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An overwhelming surge of nausea and exhaustion enveloped his entire being, a regular occurrence that has been apparent for about a month now. Lucio lay, staring at the cracked, dull ceiling above him. He wished for some company, any company, just someone to touch and know they’re real. That he’s real, that the world he’s living in is real. Not some made up, social experiment or illusion or joke that every single one of his friends was in on.
A little bit of communication, reassurance just to rid of that agonising gut feeling. His appetite was going, his body was becoming numb and his throat ached with upset.
He exhaled. Deep and loud.
Just someone to touch and keep him sane. He begged silently, tears brimming in his vacant stare. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t sing. He didn’t want to make any noise. He felt so… wrong. So different. Ruined. Almost. Tears fell down his lightly freckled cheeks as he breathed deep and swift.
He was clutching a little frog that was gifted to him by his partner, pressing it against his face and nose as he became high from the swarm of emotions.
Uncontrollable sobbing escaped his body but still no sound came out, only entrapped, desperate breaths. His mouth was stuck, gasping for air as he held onto the frog gently, pushing it against his forehead. He had gone from lying, thoughtless on his bed to curled up tight against the headboard.
He scratched helplessly at his skin. His wrists, his hands, his knees, his jaw and the backs of his arms. Burgundy with grazes. Nothing stopped the floods that continued from his eyes.
He could only see salty waters, black surrounded him and the frog remained secure and close to his chest - so to not get any tears or snot on it. It was dear to him. He kissed it’s forehead every night before bed, hoping for his partner, Jamison, to receive it. And he silently wished that he would receive the cry for some kind of comfort and rescue him from this spiral.
He weeped and weeped.
And scratched. And scratched. And scratched.
Moving to his face in a frustrated attempt to stop the tears.
He felt pathetic. And stupid. And like he was begging for attention.
But nobody knew about this ‘thing’. Only his partner. And he tried his best to understand, and calm Lucio down through it all. But right now he had nobody. Everyone had left him. Everyone hates him. Everyone’s with each other without him, talking about him behind his back. Nobody likes him. They’re pretending. Like they have been with each other. They’re liars. They’re fake. But they’re his best friends, and he loves them. He always tried hard to make sure they were all okay no matter the things they did that bothered him. He always tried to include everyone, to suit to everyone’s needs. To keep them well and stable.
And now look at HIM.
Falling apart. Losing a piece of himself every. single. second. His muse for writing songs was the thought of death and being finally whole. The melody in his head sang him sweet songs of suicide. Nobody actually wanted him. Not even Jamie. He was lying. But he would say, all the time, that Lucio was his favourite, that he loved him more than anything in the whole world, that he was going to marry him someday and be with him forever and always.
They belonged to each other.
So why? Why did he feel so wrong? Why can’t he believe his own partner? The love of his life?
He’s stupid. He’s needy. He’s wrong. He’s dumb. He’s making it all up and he’s paranoid for no reason. He’s paranoid. And pathetic. And stupid. And wrong. And so, paranoid. And so, pathetic. And so, stupid. And so, wrong. And he’s dumb. And helpless. And alone. And stupid. And wrong. And everyone’s lying to him. The whole fucking world is in on the joke and he’s the punchline.
But “everyone loves him”? They all, loved him.
And he’s ruined it. He ruined it all. He scratches at himself. Digging deeper. And deeper into his skin, his thighs, his cheeks, rubbing his eyes, rubbing desperately to get the tears to stop but everything’s futile.
Nothing he does will ever, ever be worth anything.
His art? Worthless. Him? Worthless. His love? Worthless. He sobs. And sobs. And scratches. And scratches. He’s so paranoid. And he’s so stupid. And he’s in the wrong. And he-
“Lucio? Crikey love are you alright?”
His thoughts disappeared.
Everything was clear.
The black of the night was replaced with dim light from his bedroom door.
The haunting tune in his head turned to a melodic, bright sound.
A bright voice.
A bright face.
His sun.
His muse.
Jamie.
“Hey, buddy you’re okay, it’s alright mate, you’re alright. I promise.”
Jamison sat right by his side, a gentle, stable arm wrapped immediately round his shoulders.
Warmth. Comfort. Truth. Validity. The right mood.
Lucio continued to subconsciously claw at his face and eyes until a beautiful, imperfect hand reached to him. Rescuing him from the pits of his dissonant thoughts. Chimes of minor chords replaced with majors: his partner’s face. It was all real. He stared up at him, deep eye contact telling Jamie all he needed to know.
Stability. Comfort. Gratitude.
“Sh sh sh, I’ve gotcha, you’re alright, you’re real, this is real, I love you pal, I promise you everything is okay.”
He maintained the eye contact, keeping the gentle but steady barrier around his neck and softly played with Lucio’s brown curls.
“I love you. I will never, ever stop loving you. And I will never leave ya. Never ever in my entire life would that thought even cross my tiny mind.”
He gave him a sweet smile, bringing Lucio close to his chest, not too tight, but stable enough for him to know that he was safe, and that everything Jamie was saying was meant wholeheartedly.
Unable to make noise, Lucio momentarily broke their contact to give Jamison a tender stroke to his cheek and a small but genuine smile.
I love you.