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Charlie sat in front of the drum set, trying to remain calm, but his shaking hands betrayed him.
“I’m sorry Charlie, we can’t rehearse if you don’t know the music.” The band director said firmly. There was no anger in her voice; only disappointment.
You’re such a fucking disappointment.
Charlie gave a few small, quick nods. “Yes, I understand.”
“Do you promise you can learn it by tomorrow?” The director looked Charlie directly in the eyes.
“Yes of course.” Charlie gave another quick nod and tried desperately not to cry.
The director’s shoulders relaxed. “Alright then. Go home and get to practicing.”
You messed up their rehearsal you fucking idiot.
Charlie stood up as fast as he could without making a scene. Well, without making more of a scene than there already was. He had just gotten ratted out for not knowing his music in the middle of a band rehearsal. To make matters worse, it was the day before their concert. He gripped his drumsticks tightly in his hands, snatched up his car keys, and was out the door before anyone hardly noticed.
Shit
Fuck
I can’t do this
Not now
Charlie felt his heart rate increase as he fumbled with his car door. He tried to control his breathing, but it felt like there were holes in his lungs; air was going in, but it seemed to rush right back out before the oxygen was absorbed. He tumbled into his car and slammed the door behind himself.
Charlie clenched and unclenched his fists rhythmically to try and calm himself down. This wasn’t working very well, however, so he opted for flapping his hands at his sides (which admittedly was a little awkward to do while sitting in his car, he kept accidentally smacking the steering wheel). Small whimpers and whines escaped his mouth as he desperately tried to calm down.
You’re such a failure
You can’t even learn one single sheet of music??
What the hell is wrong with you?!
Your director thinks you’re a slacker
You’re supposed to be better than this
What are you even doing??!
Tears were streaming down Charlie’s face now as he sobbed uncontrollably. He hated this. He hated everything about this. There was a very small part of his brain that knew he was not being logical, and that there was no need to be reacting this way, so why couldn’t he stop? Why is it not stopping?
This just made him cry harder.
You think you deserve to have a spot in that band?
You don’t deserve anything.
If anything you deserve to be bleeding out on the side of the fucking road.
Now, Charlie knew that if he was going to try and kill himself he was going to be more strategic about the set up and timing, so he obviously couldn’t do it now. Maybe… but maybe if he just hurt himself, that would satisfy his brain until he worked up the guts to actually die.
Frantically looking around his car for something sharp, he grabbed an aluminum soda tab off the ground and tried to rip it to get a sharp edge. He was successful in ripping it, but as he sawed at his skin, he discovered the edge was nowhere near sharp enough.
He then spotted a tiny jar on his dashboard. It was about the height of two thumb nails, and had its own tiny cork. It was full of itty-bitty chunks of amethyst. Tara had given him that jar when she started getting into crystals. His brain didn’t care about that though. Charlie just wanted some form of relief. He grabbed the jar and put it beneath his foot, smashing it between his shoe and the carpet of the car. He picked up the larger chunks and carefully examined them to find the one that looked the sharpest.
You worthless piece of shit
Taking a medium piece, he rolled up his shorts and ran it back and forth against his thigh. Blood immediately welled up. It wasn’t nearly enough though.
Coward
You can’t do anything right.
You can’t even cut yourself deep enough for fuck’s sake.
One would think that, after that, Charlie would just be crying more because at this point, the voices in his head are beating him up, AND he’s bleeding, but even though the cuts were not that deep, the usual effects started to take over.
Charlie just felt… nothing.
Well, of course he still felt things, but now they were… foggy. It felt like he was in a trance without actually being in a trance. It was terrifying, but it felt so good. The voices in his head were quieting down. He could finally breathe.
Charlie took a deep breath in, and a deep breath out. He sat in silence for a minute or two before finally “coming to his senses” so to speak. He looked down at his thigh, which wasn’t bleeding horribly, but still needed to be wiped off.
Charlie thought for a moment.
Ah
Shit
Well
That happened
Charlie, still a little shaky, reached for some tissues and blotted up the blood on his leg. Then, throwing the tissues in a trash bag, he reached for his phone, a few stray tears running down his face.
Charlie: nick?
Charlie: are you busy?
Nick: Nah, I’m just cleaning up my room. What's up?
Nick: Are you okay?
Charlie took a moment to respond. He didn’t want to just go out and say “yeah im totally fine i just had a grand ol’ anxiety attack in my car because my director told me to learn my fucking music”, that seems like a little too much.
Charlie: um…
Charlie: kind of???
Charlie: not really i guess
Nick: What's wrong, love?
Charlie: could you meet me at my house in like, 15 minutes?
Charlie: ill explain then
Nick: Okay
Nick: As long as you’re not in immediate danger, I’m fine with that
Charlie thought for a second. Was he in immediate danger? He was… but he isn’t anymore, so he guesses that’s okay. They’ll cross that bridge when they get to it.