Well, hi guys! This is a one-shot that's been tossed around in my head many times and I finally decided on this version. Two things: I KNOW that I don't say the person's name until the end, but listen, I like how it looks. Two: I'm creating a second chapter to tell you what happened to him. Okay? So no reviews asking about either subject.
He screamed. This wasn't supposed to happen. He never wanted this to happen. It wasn't fair. He got up as tears streamed down his face, jumping to the floor as if they were afraid to touch him.
He stumbled to the kitchen, clad in red boxers and that light blue t-shirt with a pineapple on it that Jules had given him for his birthday. He felt hot bile rise to his throat when he thought of the shirt, so he quickly redirected himself to the bathroom.
As he leaned over the toilet for the third time in an hour, he realized his head was pounding. He stood again and turned towards the mirror, cringing at how he looked.
His cheeks had sunk in and there was a week and a half's worth of hair on his face. There were huge circles under his now dull hazel eyes. His usually perfectly groomed hair was messy, matted, tangled, and dirty. His eyebrows furrowed together and he punched the mirror.
He screamed again in anger as glass cut into the soft flesh on his hand, but he didn't feel it. The scream was for what he had done to himself, to the others.
He reached past the broken frame and snatched out the Tylenol. After three Tylenol and picking all the glass out, he was washing his face and hands. Suddenly, he contemplated stuffing the glass back in his hands. He deserved the pain. After what happened he would always deserve it, but he finally decided against it.
Flicking off the light, he went back to his room and lay on his bed. He fell asleep crying.
He woke to a cold sweat and feeling like someone was inside his head with a hammer, pounding away. He grabbed the dream catcher from where it hung on a nail on the wall. His mom had given it to him three days before she died.
He snapped it in two. It didn't take the nightmares away. It didn't take away the pain. He threw it down to the ground and unscrewed the cap or the Tylenol and dumped ten into his hand. He swallowed them all and lay down again, falling asleep quickly. Her never woke up.
Shawn Spencer died that night from an overdose on drugs.