lobotomy ; gawsten

ii

trigger warnings for anxiety/panic attacks/mentions of suicide

It hurts.

And it's not a localized hurt, not concentrated to one specific area. It's not sharper or heavier anywhere; it all feels the same and all hurts equally as much, as he blinks for the first time.

He screws up his face and squeezes his eyes shut; too bright. Hurts too much. Not doing that again.

The light is like a laser that focuses directly on his eyes, shoots and stabs and injects his veins with doses of pain. And they travel, light up every part of his body until he's trying to curl into himself, attempting to pull his legs to his chest and wrap his arms around them. He can't. He doesn't know why he can't. All he can comprehend is that moving – or trying to move – his right leg, just, didn't happen.

It didn't.

It didn't move.

"Awsten? Kiddo, can you hear me?"

It's a man's voice. He doesn't recognize it. He turns his head away and squeezes his eyes closed tighter for good measure, I'm not opening them again and you can't make me. Maybe if I think it hard enough, this'll be a dream.

It's a nightmare he needs to wake up from because he cannot be here, ending with this outcome. He can't do this. It can't be like this he can't do this this isn't happening he isn't still alive it was supposed to fucking work why didn't it work why aren't I dead what the fuck-

It was just supposed to be over it wasn't supposed to be this-

"Breathe. It's okay, Awsten. You're in the hospital. You're okay."

I'm not no I'm not supposed to be here it wasn't supposed to not work why didn't it work this wasn't supposed to happen no no no please this can't be happening get me out of here I can't be here please it was supposed to work nonono-

He opens his eyes and the lights still feel like fire, like sparks sent on a straight path in the air to inadvertently bury themselves in his hair, drill a hole into the top of his skull and localize themselves there. The room is a blurry mess of shapes he can't navigate, fuzzy blobs that culminate right in front of him. He can't make the person out. He can't make any of it out. He can't. He doesn't want to.

His chest hurts as the breath hitches, hangs in its confines and dangles its feet, begs to be released into the rest of his body, quench the desert-like structures begging for moisture, but the shackles pull tighter and everything constricts even more and his vision goes dark again.

He can't breathe.

Everything hurts and he can't fucking breathe.

"Deep breaths, c'mon, you're okay. Everything's gonna be okay, I promise. Just stay with me, Awsten. I gotcha."

He can barely hear the words. They sound like the person is speaking underwater. They register and then fade. His head feels too heavy, too full to store the information. It presses against the edge and then drops to the ground, unused, unneeded, unnecessary when all his body wants to do is panic.

This is too much.

It's all too much, it's all been too much. It was supposed to be over. It wasn't supposed to be this why is it this why is he still here why am I still alive I didn't want to be I didn't fucking want to be why am I still on this godforsaken planet with this shitty fucking existence I didn't want it I didn't want it I didn't-

"He's...hyperventilate..."

"...ribs..."

He's trying to breathe but the air isn't enough. He needs more than it can offer him; his tank is too big and the tiny droplets it provides get sucked up too quickly. He's trying to breathe but he needs more air.

"...breaths, c'mon...in, and out. Focus on that." He squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to inhale heavily. He sucks in the breath a little too fast and feels it in his chest as he coughs it back up, but the air stays. It settles and moves, down to the parts of his body that are screaming for air, but it stays.

He takes another. And another. Breath after breath until he doesn't feel them anymore, until he can open his yes and survey the room and not feel like his chest is in ruin. He blinks rapidly and tilts his head back into the pillows; lets out another heavy exhale, before he looks up once more.

"You okay?" A woman has joined the man, liquid-filled syringe in her hand. His eyes lock on it. He swallows. The breath catches once more. "Whoa, hey, no, it's okay." The man must've noticed, because he takes a seat on the edge of the bed and moves so he's in Awsten's line of sight. "She's not gonna give it to you, okay? That was just for if we couldn't get you to calm down, but we don't need to use it anymore."

"W-What..." The words hurt coming up. His throat burns.

The man sighs. "Yeah, talking's gonna hurt for a while. You screamed yourself pretty hoarse when they found you."

Found me...jumped...the roof...

Holy fuck.

They say that memory comes back in flashes, but this feels more like a tidal wave, a tsunami-strength disaster that slams into him with its claws out, grips onto his body and shoves into his side, you jumped you actually jumped you climbed up there and you fucking jumped you jumped you-

You jumped and it didn't work.

You jumped and it didn't work.

You jumped and it didn't-

His chest feels like it's collapsing in on itself, like the realization was enough of a sledgehammer to send straight into the bones holding everything up. They're breaking and disintegrating and everything is falling into a pile of debris that pulls his heart right with it. It's jagged and messy and everything is stinging and it all hurts it hurts so much he can't-

"Who're you?" He doesn't want to talk about it. He doesn't want to talk about any of this. You jumped and it didn't work you jumped and it didn't work you jumped and it didn't-

The man smiles and holds out a hand. "My name's Lucas. I'm a psychiatrist here. I...I heard about what happened, and I thought it'd help if I was the first person you talked to, y'know? The staff here is great, but I didn't want them to just sedate you and let you sleep off more drugs if you woke up and panicked."

"Yeah, I guess, um..." He trails off and shakes his head, moves his gaze to the bandages traveling all the way up his right thigh. "My leg hurts. It hurts a lot."

"You broke your femur, Awsten." Lucas sighs, meets his eyes and shakes his head. "Snapped it clean in half. Along with five cracked ribs, a nasty concussion – that's the headache, I tried to get them to make it as dim as possible in here; I know you're hurting a lot – and some heavy bruising and scrapes everywhere." He pauses and motions to the band that wraps across his foot. "They splinted your leg and gave you a little something for the pain, uh...there was a massive accident on the freeway a couple hours ago, so all our operating rooms are booked at the moment. They need to operate on your femur, but a couple people are ahead of you, so you're just gonna hang here until an operating room opens up, alright?"

He has to nod.

There's no other option.

You jumped and it didn't work you jumped and it didn't work you jumped and it didn't-

There's a lump in his throat and everything is swelling again. The ache is big and lodged behind his eyes, pressing harshly against the bone. It hurts. It all hurts. It's one giant wave that crashes over and over again, hits and then builds back up, grows to tsunami level every time and doesn't miss a beat. Tears are burning his eyes and starting to collect in his field of vision. They're blurring everything. It all hurts.

He swallows, feels the burn again and squeezes his eyes shut.

"O-okay."

note: lucas is not tm lucas. this is an original character y'all might recognize from dichotomy, tdiu, basically...any story i've written that needs a therapist/psychiatrist. he's too fleshed out not to use and i'm too attached sorry lmao i'm lazy and don't wanna develop a new character every new story also i can't write a character that isn't fully developed basically all these things are excuses enjoy lucas he's here to stay

thanks for reading, y'all. hope you enjoyed.