That Boy Is Mine - LAMS

vingt

alex pulled at his hair and gritted his teeth, tears running down his face. fuck fuck fuck.

images of the incident flashed in his mind. god, he missed john.

after a few minutes of hair pulling, he stared into the black empty void as tears ran down his face. fuck

alex shut his eyes as more tears began to pour down his face. without much notice, one hand was pulling at the delicate strands of his own hair again, and the other clutching the edge of the bed. fuck. fuck. images of before flashed in his mind. he could almost feel the warmth of his... no. stop. this is how he's going to get sucked into the deep pit of depression.

what if you already...

no.

you should go to a therapist to...

no. if anything, he doesnt want to know. it will only increase the chance of... of... actually have it.

and in no way is it like having a fire behind you and pretending its not there. it's like knowing youre going to die but pretending youre not. if you pay attention to your upcoming death then it will only make matters worse and make you more stressed. which doesnt help. at all.

but... he wants to know.

fuck it. wait, no. no. no.

----

of course. the fucking microwave wasnt working.

this was all it took for alex to go mad. he slumped against the counter, his hands tangling in his hair as he let out a whimper. "oh god." after a few minutes of it still not working, he slammed the microwave shut, creating a loud bang.

"of fucking course." he muttered, stomping out of the kitchen. "of fucking course. my life is just fucking wonderfull isnt it?" he marched into his room, looking for something to throw at a wall. two dimes rested upon the floor, one ontop of the other.

he swooped them off of the floor and flung them onto the wall, making a loud clang noise, and them stomped into the computer room.

"how about i play the fucking sims? but, because of my fucking bad karma," he takes a few steps towards the computer chair. "its not going to fucking work." he shoves the chair roughly into the desk, and whirls around. stalking out of the room. "and thats because," he slams the door behind him and storms into the kitchen, throwing the microwave door open. "the world fucking–"

trying the microwave once more and realizing it still isnt working, he slams it close again, jumping at the loud noise. "–hates me."

he sinks to the floor, his hands making their way into his hair and pulling at it. forgetting that he needed to stop, as some of his hair was beginning to fall out.

he stood up again, ignoring how his head was now throbbing at how hard he was pulling, and walked into his room. he grabbed some unknown object off of the floor and flung it at the wall, watching it bounce off onto the floor. "why cant i have one fucking peaceful day!" he yelled to no one, tears running down his cheeks.

fuck.