I run my hands through his hair, trying to calm him. He rests his head in my lap and closes his eyes. He’s just as tired as I am. Whatever is happening inside his mind, it’s slowly draining the life out of him, and he won’t allow me to do anything but watch it happen.

A knock interrupts us, and Lucas lifts his head as his father opens the door. The actress in me takes over, and I smile cheerfully.

“Hi, Mr. Gene. How are you?”

“I’m fine, Celia. It’s getting late, though, and I need to lock up,” he says, giving me an expectant look.

Oh no, he wants me to leave. There’s no way I can do that. I can’t leave until Lucas is sleeping.

“I’ll be happy to lock up when I leave. Lucas and I were about to start a movie.”

“Another night. We have to get an early start tomorrow morning, and I need to speak with my son. Cindy’s already asleep. It’s time to call it a night, hun.” Mr. Gene widens the door to accommodate my exit and waits.

I turn back to Lucas, hands trembling, a heavy knot settling in my stomach. I lean in to hug him goodbye, and whisper in his ear as I pull away, “Remember our promises.”

Lucas doesn’t answer me, and I slowly stand up and walk to the door, wishing I could think of something that would allow me to stay with him.

“I’ve already told you I’m not going. I can’t, I have too much work to do,” Lucas says, his voiced laced with defiance.

“You can and you will.” Mr. Gene’s voice leaves no room for argument. “I’ll talk to you once I lock up.”

I walk slowly down the stairs, counting each step, wishing for a way out. I want Mr. Gene to see what’s right in front of his face. I pray he asks me about what’s going on with his son. I hope he’ll see the answer on my face and run up the stairs to question him. I need this weight lifted off of my chest. I don’t know how much longer I can breathe.

But he says nothing.

He wishes me good night, and I stand on the porch, staring at him as the door shuts in my face. The click of the deadbolt sliding into place jolts me into action, and I race across the street.

Once I make it inside and into my bedroom, I crawl across my bed and peek through the blinds. As I’ve gotten more afraid of Lucas’s actions, I moved my bed across the room and under the window so I could lie in watch somewhat comfortably. I send Lucas a few texts, asking him to let me know he’s all right, but I don’t expect an answer. He very seldom does.

I see shadows dance across the windowpane, and I assume he and his father are having the dreaded talk. I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to know who won that argument, but I pray it’s Mr. Gene. What if Lucas’s issues were brought to light on this trip? I hate to wish that on him, but I feel a tiny glimmer of hope at the thought. Lucas could get the help he needs, and I would have kept my promise.

I jump to attention when I see Lucas appear in the window. He looks out into the night, and, if I didn’t know any better, I would think he could see me. I keep my room dark to watch him better, so I know it’s my imagination. He sits at his desk, head hovered over his work, seemingly scribbling, maybe mumbling to himself, for what feels like hours. I look over at the digital clock and see it’s two in the morning.

“Go to sleep, baby. Just rest for me, please,” I whisper, almost like a prayer as I shift and rock nervously.

Finally, he reaches over and turns off his desk lamp and rises from the chair. As his room washes in darkness, I thank God he’s safe for another night, and let sleep overtake me.

My phone alarms, sounding muffled and far away. I open my eyes just a crack to see the room is still bathed in darkness. I try to swallow against my cotton mouth and pull myself to a sitting position. I’m so groggy, my muscles actually ache with fatigue and my head throbs. I pad around my bed, shifting blankets and pillows, searching for my phone. It sounds again, giving away its location, and I stare at the incoming sender with lead in my belly.

Lucas Landry – My Boo

I swipe my phone unlocked and type in my passcode with trembling fingers, knowing I’ll find disaster at the other end.

No matter where I am, I’ll always love you. I promise you always.

“Breathe Me” by Sia

The Past

I DON’T CARE what he says, but I’m not getting in that car tomorrow morning. He doesn’t understand what he’s asking. He has no idea what I’m going through.

He’ll see how worthless you are.

Just like Celia. She looks at you like you sicken her.

You’re disgusting.

“I’m not worthless,” I whisper with little conviction. And they laugh. They always laugh at me.

The voices are relentless. Sometimes they come as crowded whispers, all faint words as one talks over the other. The whispers make it hard for me to concentrate. I fight to make sense of it all, as each murmur runs into another. Other times, the voices are metallic, cold and full of hatred for me. I even hear them in my sleep. They persist, no matter where I am, demanding to be heard, adding to the maddening chaos that is my mind. No one should have to live this way, but I don’t see a way out.

You’re not a man anymore. You’re pathetic.

You should end this. End this pointless life.

Pathetic.

Pathetic.

Pathetic.

I clutch my ears and groan, loud enough to drown out the voices, but not so loud to wake up my parents. I’ve mastered the perfect pitch over the last few months.

“I can’t break my promise to Celia.” I shake my head furiously, tears pooling in my eyes.

Celia doesn’t give a shit about you.

You’re worthless.

She doesn’t love you. You’ve ruined her life.

Worthless.

Worthless.

Worthless.

A tense hum fills the room, almost overpowering the voices, and I slowly crack open my eyes. The light from the bathroom is electric, summoning me. I step off the bed and stumble forward, unable to resist the magnetic hum. I stand in front of the mirror, and take in my reflection. Foul. Repulsive. Unlovable.

The light dims behind me and pulsates from the medicine cabinets, begging me to open the door. As I crack open the door, it glows, setting it apart from all the other objects.

The razor.

The acrid scent of blood fills my nostrils, drips in the back of my throat, and chokes me with its metallic taste. I know what I’m supposed to do. I break the feeble plastic into pieces and extract the sharp slivers of metal. As I hold them up to the light, they glow with a blinding intensity. The overwhelming hum emanates from metal, vibrating between my fingers with unbridled energy.

You’re weak.

You don’t have the guts to do what needs to be done.

No one will ever love you. It’s time to end this.

End this.

End this.

End this.

I fumble into my bedroom to look for my phone, tears streaming down my cheeks. I type out a message to Celia and press send before dropping the phone on the floor with a clatter.

“I love you, Celia. I’m so fucking sorry. For everything,” I sob as I trudge back into the bathroom. It’s time to do what needs to be done. There’s no happy ending for a man like me—only heartbreak and pain. She may not see it now, but I’m giving her a gift.