Chapter 21
Chapter twenty-one
Sebastian
Ishould be happy. My Daddy and my Dad finally met, and if you ask me, their meeting was successful.
My Dad is a hard man to read, but over the years, I learned his tells. I saw the approval in his eyes, even if he dressed it up as a test. At first, I was pissed off, but later I realized he just wants the best for me.
We may have met eleven years later than we should have, and our father-son relationship may be… different from normal ones, but he's still my Dad. And I'll forever be grateful for his support.
Daddy's answers surprised me. I never expected him to say the things he did.
But deep down, I know he treated it like a hypothetical reality.
He doesn't realize how real those questions are.
Maybe that's why his answers felt lighter than they should have.
Still, it was amazing to see the two most important people in my life together.
But right now it feels like the ground drops out beneath me.
Sudden darkness is washing over me. It came out of nowhere. One moment I'm smiling at my Daddy, and in the next, a black cloud is over my head. Dark thoughts swim inside my mind and blur everything else around me.
All it would take is one drunk customer snapping their fingers for me to shatter.
It feels like I'm drunk. I don't know which side is up and down. The room is tilting. And the harder I fight, the deeper I sink.
There's no trigger. No clean place to point blame.
No, the responsibility lies in my hands.
Because the monsters in my head roar whenever they want. Without warning. With no one to blame but me.
"Hey, you okay, man?" Conrad asks.
I lift my head and stare at him. Words feel like too much.
Conrad is spooked. Probably because of my eyes. Empty eyes can do that. People don't know what to do when they look into them. They pretend they can't see it, or maybe their light is too blinding to recognize the dark hiding under someone else's skin.
So many questions.
"Sebastian." Ethan's voice cuts through.
The man is usually a stoic, control freak. I mean, in his part of business and lifestyle, it's a necessity. But right now, he looks unnerved, and dare I say, worried?
"I think it's best if you take the rest of the night off."
I blink, look down at the bottle of whiskey I've been holding. How long has it been in my hand?
It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.
I put it down and leave without looking back.
Luckily, Daddy's in his office. I don't want him to see me like this. I'm supposed to be his sweet boy. Not this hollow thing with no soul, no heart, no light, nothing.
The darkness presses tight around me, but it feels familiar, like a parasite that's always lived inside me. How else could it appear so suddenly if it weren't already mine?
Shattered mind, shattered glass, let's play on the playground.
I sing the words in my mind. They come out of nowhere, and I smirk to myself as I drive back home. But the smirk slips from my lips quickly.
I roll my eyes several times, just because. Maybe the movement is a physical manifestation of the craziness I feel inside.
Crazy, crazy, little grizzly.
One childlike voice.
Choke me on my blood. Little. Do it.
One mean adult voice.
I've always wondered why we hear voices in our heads? Surely everyone does and then pretends they don't. Hypocrites. They point at people like me and call us crazy.
Pathetic.
Who's pathetic now?
Yes, yes. I know.
A moment ago, I was happy. Now it feels like I'm weighted down by the whole damn world. I can feel the darkness pulsing under my skin, in my veins. It's like black tar.
I swirl my neck, imagining how the blackness moves along with my movements.
At a stoplight, I catch my reflection. A stranger with my eyes stares back. The void of hollowness wears my skin.
The man staring back at me is someone I've seen before, but never got to know on a deeper level. Because how do you even befriend the darkest voids of them all that suck the life out of anything?
It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.
But somewhere inside, a small part of me knows exactly what I have to do. It's carved into me like scripture. It's engraved in my mind, in my bones, in my marrow. So fucking deeply so I never forget in times like this.
This moment is a battle between the darkness and me. Though, can I really call it that if the darkness is in fact me? It has my eyes, it wears my skin, and it controls the beats of my heart.
Either way, I don't like this hollowness, this heaviness, oppression, and the way it consumes all that it usually makes me me. Even the other dark parts of me seem to hide in the corner when this black tar spreads through my veins and mind.
I need to exorcise it.
One step at a time.
Play. Dance. Laugh.
We will, but not right now. First, we need to take care of what's inside.
When I get home, I hurry to my bed. Carefully, I pick up Mr. BoBunny and shove him in one of the drawers. He doesn't need to see what's about to happen, and I can't bear it if he does.
I don't even bother undressing. If anything, the clothes on my skin feel like the last bit of armor against this darkness inside me. It doesn't make sense, but it's how I feel.
I rush to the bathroom and start filling the bathtub. Then I pull out the razor I keep under the sink.
I stare blankly at the water as the tub fills. In the space where my heart usually beats, it feels like there's a gaping hole of hollowness that only expands and expands. I need to do something, or it will swallow me whole.
What is the darkness trying to tell me this time?
I only dare to ask this question when I'm feeling particularly brave or insane.
Is there any logic to the madness, or is it just here to drag me to the edge of madness and watch me fall?
I've always had a hate-love relationship with falling. Sometimes it's sweet, dripping with pleasure. Other times it's destructive, breaking every bone, cutting through flesh as you crash to the cold ground.
Tonight there's no reason. Or maybe there is, and I just don't see it.
Either way, it doesn't change the end result.
When the bathtub is full, I sink in the water, head above the surface, and hands at my sides.
The water is warm, kissing my skin like a gentle lover, trying to reach the parts of me not yet consumed by darkness.
But there are no such parts. Not until I exorcise this thing from my body.
Not until I kill it and prove I'm stronger.
Without hesitation, I bring the razor to my right thigh and slice through my skin. The cut is deep, sharp, fast, and precise. I don't flinch. I don't even register the pain.
The water quickly clouds with my blood, pale pink at first. The longer I stay, the darker it gets. And the darker it gets, the lighter I feel.
I watch emotionless as the blood drains from me and bleeds into the water. The colors swirl, turning from soft pink to something much deeper.
This is my time.
I sink under the water and open my mouth.
Somewhere in the distance, a door opens. But all I'm focused on is the taste of blood filling my throat.
I'm finally free.