Author's Note: Hey, lovelies! How have you all been? I hope you enjoy this new little story that's been bugging me since about a few months ago, actually. I've just never had time to write anymore! Yeah, yeah, excuses, excuses. You know the drill. Anyway, I kind of had a hard time writing this because of the heavy subject material, but I hope I encompassed it correctly.
BY THE WAY: "Skinny love" means a love that did not last. I'm using my own form of the phrase.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my ideas :)
**Trigger Warning**
I'd just like to warn you that this deals with self-harming/attempted suicide, gore, and other dark material. I hope this doesn't trigger anything for anyone.
Last Note: Anyone who is suffering with depression, is self-harming, considering suicide, or anything of the sort: I love you. You are so strong a beautiful to have made it this far. It can only go uphill from here. Just remember that you have so much ahead of you, and that the good always outweighs the bad, no matter how hopeless the situation seems. I love you…
Darkness.
Darkness, in all its simplicity, is the absence of light. It is merely a space containing no light within it; rendering you blind and fumbling around to gather your wits and get the hell out of dodge as fast as you can before the invisible monsters come to claw at your ribcage.
Her question was: Where was she? She was in neither darkness nor light; she had long since left the darkness behind.
But the past few weeks felt different. She couldn't tell whether it was light or dark, and frankly, she didn't care. All she wanted was to know where she was. That was the first step. She could work her way through it from there.
But from whom would she seek her much-needed psychological help? She certainly wasn't planning on making weekly trips to a shrink's office anytime soon.
In her head, she went over the five people she trusted her life with:
Ziva, the sultry, almost emotionless Mossad agent who had been trained to cover her feelings would not have been a good candidate; she was too… frigid. Despite their tight bond, Abby felt as if Ziva wouldn't quite understand her.
Despite her sweet, brother-sister type relationship with DiNozzo, she ruled him out. Not only would he not understand, but also word would spread around the bullpen (and out of it, too.) quicker than a wildfire.
Gibbs was a tough choice. She knew that she could confide in him with absolutely anything without fear of judgment. But he was almost too much of a father figure, and it would be awkward talking to him about her very, very personal problems. After all, she wanted the cause of her mood change to be handled with care, not bashed in the skull with a Louisville Slugger.
Ducky was almost entirely out of the question. Although she revered him and enjoyed his frequently told stories, she was afraid that he would go off on a typical Ducky tangent and end up not helping her with her problems at all, in actuality.
The last person on her mental list was… McGee.
Timothy McGee was the only man that could manipulate her with his pinky toe, if he wanted. She was at his complete mercy.
Was.
She was until he moved on; she was his until he suggested they "see other people."
His. That's all she wanted to be again. Just to fit into his arms the way she used to, to feel the burning sensation in the pit of her stomach when his lips were pressed against hers. She missed the way their hands pressed together; the way he would look at her with such love; the way he would laugh at the quirks of hers that others labeled as "weird."
But she couldn't bear to tell him that, could she? In fact, she could barely handle her knowing that she wanted him back; that she missed him. And after all, who'll believe you if you don't believe yourself?
With one more swig of Vodka, (which she hated with a passion but relished in her moments of depression) she pushed herself off the couch and tripped over her usually clean carpet toward the bathroom.
In the rush of the moment, her head pounding, she made a rash decision. She yanked open her drawers, sending makeup, tissues, and dog collars flying to the floor.
"Please; wait, Abby. Don't do this," McGee's warm voice floated into her ear. She panicked and looked toward the bathroom door.
"No, Tim. It's too late," she spat, slamming the door shut on McGee's imaginary silhouette. She fumbled through a cupboard under her sink when something glinted in the corner of her eye.
Finally, she thought. She reached for the tiny razor blade and sank against the wall. She ran her fingers over the sharp blade side, pressing it into her fingertip until she felt the smallest sting.
She had been clean for years now, but something overcame her and tugged at her conscience.
"Listen up, Abby," she spoke softly to herself, reaching for her cell phone. "You call Tim. If he picks up, don't do this to yourself. Promise?"
"Promise," she whispered to herself, punching in his number.
"Hello, this is Tim McGee. Sorry I couldn't come to the phone right now, but leave me a message and I'll call you back ASAP. Have a nice day!" his cheery voicemail spoke. Abby rolled her eyes and pressed "Re-dial."
Again and again, she called. She texted him and left voicemails with each call, growing more and more panicked. "Come on, dammit. Pick up!"
Each text was delivered, but not read. It killed her inside, knowing that those messages were showing up.
What could he be doing to ignore them?
Right, he was probably with another girl.
That pushed her to the limit.
She slammed her phone down on the bathroom tile, her chest heaving with each breath she took.
"I'm sorry, Abby," she whispered to herself, holding the razor blade up to her wrist. Her lip trembled. "I'm sorry."
And she cut.
And she sliced, and she cut, and she sliced again, dragging the blade mercilessly over her wrists.
"Why?" she screamed, sobbing as her salty tears violated her fresh wounds. "Wh-why?"
Blood dripped onto the floor around her, her white T-shirt taking the brunt of her bleeding. Seeing what she had done to herself, she lunged toward the toilet with a mixture of self-disgust and two bottles of Vodka mixing around in her stomach.
She hunched over the toilet and retched up the remnants of her stomach while bleeding over the toilet seat.
She was honestly surprised that she had anything left in her system to puke up. She'd skipped breakfast that morning, and dinner the other night, so on, so forth. It was hard to eat now. She just couldn't force it down. Even her Caf-Pow! intake had noticeably decreased.
Now covered in blood and vomit, she slunk onto the ground and curled in the fetal position.
She reached upward for a towel, but the cold air seeping in through the window above the shower making contact with her open skin was far too much for her to handle, and she immediately snatched her hand back to her side.
Her head was pounding, and the pain was overwhelming when suddenly…
"Abby?" a breathless voice came from above her.
It was McGee. He knelt down and felt her pulse, nearly throwing up at the sight of her blood.
"Abby," he whispered sadly.
"I-I called you, Tim." She trembled in his arms. McGee swallowed his tears back as he held her bony frame, blood beginning to seep through his jacket sleeves.
"Abby… Have you been eating?" he asked softly. Abby sniffed and shook her throbbing head slowly.
"No," she whispered.
McGee took a deep breath and pressed towels to her wrists. "Jesus, Abby…"
"Ouch," Abby whimpered.
McGee brushed her hair back. "I know, Abby. I know," he said quietly, mopping up her blood once he had stopped the flow from her wrists. He pulled some Band-Aids and gauze from her medicine cabinet and sighed.
"Tim…" she whispered, recoiling at the feeling of his bare hands on her cuts.
He licked his lips. "I won't hurt you Abby." He paused to bound her left wrist with gauze wrap. "Not again."
Finally, he taped the gauze in place and fetched the prone girl a glass of icy water.
"Drink," he ordered softly, bringing the cup to her lips. After she took a few feeble sips, he wrapped his arm around her waist.
"Abbs… I can feel you rib cage," he commented. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
"No, no, no," he said softly, sliding his thumb across her cheek. Sighing, he cradled her in his arms and placed one hand on her back and the other under her knees. As he lifted, he bent his neck down and pressed a light kiss to her jawbone.
Then, as he carried her to the living room, he whispered into her ear, "Come on, skinny love."
Author's Note: So? Did you enjoy it? I hope you did! If you want me to continue just let me know by reviewing. Thanks guys!