I can't honestly say I know what this story is, or where it's headed. I just wanted to write it. I'm still working on BIT, this is just a small side project.

It's titled after an album by the band Lydia, and every chapter will be named after a song by them. I don't own Lydia and I'll never claim to.

Enjoy. Reviews make my day.


Place me on your scene and I'll take
Everything that you ever said to me
No, it wasn't just words
Day after day after day
I call that fate

It was there one moment, and just as seamlessly, it wasn't the next.

All the static that usually kept him grounded was gone, lost for the time being. And in just a few seconds – that was all it took – it all felt like it had been sapped from him. The will to live, or survive, whichever you want to call it. Either way, it was entirely lacking in him.

His footsteps meant nothing, his destination suddenly lacking purpose. His breaths were only taken because his body demanded they were.

If ever Eli wished to kill himself, it was then.

Still, he didn't feel an absence. It wasn't as though he was sweeping the cobwebs out of his own brain. It was more like opening up a space for apathy to take root, and that was just what happened.

His steps were all muscle memory, simply walking back to his house. If anyone had seen him from the road, they would have noticed his ambling down the street and just assumed it was a young man who was heading back from wherever, that nothing momentous, remarkable or horrifying was about to happen to him.

But inside, Eli could feel it brewing, spinning itself together even if it wasn't a conscious act on his part.

His stomach had been twisted into permanent knots for hours, the result of a tiring argument with his dad. He always won, his logic always beat Eli's out and left him feeling an awful lot like a fool. That didn't matter much anymore, but he could still feel the stinging all over his arms from the damage the argument had done. He didn't need to hold the blade to his arm, Eli did that all on his own. But his words helped dig the blade into the boy's flesh.

For a short while after, he felt a sense of ease, some small semblance of inner peace beginning to take root in him. The small rational part of his mind knew what it was, and where it was leading. Each slap of his shoe against the pavement marked one of the last ones he would take. The rush of inner peace was what most felt when they were readying themselves to die.

No act of the fictitious God he didn't even believe in would take him, no. He was the master of his own destiny, and keeping that in mind, he would have the liberty, the great honor of ending his own life.

As weariness began to plague his body, he ached for a nap. A long, warm nap under the thickest of blankets. Had he gone home, he might have gotten just that. Perhaps with the occasional yell from his father thrown in the mix, but it would have sufficed under normal circumstances. Had he not been at the end of his rope, Eli wouldn't have felt so all-knowing, so goddamn greedy for power over his own existence.

He turned down a street he wasn't terribly familiar with, only knowing it for its lack of artificial, albeit dim, streetlights, and its preposterous amount of traffic. How so many people could be traveling on one poorly lit street at any given time was beyond him. The flow of cars was seemingly endless as he traversed on, his movements still as mechanical as they had been before.

It was perfect, he decided.

He could already see his body, splayed out smack dab in the middle of the yellow lines. The red would run from his veins and every broken piece of his body, bleeding out, almost in atonement. For every single wrong thing he'd done over the seventeen years he'd been alive.

For meeting Julia and opening her up to her own demise. For lulling her into a safety even he had been naive enough to believe he could provide. For being a burden to his father, only serving as a decent verbal punching bag when the mood struck. For not being enough to his mother. So little and so insignificant that she somehow found it in her to up and leave.

For every last sorry piece of shit he was made up of. For every mistake he'd made and couldn't make up for.

He almost chuckled out loud at the thought of who would hear the news first. How the house phone might ring, but Bullfrog would inevitably be sleeping, his own snoring drowning out the irksome droning of the phone.

Maybe a stranger would see him in such a mangled state and, in a panic, dial 911, wincing away slightly as they looked between the paused traffic and his grotesquely damaged body. Finally his outsides would resemble what was in.

Perhaps someone would manage to reach Cece, wherever she was, and alert her that her son had taken his own life. He wondered if she would shed any tears or sit there in unfazed amusement. The moment she stepped left their home years before Eli knew he was dead to her already. The absence of his physical body roaming the Earth wouldn't be any different. She'd already signed off on him long ago.

Beyond those instances, he couldn't imagine who could possibly find him. A stranger, his father, or another woman who felt like a stranger but by blood and legality, took on the title of his mother. The choices weren't appealing in the least but what did he care? He would be one with the pavement, his bones crushed against the road as tires ran over his body. His say in the matter was irrelevant no matter what.

He couldn't even imagine the crunch that his bones might elicit should the tires of a rather large truck or SUV roll him over.

All of this seemed very amusing to him now, a wide smile spreading across his chapped lips as he wandered on. The road only lasted a mile or so more. If he didn't do it before he hit the next sign marking the next street, he wouldn't do it at all. There was still the slightest bit of cowardice left in him. While every after school special and therapist he'd seen had told him "It's brave not to commit suicide, it's brave to not to go through with it." he bitterly disagreed. He was a selfish bastard for continuing to exist when he served no purpose. He was stealing the air from people more worthy of breathing, hogging the time of individuals who didn't even want to speak to him. Over the course of a year, Eli had become a waste of space.

Now, his body felt limp and tired. It begged to retire itself to nothingness. He couldn't forsake his attachment to the notion that nothing existed beyond one's death. The idea was so firmly lodged in his mind that even within the moments before his death, he couldn't bring himself to believe in a higher power. What kind of God would have pity on him anyway, if one existed? After the ruination he'd so seamlessly created over the course of his life, after how quickly he'd made a mockery of his own hopes and dreams, why would anyone so powerful cast a sympathetic gaze on him? He didn't deserve it – it was that simple. If such a being did exist, Eli was convinced that they were leading his footsteps, all but pushing him into the heavy flow of traffic.

The moment couldn't be delayed any further. The distinct pulsing in his chest, the drumming beneath his ribcage was beginning to tucker out. Even his own organs were giving up on him, he mused. His lungs felt heavy, caving with each labored breath he forced inside.

Turning towards the road, he stopped short, his heels sitting atop the curb. The night sky had fallen over them like a blanket hours before, though Eli couldn't remember exactly what time it was now. But it was plenty dark enough that the headlights on each car nearly blinded him, watching as they sped to and fro.

It took one dauntless step forward to shove himself out into traffic. To trust anyone on that road to do him in. Truly, whoever happened to mow over his body would be his savior, even if he never got the chance to tell them. Now, thinking about it, he realized he hadn't even written out an official suicide note. The notion had always seemed over-romanticized to him anyway. Who would want to read his musings as he readied himself for the last night of his life? Who, when he really pondered it, would actually give a damn?

The fact that he came up empty on names answered his question easily.

His father's birthday was in ten days, he realized. But that wouldn't matter much, on the whole. Perhaps offing himself would serve as a better present than any halfhearted gift card could be. A death certificate to mount proudly on his wall; the relieving of the constant nuisance that took residence in the upstairs bedroom of his house. Again, Eli was merely wasted space. He knew it all too well.

In four weeks, fours weeks and a day to be exact, it would be the anniversary of the day that Julia met this same fate, ironically enough. Though he knew she never would have taken her own life. For all her inner struggles and her tempestuous relationship with her mother, she never would have taken this way out willingly. The fact that he was seeking a similar out would have disgusted her. She would spit upon his corpse had she been around to do it. But that was just the thing; she wasn't around. No one was there to drag Eli by his collar away from the road.

Most of the drivers were giving him puzzled looks, expecting him to cross the road or barely even noticing him at all. Clad in black, without even a sliver of colorful clothing to make him show up against the night, most drivers didn't pay him any mind. He blended in with his surroundings, much to his relief. Just as much as he didn't want to see it coming, he didn't want the driver to either.

For posterity, or some other equally as ridiculous and self-defeating purpose, he sucked in one last breath, hoping it would cleanse him of his inner blackness. Of the things he was too ashamed to admit to anyone. It had to be a good last one. One that would tide his body over until the end hit him.

Someone would peel him off the road, a bloody mess, and they'd eventually see the scars littering his arms.

Someone would have to pick through his belongings that he had on him. Only a wallet. And inside, they'd find his ID.

Elijah Lucas Goldsworthy, born May 10th, 1992. Brown hair, green eyes. Blood type AB.

They'd see the picture of Julia sitting comfortably on the inside of it, her Mona Lisa smile staring them daringly in the face as they tried to make heads or tails of the broken boy beneath them.

Someone would have to claw through his room eventually, scoffing haughtily at the clutter and disarray he'd managed to build up over the last year or so. They wouldn't understand the significance of the things he'd saved. How they all went back to her somehow. They wouldn't comprehend how he'd managed to acquire so many notebooks and filled them all with writing. And they wouldn't care.

That was the thing Eli had realized most about other people: they just didn't give a shit.

He reserved that same right in this moment, to not give a shit. Not a one.

It was as if his own legs didn't belong to him as he let one last car pass, then rushing out to the middle of the road. His eyes were secured behind his lids, just so he wouldn't have to witness any of it. The last visual memory he had couldn't be that. He wanted it to be her raven hair. The way her mouth twisted to one side before she said something especially snarky, or the way her skin felt when it was pressed against his. Julia was his first and last thought every single day. His death should be no different, he reasoned...

"Kid! What the fuck are you doing?" Suddenly his eyes shot open in horror. No, no, no, no. This wasn't supposed to be happening. His body was already supposed to be mowed over, his blood painting the road in the most ironic, tragic, and perhaps even award winning of ways.

But staring him in the face was a man behind the wheel, blaring down on his horn crossly. "Get the fuck out of he road! Are you trying to get yourself killed?" he yelled out, rolling down his window and reaching his head around to see him.

Eli couldn't help but laugh at the accuracy of his question, the undulation in his laughter shaking even him. It didn't feel like a voice he owned. In fact, this all felt like borrowed time. He knew, he wasn't supposed to be alive. His plan had gone terribly awry.

Facing the vehicle, he shook his head.

"No? No what, kid? You gotta get out of the road." Cars behind this man's were slamming down on their horns, eager to get back on the road and go nowhere. One of them, he was convinced, would be his saving grace. One would mow over his body if not from purely accidental means, then just to get the hell home, treating him like the insignificant blockade he was.

The man stared Eli down, willing him to budge but his feet felt permanently rooted into the path. Choosing instead the path of least resistance, the man parked his car, the next one pulling up right in front of Eli. This would be it. They wouldn't pause, halted by their own meager excuse for a conscience.

But when they did in fact stop, slamming down on their horn in an even angrier manner than the first man had, Eli grit his teeth together. He should have slit his wrists. Or flung himself from a bridge. Something that wouldn't have denied him the quiet bliss of death. This was far too complicated, and it was becoming more theatrical than cathartic as the moments wore on.

Suddenly he felt his body being jerked from the road. He fought it off, flailing his arms about and attempting to slap away whatever force was keeping him from his fate. Soon traffic resumed as if it hadn't been disturbed at all, life carrying on in much the same manner as it had before his stunt.

"Calm down! You need to calm down!" that same voice from the car pleaded with him, the man's arms winding around Eli's thrashing form.

"Let me go!" Eli rasped, desperate to free himself from this man's clutches. This man who shouldn't have cared at all. No one else did, why was a stranger suddenly showing him the least bit of compassion? It was too late. Even if he wasn't dead in the middle of the street, his will to live was already extinguished. That last spark had already been dimmed, dulled out beneath the weight of his mistakes and regrets. No one else would fully understand it, which was why they denied him the mercy of doing him in. Any reasonable, feeling human being would have allowed him at least that bit of peace.

Keeping a vice grip on his frame, the man finally got him to simmer down, Eli's chest heaving violently as he stared at the sidewalk beneath them. "Were you trying to kill yourself?" the man asked, his tone even. It didn't betray any anxiety, if he had any to speak of. It felt like a clerical question. As though he was asking him if he'd ever smoked, or if he was sexually active. It was a question of menial importance and little consequence. So he answered honestly.

"Yes." he stated derisively, bitter over the fact that he'd been denied his chance to do just that. Yet again, his own stupidity was winning out, screwing over what should have been the most foolproof of plans. Killing oneself shouldn't have to be so methodical, he figured. But apparently, it was. He knew as soon as he broke loose from this man, he'd be back to the drawing board.

But he felt himself being dragged to the man's car, his thrashing beginning once again. "You need to go to a hospital, son." he spat out firmly, somehow still keeping a hold of Eli despite his attempts to break free.

"No. No, let me go!" he shouted, all but clawing at the man's eyes. At that, the man finally let go a bit, but held onto his arms.

"I will not be responsible for your death, do you understand?" the man dared to shout back, sobering Eli up for a moment. He couldn't draw up a reply immediately and it allowed the man the ability to fit in a few words edgewise. "I know you might feel like everything is hopeless right now, but I promise, it can get better."

It was only then that Eli saw the man, beforehand not even making an attempt to observe him. He was balding, some hair swept over his bare scalp in a lame attempt to mask it. Under his eyes were heavy bags, the past thirty or so years perhaps hanging sullenly beneath dulled, greyish blue orbs.

It made him wonder who really had it worse – him, or the man standing before him.

Shaking his head, Eli felt his eyes beginning to sting. He was tired of people swearing that it "gets better". That there was a brilliant,forgiving light waiting at the end of a tiring tunnel, if only he'd wait around long enough to see it for himself. That suicide was a permanent solution to a temporary problem.

"I don't care." he spoke honestly, his voice only coming out as a choked sob as he looked helplessly to the man. At this rate, there was no way he'd be able to find his death on the street. He wondered if he even had the energy to end his life at all tonight. Fatigue was winning out, against his better judgment.

The man sighed out either in desperation or exasperation, Eli couldn't tell which. "Son, please, just come with me. Get in the car, let me get you somewhere safe. You need to get checked out at the hospital. You don't look good, besides the fact that you just tried to become roadkill." He managed a soft chuckle at his own offbeat humor but Eli remained stoic, his teeth grit together.

He didn't speak a word as he reluctantly entered the man's car, slipping himself into the back seat. His frame shook a bit as the man slammed the door shut, then hastily maneuvering back around to the driver's side door.

It wasn't until he was inside that he realized someone had even been in the passenger's seat. In the pitch blackness of the night, he could only see the driver's head poking out of the window.

As they turned to face him, the only thing he could see was blue. A seemingly endless, tranquil blue that managed to work past his own unrelenting thoughts for a moment. The girl before him didn't say a word as they exchanged a silent stare, her mouth hung agape as she took in his rattled, jolted self.

She had the most gentle pair of eyes in the world, Eli thought. They had the power to quiet his mind when nothing else could.

"See? You even scared the living daylights out of my daughter." the man huffed out as he entered the vehicle, clicking the automatic locks for the doors so that Eli wouldn't try to spring out on his own.

Glancing back to the young girl sitting up front, he noticed how her cheeks were stained with tears, her face awash in a furious red hue, her bottom lip quivering.

This girl was crying for him. For his sorry ass, his miserable excuse for a life. As if he deserved it.

Eli couldn't conjure up a sentence for the life of him, his words stuck in his dry throat. He couldn't say a thing, for fear of making the girl cry even more. He didn't know her, but he couldn't bear to see her in pain. Not those gentle, unshielded eyes. He'd already caused enough heartbreak in his life. She didn't need to be added to that ever growing list.

He might have tried to escape the car if not for the fact that she was there. As the vehicle started up and they drove down that same road he tried to end his life on, Eli swallowed hard. Still the girl hadn't let her gaze leave his, but she hadn't said anything either. Feeling uncomfortable, he toyed absentmindedly with his hands.

It was only then that the man realized the girl, presumably his daughter, had been staring Eli down in a fixated manner, her eyes still brimming with unshed tears. "Clare, face forward." he chastised, glancing back at Eli before returning his focus to the road.

Clare. What a fitting name, he thought.

Out of knee-jerk reaction, she did, facing forward in her seat. Despite this, she managed to sneak a few glances at the boy in the backseat, even offering him a weak smile at one point.

It thawed the ice in Eli's chest at once. He couldn't even attempt to describe the soothing sensation this girl was able to shoot into his veins. Her sweet demeanor, those auburn curls bouncing around either side of her face as the car sped onward, it all seeped under his skin. She was a remedy, if he'd ever encountered one.

The only thing that scared him more than this impending visit to the hospital was being torn away from her kind gaze. He held onto it helplessly like a lifeline for the entirety of the ride there.