No, but… god, I want that so much. I want to stop fighting. I want to give up. I want to throw my hands up in the air and let this be someone else’s problem. And yet, I don’t. I can’t. I don’t understand. My friends are amazing. I know they want to help. Why is it so hard for me to let them?
You know what would really help? If you actually gave up. Just walk straight into the ocean. Sure, they might miss you for a bit. They’ll even have a nice funeral. But they’ll go on with their lives. They’ll be fine. And eventually, it’ll be like you never existed in the first place.
The pain is searing. Right in the middle of my chest. Like I’ve been stabbed straight through my heart. I squeeze my eyes shut against the pain. I struggle to breathe. I lie back down, curled up in a little ball.
I just want it to end. Please, just let this end.
“Hayden? Hayden. Hey, talk to me. What’s happening? What’s going on?” Santino puts his face right in front of mine. Forehead to forehead. Nose to nose. “Babe, please. Talk to me.”
You can’t tell him. What’s the point? You’re useless. Hopeless. There’s nothing they can do to help you. You’re beyond saving.
“I can’t stop it.” I sound like I’m dying. I feel like I’m dying. I kind of want to. Dying means not having to go through any of this anymore.
“Stop what? The voice? What is it saying?”
“It… it…”
You won’t actually say it out loud. You don’t have the balls. Haven’t you been humiliated enough? Why let him know how truly perverted you are?
“It says I should…”
Don’t dooo it. Don’t dooo it.
“Should what, babe? What should you do?”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. My lungs burn. My chest burns. My stomach twists up in knots. “Die.” I just barely manage to croak the single word.
Santino doesn’t respond. Not immediately. Maybe he didn’t hear me. Maybe he did and he thinks I’m a lunatic. Maybe he thinks I’m insane and needs to be locked up for my own good.
But then he hauls me to him, cradles me in his arms, head tucked under his chin. “No. Just no. You hear me? No.” He holds me so tight, rocking me side to side. His legs hook around mine, locking behind my knees. It’s like he’s afraid I’ll run off. Like he can physically stop me from doing something stupid.
I cling to him. I don’t want to die. Not really. I just want this to stop. Please, somebody make it stop.
“No. You can’t. I won’t let that happen. I just found you. I can’t lose you. Do you understand? We’ll get you help. We’ll get you help and you’ll get better and I’ll be here the entire way so you’re not alone. You never have to be alone.”
The words tumble past Santino’s lips in a jumble, so fast I’m not even sure he’s talking to me anymore. But I feel every syllable he utters like a tether drawing me in, securing me, keeping me anchored. I let his words wash over me, soothing and calming, until the bone-deep hurt starts to ease.
I’m not sure how long we lie there, all tangled up in each other. It’s long enough that I think Rhys and Sebastian musthave left. There’s no way Rhys would wait around without knocking on the door every five minutes.
But when we finally manage to dress and drag ourselves out of bed, they’re still there. Sitting in the living room. Rhys is on his phone. Sebastian’s on his laptop. Waiting as if they have all the time in the world.
Embarrassment rushes through me. I wish they’d gotten impatient and left. Then I wouldn’t have to face them. Then I could avoid this conversation a little longer.
They both glance up at me from their spots on the couch with equal parts concern and hope. God, I’m such an asshole. I’m so fucking selfish. I’ve made things so much worse than they needed to be. If I’d been honest from the start, we could’ve dealt with it and moved on. But no, I had to pretend I was a tough guy who could handle things on his own. And where's that gotten me? My friends are wasting their day away, sitting in my living room, waiting for me to get my shit together.
“Do you guys, um, want something to drink?” I ask, not knowing what else to say.
“Oh my god, Denny, just sit the fuck down.” Rhys slaps his hand on the spot next to him.
Except it’s only big enough for one person and I don’t want to let go of Santino’s hand. Rhys must read my hesitation on my face because he rolls his eyes and moves so there’s enough room for both of us.
“You go sit. I’ll get drinks.” Santino gives me a nudge toward the couch.
It takes me a split second too long to let him go.
“You want to tell us what the hell is going on?” Rhys asks when I sit down. “And don’t say you’re fine, because we know you’re not fucking fine.”
“Rhys,” Sebastian scolds.
