Work Text:
My, head, is
filled with parasites.
Black, holes,
cover up my eyes.
Macks always known he was different. Growing up while all the kids celebrated wins, he resented them. Winning was just another layer of pressure added to the mountain of it already gathered. Instead of a smile decorating his face everytime the buzzer sounded and the game ended as a win, tears would trace the freckles scattered across his cheeks. He could never quite explain it. What pushed him to punish himself, to hate himself, but it didint need an explanation. It was just how things were, and that wasn't gonna change.
The breaking point was a particularly tough loss when he was 14. The locker room after the game was depressing. Most of the players sad about the loss, but for Macklin.. He decided to celebrate this the only way he knew how. Punishment.
Out of all of the ways he could do it, he choose the most painful. Closing himself in one of the bathroom stalls, sliding down the door with a painful thud, he took out a blade he managed to get from one of his dad's razors, and cut. Letting out painful sobs that he muffled with his hoodie sleeve over his mouth. He got lost in the feeling, in the scene infront of him. Dark blood trickled down his pale forearms, dripping on the cold tiled floor. His brain was loud. Thoughts clouded his mind - punish, punish, punish..
Words echoed through his brain. Worthless. Pathetic. Sad. Never Enough. Be better..
The door hinge creaked, a teammate stood on the other side. Mouth agape, shaking his head slightly, before running out of the bathroom. Before Mack knew it, a trainer was infront of him. Asking him all sorts of questions that didint quite reach Mack. All he could do was sit on the floor and stare. Stare at everything he did to himself. Stare at the fresh cuts on his arms. Stare at the pool of blood beneath him. Stare at his silent reflection on the tile next to it. The tears welled in his eyes. The fact he looked pathetic. If he could see it, everybody else could too. Macklin was pathetic.
The noise around him muffled as the trainer picked him up off the floor, carrying him to the medical room. He wrapped his arms in a tight gauze while whispering soft words of reassurance.
" Hey, Macklin. Were gonna need to call your dad. "
" No, please, no I-I promise im fine, I just- "
" Hey, its okay. I promise you're okay. I have to tell somebody tho. Would you rather I call your dad, or mom? "
" ..Mom. "
*
Time passed in a daze. Over the past year, he learned to hide it. To hide the tears, to hide the punishments.
It never really stopped, but it slowed down. He was taking medication and his family was constantly on his back. In all honesty, he couldn't really do it anymore. Any of it.
Some teammates knew, and Aiden helped him through the tough days. The trainers also knew and knew how to help him before it got too out of control.
However, none of it could stop what happened on a cold December day.
After losing the game 0-6, Macklin couldn't take it anymore. Everything was pilling up, for way too long. The constant pressure, his dad's voice echoing in the back of his head. Macklin seriously couldn't take it anymore. They had lost five games in a row, and he heard whispers about a suspension - for him.
If he didint have hockey, he had nothing. And if he had nothing, what did he have to live for?
He opened the door the hotel room he shared with Aiden. The next minutes passed in a blur, as time tended to do recently. He remembers finding a bottle of painkillers that was about half full, and swallowing most of it. The effects took some time to kick in, a little dizziness and nausea before he completely passed out.
Only to wake up in a hospital bed.
" He's awake! He's awake, Rick, get the nurse! "
" He's awake? Oh that's great. Hey hun, how are you feeling "
Macklin was confused. His mom was sat next to his bed, holding his hand tightly. His father sat in a corner, arms crossed. And a nurse was talking to him with a faint smile blooming on her face.
" Um, what- what happened? " he spoke in rushed, breathless bursts.
" Everything's okay. Just calm down for a second, we'll explain everything. I promise " the nurse spoke in a quiet steady tone.
Suddenly all the memories came crashing down. A pill bottle. Passing out. And before he knew it he was cradled in his mother's arms as tears streamed down his face. He didint need an explanation, but they did. And they got it. Suddenly, everyone seemed to notice him, checking in, offering help, making sure he was okay. His depression got better, and even better when he wad drafted number one in the NHL, onto the San Jose Sharks. All his hard work and dedication payed off, however, the pressure was definetly more suffocating than he could have imagined, the weight of everybody's expectations resting on his shoulders.
*
His new team was great. All the players were really nice he quickly became friends with them. The problem was, none of them knew who he actually was. What a train wreck he was.
His therapist told him to tell the trainers, to have somebody to look out for him if it ever got worse. Which he did, it was an awkward conversation but definetly needed (in his therapists words).
The season passed mostly fine. He took his medication when he needed, had weekly therapy and talked to Aiden daily. He was playing good hockey, too. The pressure was still there, immense and suffocating - but controllable. For the most part.
It all came crashing down the last month of the season. Nobody from his team knew - not even Will.
His best friend, the love of his life (platonically.. maybe he wanted- nevermind) The fact that nobody knew meant hiding it. Hiding the therapy and the medication, and everything else that came with the depression.
He was taking a shower, when he looked down. He still had scars on his thighs, on his arms. Though the ones on his arms were less noticeable with all the 'anti-scarring' creams he used over the years. The scarring is hard to look at. It signifies his struggles, a permanent etch to remind him of his troubles. Of all the hard times, and the ones to come. Everything hes ever fixed, everything hes overcome, means nothing. Because a little piece of the hardship is woven into who he is.
The scars make him spiral everytime he has to look at himself. But tonight was particularly difficult. He hasn't relapsed in a while, maybe it would be fine just once. Just one cut.
One turns into two. Two turns into three. Which eventually turns into ten.
He realises what hes done too late. Panicking, he tries to wash the blood away, the evidence of his stupidity. It doesn't work. He can't wash away a cut, he can't wash away his patheticness.
He steps out of the shower, his skin steaming. Light blood still trickling down his arm. Three faint knocks echo through the space.
"Mack?"
"Yeah..?"
"You okay, you've been in there a while"
"Fine."
He's sure Will has noticed the scars, maybe brushed them off as hockey ones, but hes definitely seen them before. Maybe he wont notice? He probably wont. Hockey dude and all that. He definitely doesnt care enough to see the cuts. Macklin has no choice, he opens the door and walks out the bathroom. A faint trail of steam following him. He has a towel wrapped around his waist.
"Hi there."
"Hi."
"Finally remembered there's a world outside the bathroom."
"Shut up." he scoffs.
Will stops where he's been walking towards Mack.
"Mack?"
"Yeah.."
He follows Will gaze down to his arms. The bloods flowing a lot more now, staining the carpet beneath him a dark red.
" Mack, what di- what did you do..? "
" I-I dont know im sorry Will, plea-please dont tell anybody I promise I'll sto- "
" Macklin.. " Wills voice breaks
He makes his way toward Mack, pulling him into a soft embrace.
This breaks Mack. Now Will knows, there's nothing to hide. Burying his face in the crook of Wills neck, he starts crying. While Macks letting out soft sobs, Wills gently guiding him towards his bed, and sitting down with Mack still in his arms.
"Why didint you tell me?"
"I couldn't, im sorry" Macklin spoke quietly, each word weighted with sorrow.
They way like that for too long. The blood dried up on Macks arms a long time ago. He finally gathers the courage the crawl out of Will arms, and look him in the eyes.
"I um, I have depression. Like, diagnosed depression depression. I take medication and everything. Nobody knows, not just you. Nobody from the team, just my family and some trainers." he said, shoulders relaxing as the worry melted away.
Will just looked at him. For a full minute, didint say anything. Untill he finally broke the silence.
"I'm so sorry you couldnt tell me, I dont know why you didint fell comfortable but im really, really sorry and i-"
" Stop, Will"
" I promise you, I just didint want you to worry about me. I'm okay now, this just happens sometimes."
"Okay, okay.."
"But if you need anything, please tell me. Please tell me before it gets this bad next time. I wanna be there to help. Please"
"I promise."
They sat in silence for a while after that. Macklin laying on Wills chest, listening to his steady heartbeat and following his deep breathing. Macklin finally felt safe, finally felt seen. He finally wasnt alone. Maybe this wasnt gonna be so bad.