Small, unfinished things

No One Would Notice Me If I Left

Laurens sat on his bed, scrolling through his various social media accounts and texts. There were posts from all his friends, loudly proclaiming their adventures, political stances, or just reposting an old meme. Truth be told, John hadn't posted anything in a while just because his life hadn't been very interesting recently. As he looked through a particularly active group chat oh his, John noticed how whenever he disappeared for a significant length of time there were no "Where's Laurens?" messages. It was stupid to feel insecure about such a thing, absolutely moronic, but he still wondered. Were his friends really his friends? Or were they just putting up with him because he was still part of the chat? John shook his head and though to himself "Get a hold of yourself, Laurens. You're not fucking teenager anymore." He decided to out his phone away for a bit and maybe read a book or something. That resalution only lasted about 10 minutes before his self control broke and John found himself reaching for the device. He scrolled through page after page of messages where he had said the wrong thing, or came off as too self centered. Before long, the though surfaced: I bet no one will notice if you just stopped posting. You're too self centered for your own good. John clicked the power button, and flung it across the room, trusting in its sturdy case. After sitting in silence for a few moments, John sighed and got off the bed. He headed to the bathroom, picking up his phone in the process. John couldn't resist checking it once more. In the group chat his friends were talking about something that John couldn't decipher. He bit his lip, feeling the negative thoughts flood his brain. God, not now, he thought desperately, clutching the sink. John's breathing became faster and shallower, his thoughts racing to keep up. Your friends don't care, they wouldn't notice if you were gone, they would be relieved. John tried to fight it, but one glance in the mirror shattered his composure. He was wide eyed and panicked looking. Strands of his curly hair had come undone from his hair tie, and his completion was pale, save for the two dark circles under his eyes. John sank down and sat with his back to the cabinet, hugging his knees. Don't cry, don't cry, god please! But the thoughts kept coming. Whenever anybody needs help you just disappear, then come back the next day and expect everybody to deal with your bullshit? You're so concerned with yourself you don't think for a second anyone has it worse than you. In every single conversation you manage to make it about yourself. And what's so interesting about your life? No one cares, John. No one will ever care about you. He sobbed, and started crying into his knees, all the while hyperventilating. John peaked out from under his arms and saw his phone on the floor. He grasped for it and blindly called the first contact his fingers reached. She picked up on the third ring and said "Hello, John? Why are you calling me at almost 1 am?" Eliza's response was met with another broken sob. "Oh, John... I'm coming over, ok? Are you panicking? Can you breath with me?" John's breath hitched, and he stammered out a garbled "Yeah." Eliza started counting breaths in french, and John attempted to follow, shaky at first, eventually settling on an even rhythm. After about ten minutes, John heard the lock on his door click. Eliza's footsteps echoed in the hallway, getting louder until she reached John. He lifted his head, revealing his tear stained face. "Eliza," he choked out, before being enveloped in her arms. She stroaked his hair, and whispered "Shh, John. It's gonna be alright. You'll be okay. Are you good to stand?" John nodded, and the two of them walked back to the bed. John layed back down, and Eliza tucked the blankets in, before asking "Do you want me to stay?" John muttered "Please," before falling into a dream less sleep.