Chapter Text
James wasn't sure he could ever forgive his parents.
That was a sin, he knew it. But he couldn't help it. He couldn't help the rage that seemed to well up within him whenever he saw his father and his new wife. He couldn't help the frustration that overwhelmed him when his mother insisted they had to look and act as though everything was normal. He couldn't help the pure disgust he felt towards both of them when he thought about what they'd done. Most of all, he couldn't help the hatred he felt day in and day out.
He hated hate.
It chewed him up, spit him out, and stomped on him for good measure. It wrecked his relationship with his father, and it was coming close to doing the same with his mother. He didn't think he could ever trust his father again anyway, so he wasn't even sure it mattered. But his mother was pretty much all he had. A significant portion of his family was dead. His sisters could be dead too, for all he knew. Locked away in the hospital waiting room, his mind raced wildly. He nervously picked at his fingernails as he fought to quell the growing rage inside of him. He could feel his mother's eyes boring into his skull, but he refused to look at her. He was sure something quite unforgivable would come out of his mouth if he did, and that was the last thing they needed.
If his parents could have gotten a hold of themselves, he was fairly certain they could have saved their marriage. Even if they hadn't, there would have been significantly less animosity between them. If only his dad hadn't gone and gotten Nikki pregnant. . . If only his mother hadn't felt the need to criticize every breath he took. . . Even if the divorce had still occurred, James was sure it could have been better. Gwen wouldn't have turned to drugs and fallen for them so hard. Macey wouldn't have folded in on herself and might have kept talking. Maybe James would've faired a bit better and wouldn't feel as though he were literally falling apart at the seams.
But that wasn't the way everything went. The divorce had been brutal and ugly and caused so much hate to enter James' heart, he was certain it must be rock solid by now. He squeezed and pressed and compacted nearly all the love he'd felt for his family into a pitiful little ball that now sat in a tense heap in the pit of his chest. Any love he was offered after the divorce had been rejected; he was terrified of disappointment, terrified of getting his hopes up as he had when he was a child. He'd done his best to replace love with vanity; his appearance didn't disappoint him as his parents did. But even his looks had turned on him a few weeks ago. The toned, tan features were suddenly replaced with fat and weight checks and horrible nights spent vomiting in an effort to see what he expected to see. To see what everyone expected to see.
He wondered if Logan had felt this claustrophobic when they'd found out about his self-harm. It seemed as though he was constantly being smothered by his friends, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could stand it. Logan seemed to calculate every little thing James put into his mouth. Carlos just stared, unsure of what to do besides treating James a little gentler than usual. Kendall flat out asked him when he'd eaten last and if he was okay and if he needed to talk and James hated it. He hated the fact that he made his friends worry the way he had. He hated that he'd somehow managed to hate the brotherly love they gave him, even though his dysfunctional home situation had caused him to crave it more than ever. He hated hate. Hate ruined people. It killed people.
James Diamond was fairly certain he was killing himself. And he really didn't care.