When Both Our Cars Collide (Frerard)

11: A drink for the horror that I'm in

*trigger warning*

I awoke at four in the morning with a jolt, my heart was racing and I felt sick - not physically, but mentally. My dreams had been filled with dark thoughts and hateful voices; it felt like my mind was screaming at me, and as much as I tried to ignore it, I couldn't go back to sleep.

It was such a strange sensation, as if every nerve in my body was hypersensitive, and my brain was running at a thousand miles an hour. Every time I closed my eyes, the force of my thoughts intensified, and I felt as if I was going to have a panic attack.

This hasn't happened to me in a quite a while...not since Frank and I had gotten together, but it seemed even more powerful because of the long hiatus. This was why I used to drink myself into a stupor every evening, when I was wasted, my brain shut off, and I was able to sleep through the night without interruption.

After tossing and turning for a few more minutes, I abandoned any thought of sleep and slowly crept out of bed, being careful not to wake Frank. I needed to do something to shut my mind up...but what?

I had a barely touched bottle of vodka under my bed, but if I started drinking now, I wouldn't be able to stop, and I had to be up for school in a few hours - that left only one other option...the blade.

The reasonable voice in the back of my mind put up a feeble argument, but it was quickly silenced. I needed some sort of release before I went insane, and even though I knew I would regret it in a few hours, I couldn't resist the allure of silence.

My chest was tightening painfully, and I knew I was going to have a breakdown soon if I didn't do something.

On silent feet, I crept to the bathroom with a razor clutched in my sweaty palm. The house was quiet, everyone was still asleep, and I envied them the peace they found in their dreams, when I only seemed to find nightmares.

I didn't know why I felt this way, it was as if my mind was diseased, and it was doing its best to poison the rest of my body. I hated myself for it, but what could I do?

Even though my life was technically going well right now, I should have known that I was too fucked up to truly maintain happiness.

Locking the door behind me, I put down the lid of the toilet so I could use it as a chair. Now that I was alone, I tried to force myself to rethink what I was about to do, but the desire to cut only became stronger the longer I sat there, so I gave in to what my mind wanted me to do.

Deciding to ruin my thighs instead of my wrists so it wouldn't arouse as much suspicion, I removed my pajama bottoms and held the blade against my pale legs. I shouldn't be doing this...if Frank found out he would be so upset with me for not coming to him...but he didn't need me dumping all of my problems on him, especially not when he had so many of his own worries to deal with.

With everything he had going on in his life right now, the last thing he required was another stressor, and that's all I felt I would be at the moment.

Before I could think about it any further, I drew the blade quickly against my skin, feeling the burning sensation that I had grown to love.

I released an audible sigh when I felt some of the tension leave my body as I watched the crimson blood welling to the surface. I continued to mark myself until my mind had quieted to a somewhat normal state and my thighs were covered in angry red cuts.

I felt like such a fuck up for finding pleasure in pain, but I did...honesty - I felt better than I had in days now that I had finally given in to the urge to self-harm.

With shaking hands, I cleaned myself up as best I could and returned to my bedroom, restoring my razor to its hiding place.

I felt guilty for not waking Frank; I had promised to always tell him when I felt the urge to cut again, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it tonight. I knew that this time, I wouldn't have been able to relax until I had found some way to release my pent up emotion, and nothing he would have said could have taken back my actions.