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“Sorry, I’m busy hanging out with Sam tomorrow. He wanted to show me... something.” Abigail muttered the last part, sympathy seeping through her words, but Sebastian didn’t believe the sympathy was real. Great. Sebastian felt his heart twist, and his stomach churned at the thought of him not being informed of this hangout.
“Oh... Alright. I’ll talk to you later then.” Sebastian hung up the phone before Abigail could say anything else, slamming down his phone. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fuck...” An empty schedule. He looks over at his calendar, the weekend sitting blank on his calendar.
Sebastian leans back in his chair, glancing around aimlessly at his desk. His desk is covered in wrappers, trash, candy, and some things that he can't even remember when or how they got there. Out of what he thinks is boredom, he begins to bite on his fingernails and the skin around them. The pain helps soothe the urge to cut himself again, but it's not enough. He leans forward and begins to type on his keyboard before an unsettling feeling on his fingers makes him look down at them in the dark room, lit up by nothing but his monitors. As he looks down, a dark liquid is on the tips of his fingers and some on his keyboard. Fucking inconvenience much? He quickly grabs a tissue and wipes up the blood, his fingers and keyboard now clean. However, as he types, the feelings and thoughts that his hands are contaminated quickly consume his thoughts, causing him to yank his hands back and groan in frustration. Now he has to get up and wipe everything down.
Sebastian stands up and tries to traverse across his room, almost tripping over a book that was left sitting on his floor. He manages to reach the bathroom and uses something to clean his keyboard fully, along with his hands. He sits back down and tries to remember what he was supposed to be doing. Oh, that's right, nothing. Absolutely nothing. He has nothing to do. Smoke break, then.
As he walks upstairs, he notices Robin sitting and sorting the wood that she had got today. Might as well ask if she needs help. “You need any help?” Sebastian mutters, looking over at the large pile of wood. “Not now. I could’ve really used your help to chop it, though. You were busy taking a nap, per usual.” Robin glares at Sebastian, and he quickly feels an uncomfortable anger flow through him, for some reason. “Never mind then.” Sebastian rolls his eyes lightly, walking out of the house. The outside is quiet, nothing but crickets. He begins to walk down to the beach, the idea of sitting on the pier sounding appealing. He follows the dim lights of the streetlamps, eventually making his way to the sandy shore. The ocean is also quiet, almost as quiet as his thoughts feel as he reaches such a peaceful area. Sebastian sits down on the pier and pulls out a cigarette before hearing someone. Familiar chatter and laughter reach the pier before they notice him. He glances over, barely recognizing his own friends in the darkness. “Oh... Hey, Seb.” Abigail mumbles as Sam goes quiet. They both sit on the other side of the pier, by the dock. They’re both quiet aside from an occasional whisper, completely different from how they were before noticing him. Embarrassment, rage, sadness, all of it rushes through Sebastian. He puts the unlit cigarette away, getting up and leaving the pier. As he leaves, they go back to laughing and talking like they were before he was there. Did he ruin their hangout? Wait, they never told him that they were hanging out today too. Why can’t he be included? Why is he always left out? Why does he feel so out of place anywhere? Sebastian shakes his head as his thoughts consume him, biting at his fingers again as he walks back home. His heart races, the pain from his fingers not enough. He needs worse, he needs to release his emotions through blood.
No.
52 days clean.
He can do this.
Sebastians emotions bubble up in his throat as he holds back tears. He walks over to his usual smoking spot, walking across the small bridge to the small land. He collapses, sitting on his knees as he stares at his reflection in the water. He needs a root touch-up. He violently tugs at his hair, noticing how disheveled he looks. His reflection gets blurry as tears begin to bottle in his eyes, quickly letting go as he begins to sob. He pulls out some of his hair as he pulls his hand through his hair, pain shooting through his head. He begins to cry a little harder, scratching his skin.
The pain of feeling rejected by his friends is almost worse than anything. These friends are his everything. They’re all he has. His dad is so uninvolved in his life that he might as well not exist, his mom can never decide on anything ever and never has any stable emotions. Nobody else talks to him and he's too nervous to talk to anybody because he thinks they probably hate him too. He comes off as mean or rude when he doesn't mean to. His jealousy gets the best of him. He’s practically the embodiment of fear of missing out. He wishes things were different. It’s never been different, it’s always the same. Maybe at the hangouts they just talk shit about him, exaggerating things he's done. They twist his words and make him seem like a terrible person. He wishes he wasn't so dependent on everyone he meets, the only thing getting him through his days being little highs that makes him trudge through the day, just for them to never happen, or for something stupid to ruin his entire day. Maybe nobody really likes him.
They don't like you.
They never did.
It’s just like high school all over again, all the fake friends, all the shit talking about you behind your back.
Nothing ever changes.
It never will.
The wetness of the salty river water touching his hand that he didn't even know was reaching out snaps him back into reality. He’s panting, his throat choking in his own spit and tears as the realization settles. He’s real. Everything is real. Everything he does is real. This is his reality that he can’t change. He just needs to deal with it, with everything. With the possibility that his friends might not like him. The possibility that nothing ever changes, or nothing has ever changed in the first place.
The possibility that one ‘I love you’ could save his life.