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Sometimes it hurt to think. To think about something so hard, so heartbreaking. To let the darkness out of the little cage it was usually shoved into, far in the back of Pete's mind, and let it grow and claw at the edges of his skull until he wasn't sure he would ever be able to contain it again.
And then, the sun would come up, and through some miracle, that darkness curled in on itself long enough that Pete could lock it away again. It was a wonder he was still a functioning human being after so many sleepless nights.
He used to be able to call someone, no matter what ungodly hour it was, and be able to pour out whatever he needed to. But, well, he'd made that person really angry, like he always did, and he didn't think that they would be very pleased about receiving a phone call at three in the morning.
That was what the darkness was currently fixated on. How he managed to fuck it up again. How he always made the people he desperately needed in his life absolutely abhor him. How even when he tried his hardest, it was never enough to keep people close.
Sometimes he tried too hard, and Pete thought that felt worse.
He could hear himself wail, curled up tight into a ball in the corner of his room. He knew he was crying, but it all felt disjointed. Detached. And he knew that he should probably move, get himself somewhere more comfortable, but he knew even more that if he tried to get up it would go very badly for him.
So he curled up tighter, sobbing as the darkness called him weak, called him a coward. This was probably one of the myriad of reasons why people didn't stick around. He couldn't even trust himself. Why would he ever expect anyone to trust him?
He was shaking, he knew that. Sort of. He felt sick. Not physically, no. Well, yes, sort of. He felt nauseous, but the sick he was feeling was different. He knew there was something wrong with him, something bad, something that needed to be fixed.
The darkness laughed at him. The darkness knew a fix.
Pete stayed put. He shouldn't use that fix. He would stay here, until the sun came up, and hopefully it would be over for a while.
He just had to make it through.
His eyes hurt. He thought he might be done crying, but then the darkness pulled up the memory of why he didn't have anyone to call right now, and his head ached some more as fresh, hot tears poured out of his eyes again. The yelling, the shame. He deserved it. He deserved every single thing he was feeling right now.
It was always his fault, whenever someone got mad and left. It had gotten to the point where he knew what he did to make people leave, but he couldn't control himself. He could feel it coming, he knew the warning signs, but he couldn't make himself stop. If anything, him identifying when things started going wrong made it worse.
When the words fell out of his mouth, watching in horror as his body moved without him doing it, that had to be the worst part. The way impulses surged through him, unfettered and free to spill the sewage he desperately tried to contain inside, that was the worst part. And knowing that no matter what, it would happen again. And again. And again. That was the worst part.
There was something wrong with him, something that hid just below the surface. It made him want to tear his skin off, peel back the layers until he found it. The only issue was that he was pretty sure that it went down to the core.
It wasn't just that something was wrong with him, it was that the wrong was him. There was only one fix. The one the darkness offered.
But, he couldn't. He wouldn't. He was a coward. He was scared of being fixed.
His hands itched to pick up a phone, to at least fill up a voicemail box with apologies and promises that were almost guaranteed to be broken. That would probably make it worse, though.
Pete could hear himself whimper. The darkness said he sounded pathetic.
If other people could see him now he was sure they would agree with the darkness. He was a grown man, hugging his knees tightly in the corner of his bedroom, crying because he hated himself and was scared of what would happen if he moved. He was afraid of himself.
Terrified, even. Because one wrong move in this balancing act, this battle of willpower, and it would all come crashing down.
If he had his phone on him, he could at the very least be blasting music into his ears so loud that he couldn't hear himself think. That usually helped, at least for a while. It was plugged in downstairs, though. He didn't dare go down there right now. That was too tempting for the darkness.
Pete could feel his hands aching from holding onto himself so tightly for so long. His back hurt from the angle he was sitting at. His legs begged to stretch out.
He couldn't, though. He had to wait for the sun to come up. Then he could move.
He didn't blame anyone when they left. He would leave himself too, if he could. People fell in love with the facade, the mask he wore out in public. When he faltered back, showed his true colors, it was too much. He was too much.
The circling, vicious thoughts wouldn't stop. Pete could feel it in his bones. It would keep going on for what felt like forever.
What time was it? He didn't know. He couldn't tell. He didn't really know how long he'd been here. It could have been hours. It could have been minutes. Agony did weird things to how time passed.
Agony. That was a good way to describe it. The darkness reveled in the word, the power of it.
Pete sort of liked it when the darkness was happy. He knew he shouldn't, knew it was twisted, knew that it was exactly the opposite of what any sane person would feel, but he couldn't help it. He was sick.
For a brief moment, Pete found himself enjoying it, enjoying the pain, enjoying the thought of everyone leaving him.
Maybe he was a masochist. Maybe he was going crazy. He didn't know.
Then, it was back to pain. Because he was going to be alone. He wasn't sure that anyone would care if he didn't make it to morning. He didn't know if anyone would even notice he was gone.
The darkness lashed out again, making him remember the words that were said to him. Fresh, hot tears rolled down his cheeks. He knew what he'd done wrong. It was always, always his fault. He was broken, something wrong with him deep down, rotten to the core.
His skin itched. His muscles ached. His eyes burned. He wanted this to be over.
The darkness offered a way for this to be over. Pete shuddered.
He wouldn't. He couldn't. He didn't dare. He stayed where he was.
Pete was hanging on by his fingertips. His resolve was wearing down. He could only hold out for so long.
He just had to make it to morning. That was it.
Sometimes it hurt to think. Broken hearts led to broken bones. Darkness ruled the night, an uncaged beast.
Survival was never a guarantee.