked softly. "Be serious. Get to the point. You're not coming back."

Dmitry hesitated, I could hear his stilted breath. It took me back to that night... The moon, the rising of his chest.

Fresh tears fell free.

"I'm not. I can't, my family-"

"They need you. I know."

"Finn..."

"Finn."

There was another pause. "But... I need to say... Listen, okay? Don't take this the wrong way like I'm so sure you could, because it's not you at all. It's me. Promise?"

I said "What is it?" because I couldn't promise what he'd asked.

"I can't... Stand to be with you." I shouldn't care. I have Joey. I should not care. "It just hurts. I love you, and I loved being with you last weekend, but it hurts. The whole time my mind is throwing pictures of what I'd done to you at me. Thoughts are attacking- I feel worthless. I feel horrible because of it. I want to die. And I can't even imagine what seeing me must do to you-"

I didn't hear anything else. I closed my eyes and parted my dry lips. "I'm sorry, Dmitry. And I love you too." Then I ended the call.

Depression is strange. Entertain a stupid thought -like the fact that you cause nothing but trouble for everyone, that it's better if you're dead- and the thought is likely to stay. Your brain is likely to believe it.

Even if you know someone loves you. Even if you have four sisters you adore, a group of friends, a new boyfriend... Even if positive thoughts are fighting to keep you afloat. The negative -like daggers- attack your blown-up boat. And you sink. You drown in the newly acquired darkness. Despite how bad you know it probably is, you like it there. It's safe, in a way. Free of pain. Free of hurt- you're numb of emotion. And in the darkness, the night, you feel incredibly alive, even if you're barely breathing.

That's where I was. I was hardly aware of the fact that I was shedding my clothing, letting them drop along with the phone, in the ruined room. Barely aware that I'd grabbed hold of a pair of scissors and was cutting in half the various bracelets that hid the scars on my right arm. They dropped like colourful debris to the ground, low little tinklings of beads and soft patters of rubber alerting me they'd hit the ground.

And then, fuck, the sensation of the blade against my already damaged skin, I closed my eyes; it was what I needed.

I dropped the scissors to the ground and padded numbly to my en-suite, naked, ignoring the ringing of Dmitry's phone. I retrieved my penknife from it's hiding place and looked up at the ceiling as I pressed it to my skin once again and drew across. At the familiarity I almost collapsed. Tears flowed quicker but I remained silent.

One more cut- and I'm asking why- with another slash comes the desire to die.

♥   ♥   ♥   ♥

PS: If you're thinking that Freddie is being over-dramatic/stupid or over-reacting in some way, do cut the guy some slack. I've made him purposely strangely calm through this novel, considering his dad's dying and-- well, you know as I do what this guy's been through (or, not quite all of it yet.. But soon). He's having a bit of a breakdown as it's all weighing down on him now. 

But, just think, where there is a victim, there must be a hero. When Freddie is falling, can Joey rise?

ALSO: Next chapter coming soon-- I promise on everything. Under three days.