WARNING: Drug abuse, mentions of suicide.
Constructive criticism is always welcome!
Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to own the Political Animals miniseries or any characters and places associated with Greg Berlanti and Berlanti productions. No profit is made from the writing for this fanfiction
Nana sat across from me. For the first time since I was that happy, care-free child she so often talks about, I didn't have to pretend I was empathetic; it was real. The tears I stroked away from my eyes weren't crocodile tears there to press my advantage… they were pressing on my chest, scaring me to my core as I saw that nauseating belief swelling in her eyes.
The second time she had almost lost me, the second time I had to come home to explain why I couldn't just cope. Why she wasn't enough to save me from what raged in my head and my chest and... in my veins. It was wearing her down. She looked at me with withered eyes, hands trembling.
I'll stop nana, I'll stop for you. I wanted to say.
What I would have given to have her believe me. What I would have given to have any of them believe me. And they dared to wonder why I was like this, why I had to turn to those little white lines.
They never believe I could do well, that I could do anything at that. Their queer, waster son who has done nothing but get in the way of their work and embarrass them in the papers; Just a piece of leverage for politicians and papers alike. My life was a smouldering train-wreck, just a never ending mash of disappointment, drugs and suicide at the hands of readers who value my life as much as the characters on their soap operas.
That's all I was. A character, a story, a joke.
Was that the real reason or was that my excuse?
Of course that was the reason!
No, it's not her fault... it's his, Shaun...
No! It's all them.
But not her.
But nana took my hand, reading in me all I felt and all I wanted to say. She wanted to know why she had never been enough; I wanted to know that too. The only one that cared… the drunk, the waster, the family misfit, embarrassment… Why had she never been enough?
She was pleading for me to understand, gripping my hand tightly in hers. She didn't have to beg me, I wanted to stop… I wanted it to end, for her to look at me and see that beaming child again. Not to see her cringe away, only able to see my broken body in a ditch, flash of the paparazzi's camera glinting off my bloody nose frothy mouth.
She would be enough now. My heart pounding in my throat and my palms sweating, I pressed her hand against my lips. Please stop crying nana, I promise. I'll stop for you.
She let my hand go and I stood, whipping my eyes on my shirt… I reached for my phone.
Just one more hit and I'll stop.
Thanks for reading!