the boy from the library//andley ddlb

chapter 11 *whoop whoop*

**::**ok so has anyone seen this picture before, cause it's fucking awesome. ^^

**::** ok so i wanted to start this off saying that this chapter is going to be centrally focused on andy's depression and other mental issues. this is not going to be a happy or easy to swallow chapter, i genuinely want to make sure that this chapter is well written and good. if  things to to do with depression, anxiety, eating disorders, self-harm, and semi-suicidal thoughts trigger you, please please don't read.**::**

there's blood on the bathroom floor again, mother would be ashamed.

my head is the one that's guilty, but my soul is always blamed.                                                               

three months older, three months clean, i thought that i might win, but once again i find my self digging graves into my skin.

no amount of promises can make or break the fight; do not believe that i am well from the sonnets that i write.

it's survival of the fittest, not everyone will thrive.

we're pushed so far that we go against the instinct to survive.

its been a rough day, well more like a rough week, god i'm glad its saturday. i don't know what it is and i thought i was getting better but i just kinda had another breakdown, i guess not even someone as amazing as ashley could help me. if not even ashley could help me, nobody probably could.

**::**

i tear open the box in the top of my closet and grab the small hollowed out journal. i grab one of my blades and walk across the hall into the bathroom. i shut and lock the door and run some water in the sink, starting to carve out my arms.

one i decide i'm finished i start rummaging in the cabinets under the sink, i found the first aid kit and took out a couple packs of gauze. i also grabbed a wrap and stuck the gauze onto my arms, securing them by wrapping the bandages around my frail forearms. mom would never notice the missing supplies, she never looked under the sink anyways.

these word are not polished, these word are not pure.

these words are venom purged from my veins and poured out onto paper. 

these words are poetic poison. 

i slipped on a flannel to cover up my arms and shoved some extra gauze into my bag. i slung my bag over my shoulder and headed out to the small cafe downtown that i promised to meet ashley at. 

i make it to the cafe and walk inside, i spot ash at i small table in the back. i walk over and slide into the seat across from him.

"happy birthday andy!" oh, i forgot that it was my birthday. 

"thanks, you really didn't have to bother, its not a big deal" i genuinely didn't want any attention brought to the subject.

"of course it's a big deal, it my boyfriends birthday," ashley says, "hey i'm gonna go order, do you want anything?"

"um, could you get me a black coffee?" i stammer 

i begin to pull out my wallet when ash interrupts me," no, i'll pay, i'm just glad your eating something."

some days i'm okay, while others pull me to the ground.

i'll dig through dirt searching for the happiness i found.

the darkness scares me more now that i see the light; that flare of hope is pushing me not to give up the fight.

ash comes back with our stuff and hands me my coffee. as i start sipping on the warm beverage the cafe starts to get more busy.

"hey do you wanna go back to my house?" ashes asks.

"yeah, can we just settle in and watch a movie maybe?"

"of course, lets go." 

we get up and walk until we're in  ashley's neighborhood. we go inside his house and he goes to put on a movie. i tell him i'm going to the bathroom and take my bag up there with me.

i take the spare gauze out of my bag and start re-doing the bandages on my arms, i peel off the gauze, put them in a small plastic bag and shove it back in my bookbag, i couldn't dispose of it here and risk someone seeing it. i open up the new pack of gauze and start to layer in onto my arm.

digging up your arteries to fine proof of something more- i want  to see blood or bones or nerves or anything at all.

therehastobesomethingmore 

(right?) 

a never ending search, a hollow hole, a space inside a sentence.

i tried to scratch under the surface but you are all skin, and skin, and skin.

*knock knock knock*

"hey andy, you've been in there a while." 

"sorry, i'll be out in a minute." i quickly respond.

"are you ok?" he asked with concern lacing his voice. 

"yeah i'm fi-ne." dammit, dammit, dammit, andy why'd you let your voice crack like that. 

"you obviously aren't fine andy, i'm coming in." 

the door opens and ashley walks in.

"oh my god andy what did you do?" he shouts, "let me see it!" 

i shake my head lightly.

"andy," he says sternly, "give me your arm." 

i meekly stretch my arms out and hope he doesn't peel back the gauze, but to no avail because he takes off the gauze and immediately runs some water and sticks my my arms under it. he grabs a washcloth and puts a small amount of soap on it. he pulls my arms out from under the water and get the washcloth wet, and takes the soapy rag and runs it over the cuts. it still stung on some of the deeper ones that hadn't healed over yet and i hissed from the slight pain. ashley just clenched his jaw and kept working.

when he was done cleaning them he picked me up and walked over the his room. he sat down on the bed and settled me in his lap, holding my back so i had no choice but to rest my head in his neck. 

"don't you ever do that again. you deserve so much better than whats going on in your head, than what your doing to yourself. no more blemishes in your perfect head, no more marks on your perfect body." 

don't tell me my brokeness is beautiful.

this is not beautiful.

this nearly killed me.

this is not something for you to romanticize.

i am beautiful.

this

(depression)

(anxiety)

(pain)

is not.

ash lays down with me laying on top of him. he pulls a blanket on top of us and after i little bit i hear has breathing even out. i decide i should try and sleep to. 

**::** ok so this was 1087 words long so i'm pretty sure that makes it the longest in the book. also the poems in italics where written by caroline kaufman and are from her book, light filters in poems.

        adrian, who got really sad writing this**::**