Chapter Text
Gavin's POV
Geoff had driven me home just a while ago, luckily not asking to come in and expect to see my parents and just dropped me off with a 'see you tomorrow!' and made sure I made it inside before he drove off.
Now, as I lay down in my bed, I run a hand over my face, sighing loudly as I reminisce over today's events and what I had told Geoff and Michael earlier tonight.
I seriously cannot believe I told those two boys that I have depression let alone anxiety. I barely know them! I don't even know their last names! I don't know if I can trust them yet. What if they're popular and they tell others?
Then I'll start getting bullied at this school too. I'll just be the freak that never speaks. They might do to me what he did.
'No, don't think like that! You're thinking negative thoughts again!'
You're so stupid.
'No, I'm not.'
Of course you are.
'I'm not!'
Yes, you are Gavin. Can't you see how pathetic, vile, worthless, annoying, stupid, ugly-
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to quail the feeling of the nausea resting low in the pit of my stomach and my throat.
'No, no no, not again...' I take in deep and slower breaths, but fail at my attempt to hold down the feeling of ingurgitating my insides and hurry to my own little bathroom in my bedroom, kneeling over the toilet and letting the bile rise up and finally let out, clutching my stomach as it lurches almost painfully.
I always seem to work myself up like this. At my last school, the reoccurring thoughts often led to this- getting sick I mean.
Hideous.
'No, I'm not any of those things!'
Yes, you are, Gavin. Stop lying to yourself.
I feel more tears slowly slide down my face, landing on the porcelain sink my hands are bracing me on so I hopefully don't collapse from my shaking, weak knees.
After regaining my breathing, I run a cloth through cool water and ring it out before running it over my face to clean up the mess I've made of it and discard somewhere on the floor as I walk out and turn the lights off; flopping back into bed and ready to sleep the rest of my night away. Yet, I can't seem to exactly slip into the call of sleep no natter how long I stare at the blank celling above me or close my eyes which envelops me in complete darkness that I've grown to hate and fear so much over the past couple of weeks.
Sighing heavily, I shove the covers away and walk out of my bedroom in favor of the kitchen where the hidden liquor behind closed cabinets is.
Now, I'm sixteen, nearly seventeen, how could I have possibly gotten my hands on alcohol? Well, before I enrolled myself into that shitty excuse for a school, I unpacked what little thing I had managed to bring with me, and decided to roam the streets a little. I know, stupid of me, people could literally kill me and I wouldn't be able to do anything about it. But, y'know, at the time I didn't exactly care, and I still kind of don't.
Along my walk, I cane across an alleyway that seemed to be blocked off (and piqued my interest of how many awful things could have happened in that one simple place). There were also a man there, hood brought down to where you could only see the tip of his nose and his mouth.
Now, any smart person would have probably ran like hell and avoided that person in fear of what they could get theirselves into, but, when did I ever make smart decisions?
The man was actually sort of nice, in a weird way I suppose, offering to give me all the alcohol I'd need if I could tale up a job for him. Of course, I'd agreed and gladly took the offer, to which he clapped me on the back and gave me instructions (and also gave me a bottle as thanks).
So, that's the story of how I now get my drinks. Annnd how I became a drug dealer. Oops.
I glance down at the shot I had poured myself before shoving it aside and just drinking straight from the bottle instead. A light burn flares in my throat, my thoughts slowly becoming increasingly jumbled the more I drink and the alcohol runs through my system.
This is the second time I've gotten drunk off my arse because I can't stand my own thoughts for so long, and I also pass out eventually and can get sleep before school, which is actually a plus I guess.
So, for the rest of the night, I down the rest of the bottle slipping into the bathroom and resting by the bathtub so I won't throw up in my bed in the morning because I can't make it in the bathroom in time, and pass out before I know it, not able to avoid the darkness the swallows me.
And when I wake up in the morning, I know the empty, glads bottle will be likely shattered from where I let go of it in my state of comatose and I'll be painfully reminded of tonights events. But I can't bring myself to care, because in these moments, I'm the happiest I've ever been; and that's all I could ever ask for.