I am nervous for posting this, for a lot of reasons. First off, I want to apologize to those I have been speaking with and to those I am writing for. I owe you correspondence as well as fics. I have not completely resolved my computer issue, but it requires further action on my part. So it may or may not be a moment-I'm not sure yet, but I hope we'll talk soon.
The fic itself...I warn you, this is not to be taken lightly. At least, I don't think it is. It hit my very suddenly, and has been a bit of a catharsis with me. This does not mean be concerned foe me though. I just want you to read and think and hopefully-well, I don't know. Maybe connect?
I'm worried about the rating. If you guys could, let me know if I should keep it here it bump it to M. Anyway, please read and let me know what you think. It was hard in some ways, easy in others. It hit me rather suddenly though. In the last few hours and I have been working on it since (it's where this sleepless night has gone). And the line that started it is the same line it's titled. I thought of that line and suddenly this story had dropped itself into my lap. I'm sorry if it pains or offends anyone-but I hope it works. works how though, I am not entirely sure myself.
Forgive the long note. Please, continue.
He is afraid.
He doesn't want to admit, because doing so adds yet another line of weakness to his already long, endless list. He has been weak all his life. And he knows he will always be weak. He cannot change-it is impossible. It is why he's where he is, after all.
Because he is weak.
He has done stupid things and unforgivable things. He has harmed people and triggered deaths and caused so much hardship. He knows this is true as well, because the way the guilt has eaten him. Guilt does not press down on one's heart, squeeze and asphyxiate, until the organ finally stutters and collapses under the pressure, if a person has not done terrible things. If he feels guilty, he has done something terrible. Or many terrible things. He's not really sure.
But he knows he deserves it.
He is afraid though and he can't hide it. His whole body is aching and throbbing and he doesn't know what to do anymore. It is hard to breathe-his chest constricts, tightens, but never releases. It refuses air. And the warmth that was all around him is cold now and that frightens him more. And he can't keep his eyes open but he sees his mom's face so it can't be all that bad.
Mom. Dad.
Dad...
I wish you were here. I wish you would notice. I wish you would have seen me.
I hate you sometimes-but I'm still sorry. I'm sorry. I'm selfish and I know it and it just proves how much I deserve it.
Ow...
...ow...
I just want it all to stop. Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop-
He sighs and swallows something burning and harsh-shakes his head and tries to curl in. He opens his eyes, wondering when he had closed them, but the room is blurry. The blue ceiling is spinning around and around and his stomach lurches. His arms ache more and he tries to breathe again. Then wonders why he's trying.
His eyes slip close again. He does not intend to open them again.
There is a sound by his head-the soft scraping of the carpet. A spasm hits his shoulder-the only signal of his surprise. He tries to move his head but only a groan escapes him. Now, more than ever, he wants to open his eyes. Yet now, the ability has all but abandoned him. He feels himself slipping into the dark and is torn between throwing his arms open to embrace it, or forcing himself away to see what is happening.
Distantly, he hears something high-pitched. Maybe it is loud, but he can't tell with the silence that is pressing on him now.
Darkness decides for him and suddenly there's nothing.
He does not remember when it started or why. Only that it hurt.
Hope sighs and leans against the door, watching as Lightning and Serah talk, sitting at the wooden coffee table stashed near the corner of the kitchen. Lightning has a white cup of coffee in front of her, her fingers lightly tapping the cup as the steam rises. Serah is smiling at her, nodding her head at something Lightning says, and Hope thinks they look nice. He is not listening to what they're saying-it's enough to just be there.
The moment ends when the dark presses on him again. A voice, snide and high-pitched, starts to whisper in his ear. He tries to ignore it, brow furrowing, and he looks away before either Serah or Lightning can notice.
Hope runs his hand through his silver locks, studying the door. He is slightly taller, his hair a little longer, but he is otherwise unchanged for the past year. His eyes are still green like his mother's, his mother is still very dead, and much to his dismay, his father is still rather busy. But this time, Hope can understand. Cocoon needs Bartholomew more than Hope could ever need him, so he accepts it.
He's just glad that he has a place to stay-that the Farrons were kind enough to let him stay with them while his father is gone helping the world rebuild. That is something. That is more than he could have ever hoped for-to stay with the person he has become so attached to.
"In the way again, are you? Figures. Look at you. Worthless piece of trash just loitering in their kitchen. Just what do you contribute to this place. It seems to me that all you're doing is taking up space and sucking up air. How pointless."
He shuts his eyes but refuses to groan. The voice is relentless and constant and he shudders when he realizes for the umpteenth time that it is his voice, just more nasal and twisted.
The voice scoffs and he can feel the eye roll. "But I guess you don't have much of a choice, do you? No magic anymore, Nancy-boy. All you had that gave you worth-gone in an instant. Is that it then? You're only useful when you're a monster? Because you're sure not useful now. You don't have any real strength. No muscles to really lift anything heavy or do some decent work. Smart? Maybe if you compared yourself to some dim-witted Pulsian beast. If that."
Shut up.
"Hope, is something wrong?" He jumps at Lightning's voice and whips around. His eyes are wide but he blinks fast and hard, a smile splitting his face before he can think.
"I'm fine, Light. Just a little tired. Studying and all." Both Serah and Lightning are looking at him now and his stomach tightens. Sweat starts to bead but he swallows, thoughts flying, and words flying too. "It's just-dad. I'm worried about him is all-and I miss him."
The lie comes smoothly. It rolls off his tongue and he wonders if it's really a lie. Serah's face crumples and she gets up from her chair and rushes to him, pulling him into a hug. Her warmth is overwhelming and he wonders when he had gotten so cold in the first place. Lightning watches him for a moment, what she can see through Serah at least, before walking up to him and ruffling his hair. Lightning's expression is soft; her lips are slightly parted and there is a slight crease on her brow.
She is concerned for him.
It warms him for a moment, but it just as quickly pales into a pressure on his heart. He feels wrong. Bad. The feeling twists inside of him and clutches until a part of him throbs.
He feels like he's lied.
When Serah moves from him, things return to normal except Hope has a cup of coffee in his hand and the two will glance at him every now and again, asking him to sit with them, which he politely refuses each time. They say they will try and get through the phone line so he can talk with Bartholomew and Hope secretly wishes that they won't.
Everything returns to normal-except Hope is a little colder now.
The voice, he later realizes, is growing. It annoys him constantly, whispering or shouting. And he's afraid, because some of what it says is true.
It hits him hardest when he is sitting alone in the house that is shared by Lightning, Serah, Snow, and himself. It makes him realize he is alone. Worse yet, he is an intruder. These people have lives and he is forcing them to change to accommodate him. But what does he contribute to the fold? What has he done for them to thank them?
"Nothing, that's what. Nothing at all. Chores? All you're doing is cleaning up a mess you made. That mess wouldn't even exist if you weren't here. Anything else? What do you contribute? You know, aside from carbon monoxide and various other gases."
Hope does not refute the voice. Instead he curls his body a little resting his chin on his knees and staring ahead at the baby blue wall.
This room...was supposed to be for Serah and Snow's baby-
"-and look at you, living in it. Way to screw it up."
Hope sighs and closes his eyes, curling his bare feet and collecting some of the white bed sheet between his toes. He wants to shut the voice out, but saying shut up only seems to egg the voice on. He tries to think of something comforting, of advice-of something.
Lightning-
"Yes, what about her? She's your mentor-your absolute idol. Do you have some delusions of actually being like her? I'll tell you what kid, you haven't got a shot. It takes guts to be someone like her-it takes character and strength. And trust me, those are things that you don't have. Weakness, cowardice, and a toothpick for a spine-now those would describe you."
She said she saw potential in me. She said she would-
"Protect you? For someone with potential, you sure need a lot of protecting. Lightning has to protect you, Snow has to protect you, Vanille had to protect you. And how do you repay them? You let one get crystallized-"
No! She did it to save us. She and Fang-
"You constantly disappoint Lightning."
Hope groans and digs his fingers into his scalp. He breathes hard through his nose and curls his trembling fingers in his skin. He presses the palms of his hands to his ears but the voice continues inside his head.
"You try to kill poor Snow. Way to show your gratitude."
I-I didn't mean-
"But the worst thing about this-is the protection you got from your mother."
Hope gasps and shakes his head, again and again until he can feel his brain tear from the stem and bounce around his skull.
"If you were stronger, she wouldn't have reached for that gun. If you were better, she wouldn't have felt the need to protect you. If you didn't exist, none of this would have happened. She may have lived. She may not have been in Bodhum. She would have been with her husband, enjoying life at home. She would have stayed alive. But you were there and you did nothing. You let others take up arms for you. You were supposed to be stronger. You were supposed to stand up and fight for your life-but instead you cowered and hid behind your mother's skirt. She died to protect you. You! And look at what you've done for her-look at it all-"
NO! Hope's eyes snap open and he pushes himself off the bed, running his hands through his hair and pacing the room. He shakes his head as his body quivers violently. He glances around, muttering under his breath.
"That's not true. I-I did do something. I-I helped save-save-"
"Oh, you're really going to try that. You saved what exactly? Cocoon? Pulse? The people? No Hope, I think you're mistaking yourself for your friends. The same friends who dug you out of your own hole. Now tell me again, just why did your mother want to keep you alive? Huh?"
"I-I-I...stop, just stop-"
"Because it seems to me, all she's saved is a quivering mass of fear."
"Stop...please...please..."
"And if that's all she saved-"
"Stop-"
"Then she died for nothing."
Hope sobs before collapsing to the floor.
The voice is always there. And the more it speaks, the more Hope listens, because it's frightening how true it is. The things the voice says...the words ring so true that Hope's heart feels like it's dropping into his stomach.
"The only reason you're around is because people have sacrificed for you."
The voice plagues him the most when he's alone, but sometimes it hits him hard when people are near him too. It will slip in some comment and something inside him breaks. He knows because he'll hear it crack, whatever it is.
"But you do nothing. You've amounted to nothing. You're a parasite."
He knows he shouldn't listen to it. And sometimes the voice goes away and he relaxes a little. But somehow it finds its way back to him. He's almost always in his room when it does, surrounded by blue walls and sitting on a white bed. It will say something and let him know it's there-then it digs deeper and deeper and deeper.
"How sad."
Hope doesn't notice when the voice doesn't disappear. He doesn't realize how important it is; that it's still there and still talking to him and it just won't go away.
"You're a waste of space."
He just accepts it.
"Why are you even here?"
Like it was always there.
Hope knows his father. And he knows his father is busy and that he tries hard for his son. Now only more so, since Nora is gone. Hope understands that his father needs to do what he can for him and for the world, so when Serah gently tells him three weeks later that Bartholomew had to cancel the call, he understands.
And in another three weeks, when Lightning tells him the same things, except she growls and holds him close and says she'll fix it, he still understands.
And when three more weeks pass and he hears his father's voice, some small part of him is lifted. They speak for two minutes-two total minutes-but then Bartholomew has to go and the line goes dead. Snow and Lightning and Serah are standing around him, studying his face. Hope still holds the cell phone to his ear, a small smile frozen on his face.
He doesn't speak for a long time and Lightning goes up to him and slowly, gently, lowers the phone from Hope's ear and sets it and his hand in his lap. Hope's cheeks begin to throb and he lets the smile fall, his mouth forming a straight line. He feels a large hand on his shoulder and hears a gruff voice and he supposes Snow is talking to him.
It's drowned out by the other voice though, and all Hope can hear are the words, "Face it, you're just not worth his time."
Hope stands so suddenly that Snow has to step away, rubbing his throbbing nose where Hope's skull had connected to it. Hope doesn't notice-doesn't feel the ache that will bother him later. Instead Hope takes the cell phone and flings it across the room. It snaps on impact and clatters to the floor and Hope's face is red and he's breathing hard.
Lightning reaches for him and grabs his shoulder, squeezing lightly and trying to get him to look at her. The anger in Hope quickly dissolves-vaporizes really and disappears from existence. Sadness hits him in waves and a black hole opens in his chest and starts sucking away his breath and his energy and he just wants to sleep for a while. And a part of him wants to keep on sleeping-just sleep, sleep, sleep.
His chest tightens then loosens and then he feels it. His heart just stuttering and stopping. He feels it snap off and fall into his stomach-and then even farther. The black hole takes it and everything shifts and swirls endlessly. The voice is still talking and his eyes are burning and he doesn't know what to do. He's so alone, so alone, so alone, so alone-
"Hope?"
"I just want it to stop." Hope shrugs off Lightning's hand and walks away. His heart is still gone and the black hole is still stealing the air from him. He feels cold all over and a tear manages to slide down his face.
"Worthless, pointless-"
Why am I here?
The others do not realize that it is the one and only hint they will receive.
He does not know when he decides it but he does know why. The voice sneers at him. But he's used to it by now. It's a buzz and in a way, it's oddly comforting. Or something, he decides.
"Oh, you'll think you'll be able to do it, huh? Really? And how's that? We all know you're just a little crybaby trying to get attention. Or do you mean it? Show me you mean it. Show me-"
It did have a point, though.
He had to mean it.
He had to mean it.
He had to mean it.
Two weeks go by. He counts the days, one by one, even by the hour. But he watches himself too. He goes through the motions. He talks to Lightning and to Serah and to Snow and he pretends that the voice isn't there, even though it is. But it's so drilled into his head that it doesn't matter.
I am worthless.
I am pathetic.
I am weak.
I take up space.
I am pointless.
What good am I?
Why am I here?
I killed my mom. I almost killed Snow. I disappointed Lightning. I am guilty. I am selfish. I know I'm selfish because of what I'm doing, what I'm planning. I am worthless and I am pointless and I need this because it's the only way. I can't tell them. If I tell them, they'll know. They'll know how weak I am.
"They already know. They can see it. It's painfully obvious."
I know. I know. I know. I just-I want to get away.
"You're such a coward."
I know. I know. I know. I'm running away-I'm running. I'm so weak. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so weak-
"So this is your only option? It figures. You would think that. You're so selfish. Think of what'll do to them."
Hope doesn't realize how important those words are. That he thinks of the impact this act will have on the others. He just nods in his head, breathes, accepts it.
It just proves how selfish I am. How much I need to do this. I need it-I need it-I need it. It's all I can think about. My chest-it hurts so much. It feels like nothing is there anymore. I want it to stop. I want it all to stop. Make it stop. I want to make it stop.
"They'll hate you."
I deserve it.
But despite this constant battle inside of him, it doesn't show. Mostly because he doesn't want it to. He goes through the days easily. He makes sure not to change his diet or let his lack of sleep show. If he can't sleep, he sneaks into the bathroom and rifles through Serah's make-up, covering the dark circles under his eyes with cover up and making himself as perky as possible during the day. Sometimes he'll catch Lightning look at him and he starts to panic, because he knows she can read him and he doesn't know how well he can act.
But he does well enough and no one ever asks.
The last day is the hardest day though. He walks through the whole house and sees the things he won't see later. The living room; with its beige carpeting and matching walls, but the hideous yellow couch that Snow just had to have. The coffee tables and the chocobo clock that hangs on the wall by the door.
The kitchen, where he has eaten breakfast at the table that is nestled in the corner. Serah smiling as she piles eggs onto the plate before giggling as he wolves it down. Lightning coming in, snarling at anyone who threatens her coffee. Snow holding his hands in surrender, shooting puppy dog eyes at Serah, silently begging her to get coffee for him.
Serah and Snow's room, with the comfy double bed and the long curtains that shield the windows. Simple colors-light, pleasant green and pretty white dressers.
Lightning's room, with the single bed. It's bare-a plain wooden dresser with a curtain-less window, and a bedside table. But on the table is a set of photographs, one of Serah and Snow and another of him-and his heart swells so much in that moment that he starts to cry.
He is afraid then. He is afraid and filled with that odd warmth that he's forgotten about and he wonders what he should do. He is alone in the house-it is the last day. He planned it carefully. He put on make-up to hide his dark circles and his red, puffy eyes. He has pretended to be happy and done what he could not to arouse suspicion. He has planned it carefully. He had considered the bathroom, but realizes that they would be suspicious. He can lock his room without too much care, but not the bathroom.
That, and a part of him selfishly wants to be in the room where all his photos are just before he dies. But the last thing he wants to do is stain the carpet of Serah and Snow's new baby's room, so he grabs several towels and lays them in his room. He has locked the door and he has the knife waiting by his side and he sits on the towels. His knees are tucked under his chin and he's glaring at the floor and he's wondering and wondering and wondering-
But now he is afraid. He is afraid and he's staring at the knife and wondering-
"Figures. Don't have the guts huh? A coward till the end. Pointless. Always pointless. What will they do when they see this, I wonder? Not that it matters. Always a bother. Always a parasite. Why are you even here? You think they will care about you once you're gone-"
But-
"Isn't this better? You'll be doing them a favor. Think about it. All the terrible things you've done to them-your very existence is an insult to them. But you're damned if you do and damned if you don't I'm afraid. Waste your mother's sacrifice. But you know, it was always a waste, wasn't it-"
Please...please...please...please...
But it wouldn't stop. And he knew that. It wouldn't stop unless he made it stop.
He wanted it to stop.
Needed it to stop.
So he grabbed the knife and he dragged it as hard as he could along his arm. Not across, he knew that wouldn't work, but along. And the pain was blinding-everything went white for a second and then it went red. He tried the other arm, got halfway before he had to stop, collapsing on the towels beneath him. And he felt the blood seeping over him but it hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt.
"You deserve it."
"You deserve this."
"You deserve this and you know it."
Despite this, he is afraid. His arms ache and he is almost blinded by the pain and things are slowly going cold and it makes him more afraid. He thinks of seeing his mom and he thinks of his busy dad. He tries and fails to keep his eyes open. He hears something-panics-but darkness claims him before he can really react.
Darkness.
Lightning stares down at him, eyes flickering to the machines he's attached to; the IV bag and the heart monitor and the other things she's not sure about. She glances at his pale wrist and sees the small tag before clenching the rail. She looks at her sister and her brother-in-law on the other side of the bed, draped across each other and sleeping. Both their eyes have red bags beneath them and Serah's face is tear-stained. Lightning blinks hard, feeling her eyes start to burn again, and rubs the already inflamed area.
She closes her eyes and sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose and letting her head rest on the railing. "Why...didn't I see this, Hope? I should have seen this. I should have known what was wrong," Lightning whispers, shuddering. Her breath rattles and her body shakes and she lifts her head, studying Hope's face.
His skin is pale but under his eyes are deep, dark, black and purple bags. Make-up. Hidden with make-up. His breath is slow now but steady and all the blood has been washed from him. As her eyes travel down, she studies that bandages again, wrapped tightly around the wounds.
The self-inflicted wounds.
Her hands are shaking again, but she makes no move to stop them. She knows, after hours of screaming and yelling and panic-of crying and of some of the most painful silences she has ever had to endure-that she cannot stop it. And she couldn't stop this. Instead, all she can do is sit in an uncomfortable chair and wait for Hope to wake up.
But she is scared.
What do I say to him, once he wakes up? What can I say to him? 'Why did you try to kill yourself?' no...no...he won't want to-but-but why? Why would he do this-to us-to himself. And why the hell couldn't I see it! I should have seen if he was hurting-I should have known! But I was blind-I was blind and now here he is and-and-and I don't even know what to do.
Lightning's eyes scrunch up and her eyes are hot. They burn and her head is heavy. Before she can stop it a silent sob is wrenching itself from her throat and she leans against the rail again. She curls in on herself and bites her lip, desperate to control herself-to hold on. She needs to hold on now, because someone has to keep it together when Hope wakes up. Someone has to help him understand and get better. She needs to be there. She needs to make it up to him. She needs to atone for this latest and most devastating failure.
Because she knows she could have prevented this if she had actually tried. She knows it. She can feel it dig into her bones. She can feel it in the way her heart is trying to jump out of her. She knows and yet here Hope is, hooked up to machines with slits along his arms.
And there had been so much blood-so much blood-how could someone so small be filled with so much blood.
"I'm sor-ry, Hope," she whispers. She hates how weak she sounds-hates how she stutters and how hard it is to keep from sobbing. And she looks up and feels the hot tears running down her cheeks but she tries to swallow any noises. She takes his hand in hers and holds it, rubbing the cold fingers, trying to give him her warmth. "I-I should have-h-ave figured it out. I should have seen the signs."
She shakes her head and lifts her head up to the ceiling, closing her eyes and taking several deep breaths. Her chest hurts. It's tight and painful and she can barely breathe-and she wonders again what to do and how this happened. Wonders what she can do for Hope if there's anything. Wonders how things will be now. Wonders and wonders and wonders-
-Hope shifts and she panics. Panics because she sees his eyes fluttering open. Her heart stutters to a stop before kick-starting again, making a home in her throat and breathing impossible. Her hands are shaking and her mouth is opening and closing. She tries to think of something to say-tries to make a noise come out-but there is nothing.
Hope, however, gets rid of that need.
He slowly opens his eyes, blinking a few times and squinting at the fluorescent light above him. His eyes scrunch up and he tilts his head to the side. Lightning watches as his arms twitch before his head slowly turns toward her. His eyes-they were what got Lightning-were wide and watering before she could even speak. He started shaking his head as the realization truly, finally, sunk in. And Lightning knew it was devastating-had known it would be-but that did not mean she was prepared for it.
"H-Hope-"
"Uh...ugh...uh-up-uh-hugh-" Noises are all that escape him before he curls to his side and tries to push himself up, only to groan and cry out when his arms give away from him. New pain shoots up his arms and the noise startles Serah and Snow awake, but Lightning ignores their surprised gasps and hurried sentences. She has only eyes for Hope as he struggles to move-his sobbing getting louder the more he struggles in vain against the bed.
Lightning bites her lip and reaches for him, pulling him to face her even as he thrashes.
"No-no-no-uhhhh-noooo," Hope moans as he's forced to face her. Tears are streaming down his face and he's hiccuping, gasping for breath with every little cough. And his eyes are so afraid-so scared and desperate and he is so cold. Her mind goes blank and she knows she has no way to fix him. Not right away and not completely. But he is struggling so much and he is in so much pain-she knows because she can see it there-so she does the only things she can think of.
She grabs him and presses him to her. Hugs him as tight as she can even though she hears a pained gasp from him. Lightning runs her hands through his silver hair even as he struggles and pulls and even bites her. She rocks him back and forth even when he starts shouting that he didn't want this. He wanted to die. That they didn't need him.
He shouts a lot of things that cut her-tear her insides and pull things apart inside of her. That he thought they didn't need him. That he was worthless. That it's what he deserves. That he's a coward.
That she should have left him there to die.
She just rocks him and soothes him, whispering into his ear and running her fingers through his hair. She doesn't know what she's saying but she doesn't have to. She just holds him and rocks him. Back and forth, back and forth, as slow as she possibly can. And eventually, the trembling stops. And the sobs. The self-destructive words and desperate gasps. Eventually, there is nothing but light snoring, his body limp in her arms. And she doesn't notice until she tries to lift her head, but Snow and Serah are around her too.
Slowly, they peel away and feel a little colder for it. Lightning gently rests Hope on the bed and tucks the blankets around him. She makes note of his baggy eyes and his arms and his words. And she continues to watch him, even as Serah goes to find a doctor.
Later, she knows she will have to have a talk with Hope. And that soon, a lot of things will change. That there is a lot of work to be done and there is a lot she needs to do. A lot of things she does not understand. That Hope is sick in some way-a deep, dark sick. That he feels alone and afraid. She knows she will have to cross these winding paths with him and she wonders if she is strong enough to do it. Because she is not good with feelings at all. She does not understand this and it scares her to think it can happen again-that it happened at all.
But she studies his face-soft now with sleep but still too pale, except under the eyes, which are too dark. The bandages around his wrist. The utter fear. The way his blood was just-everywhere. And she thinks back to the boy she first met when their journey started. Of how far they had come together-from her ready to abandon him to staying together, fighting for one another, and protecting one another.
This person, who has made her smile so much.
This person who has given her hope.
This person who needs her so much.
And she knows it doesn't matter how hard this new journey will be.
He deserves it.