𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 // 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

Don't Leave Me To the Monsters

TW: From here the angst really kicks in, so just a forewarning. I will be mentioning self harm, suicidal thoughts, gore, panic attacks, depression, emotional trauma, and MANY other types of angst that may be triggering. Please don't read if you are uncomfortable with the above topics, as this story was always intended to be heavily angsty. Thank you guys if you read this far and want to stop because of the aforementioned triggers <3333

-Don't Leave Me To the Monsters-

Two days post breakup. George doesn't leave his bed, and he doesn't want to eat anything. He doesn't have any energy to do anything, and for the first time in forever, he didn't attend classes. I've been bringing him food, but other than that he doesn't have the energy to interact with anybody. To be honest, I do feel kind of bad seeing George so sad and heartbroken.

Even though I needed to instigate this seperation, it would be a lie to say I didn't partially regret it.

"George?" I knocked on his door. No response, just a feeble cry. I bit my lip and set down a plate of food in front of his door.

"There's food outside the door if you get hungry." I said, pausing for a reply. The following silence was deafening. Throughout the day, I checked to see if George had eaten, at two hour intervals. I listened for the opening of his door, I listened for anything. But at the end of the day I went to check on George and the food one final time.

The plate remained untouched.

Five days post breakup. George has been leaving his room more, but he eats even less than before, somehow. When he isn't crying or laying down alone in his own room, he's in mine because he feels lonely. He still doesn't go to classes, because the panic attacks started. The worst panic attacks I've ever seen in my life. Hyperventilation, crying, shaking, loss of touch with reality, lightheadedness, a choking feeling, hallucinations, hearing things and then some. George's sadness and depression is beyond pain I've ever felt, and ever will feel.

Even though I was emotionless, it would be a lie to say it didn't hurt me to see such anguish.

"George!" I rapidly knocked on his bedroom door, ignoring the burn in my knuckles. Fear rose in me, stifling and cold as it swelled. I immediately shoved the door open and burst into his room, my heart hammering in my chest. My eyes fell upon George, who was curled up in the corner of the room. I could see the erratic rise and fall of his chest as he struggled to draw ragged breaths.

"I-I-can't-" George's voice was hoarse and weak, strangled in his throat, "I c-can't breathe-" He choked out, his hands around his neck. I reached out a hand, but George shoved it away with the little strength he had, his hand trembling.

"I hate you!" He screamed. I drew back in fear, my eyes locking on his scared expression. The tears gathering in his wide eyes, the bloodless pallor in his skin. His eyes were fearful but hollow. As if he was elsewhere other than reality. He seemed to see different things than I did.

"George, I-, I just want to help-" I said, my voice shaking.

"Don't hurt me, don't hurt me, please don't hurt me!" George shrieked, his voice a frail, broken record.

"What-"

"I hate myself, I hate myself, I hate myself," George sobbed, fighting for breath,"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" His hyperventilating worsened, and between his shaky cries and his fast, shallow breaths, he was really struggling.

"You don't have to be sorr-"

"Olivia-" George whispered, a broken little sound, all strangled with tears. Suddenly, I realized something.