A/N: If you haven't noticed with my stories, I have a certain affinity for suicide and suicidal thoughts...I just needed to write this tonight.
There are no pairings, because I'm not really a fan of Shules and I don't think this should really be able romance anyway. These are Shawn's thoughts, the ones no one, not even Gus, know of.
/
Shawn gazed out of the Psych front window, past its great green letters that he once believed would be the start of something new. But nothing ever really changed, he'd learned that over the many years of trying to find something to appease his overwhelming sense of emptiness.
When he left Santa Barbara it was, as he told himself, to escape his father's control over him-to escape the feeling that he was nothing more than a cop's son...that he was nothing more than a high school record of failures. If he could venture out into the world, meet new people, experience a brighter side of life, surely he could be as happy as the people he'd imagined.
It hadn't worked out that way. The hopelessness, the self-hatred, and the suicidal thoughts remained an ever present figure in his life. Shawn didn't understand, he'd left the pressure his father had placed on him since the day he was born, so why was he still unhappy? Why did he still want to die? It struck him then, at age 19, that it was never his father that caused the dark cloud to follow him, it was his own fault.
So he'd traveled further, still searching for the glimmer of hope that everyone surrounding him seemed to have obtained so easily. He thought of Gus, his best friend, and the amazing self-confidence he held. Burton Guster was going to incredible things, he was happy, he would be successful. Shawn was not Burton Guster, he had accepted that long ago, and he was glad he was not there to bring Gus down with him.
He'd had several close moments, standing on a bridge at night, a box cutter from a retail job he'd had for a week, the pills a stranger had offered to sell, but ultimately he kept on going. He knew no one from his hometown would even know if he were to kill himself, and he was never sure if he was glad for that or a little bit heartbroken. Shawn never tried, he had always backed out at the last minute, telling himself that it would get better if he just held on for one more day.
And now, here he was, 23 years old and back in his home town doing something he'd never imagined he'd do, and let alone like doing. But his appreciation for the job, the people, and the fame still faded in comparison to his incompleteness.
He had a business that he shared with his best friend, and he still could not get the stupid thoughts out of his mind. Just do it, you will never feel complete.
He could see a few stray people scattering across the walk, some drunk and staggering, others holding onto one another lovingly. He briefly wondered if they would be creeped out if they saw him staring blankly through the window in the dark office, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. If he moved, he would surely start to cry, but if he stayed still...maybe he could pretend he wasn't actually there.
It was nearly 3 in the morning when he turned his head slightly down and to the left. A blade he'd usually kept hidden in his desk drawer, in fear of Gus finding it, was laying idly on the tabletop- the pale moonlight bounced off of it, calling for him.
Shawn contemplated its presence as he gazed once more out of the window. There was no more hesitation as he slyly picked up the blade, caressing it before closing his eyes and breathing deeply.