Lachlan's P.O.V.
The house was silent. There was no one there, not anymore, apart from me. I hadn't moved in four days at least, not since the funeral. Since coming back from that, having driven home with tears blurring my eyes the whole time, I had collapsed onto his bed and sobbed myself into a completely numb state, staring out across the room while I breathed in his scent and I wished I could feel his presence, his laugh, his hug, the way he knew me so well. I missed him so much.
I hugged his weighted blanket close to my chest, pulling it up over my head, and I sobbed. I cried more than I ever thought I could cry, sobbing until I could barely bring in a breath and the pillow was soaked with my tears. I could taste the salt on my tongue.
His death hadn't been an accident. After years of struggling with depression, even before he hit his teenage years, he finally couldn't take it anymore and took his life. He had done everything you were supposed to do, he had talked to me and our parents, he had started getting therapy and was on meds that had seemed to help. It didn't stop him from downing that bottle of pills and slitting his wrists, dying on the floor of his bathroom while I slept across the hall. I found his body the next morning, hours too late.
My stomach grumbled but I ignored it. I didn't have an appetite and hadn't eaten anything since the night before I had found him, and had barely drunk anything either. My lips were cracked, throat dry and I was parched, but I didn't move off his bed. I could see the door of his bathroom from where I was lying, where he had died. It only made me cry more.
"Please Mitch..." I sobbed. "Why did you have to go...?"
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At this point, I wouldn't mind if I died. Mitch had been my entire life before this, my little brother who supported me in my career while I supported him through his, we lived together and did basically everything together. Hell, both of us were single simply because we were content like this, neither of us had even attempted to look for a romantic partner. Without him, I didn't want to live.
My phone was somewhere downstairs, dead probably, so I hadn't seen any messages that had been sent by friends, if there were any that it. I hadn't uploaded, tweeted, messaged anyone in over a week and that would probably have got people worried. Mitch hadn't been active either for obvious reasons. But I didn't check on anything because I was too numb to even move.
I lay there with my head resting on my arms, eyes half closed. My heart hurt. I missed him so much.
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There was a knock on the door. I thought I was imagining it at first but then it happened again. I sighed. It was probably a salesman and they would move on eventually. The knock came again... then again... and again.
And finally, the door opened. Someone had clearly found the front door key hidden under one of the many pot plants on the porch. It was probably a member of my family, well, at least I thought it was until their voice echoed down the hallway and I jolted. The fuck?
"Hello? Lachy? Are you here? Are you okay?" Vikk called and for a moment his voice stirred something in me that made me want to get up, but I physically couldn't. I was too weak to even move at this point. "Lachlan?" His voice was high now, I could tell he was worried.
He gasped, shrill and scared, when he came into my room and saw me lying there.
"Lachlan!" He rushed to my side and then his hands were all over me, trying to pull me over onto my back. I grumbled and just let him do it.
"What...?" I croaked, coughing.
"Jesus Christ Lachlan..." He breathed, hands over his mouth. "How long have you been here? What's going on?" His hand brushed my skin. "You've got skin sores and bruises... please, what's going on?"
