A/N: Ahh hmmm ah ohhh uhh hi? I stutter because I'm questioning my life choices at the moment and I'm question what you are about to read.

Firstly I'm going to say a big massive thank you to everyone who has been following this story and I'm just so blown away by everyones love and support. The last chapter got about 40ish? reviews and that's just... yeah. no words. i love you all.

right so here's the thing. this chapter was going to be a lot longer an I completely know what I'm doing with this story right up until the end so it wasn't so much an issue of not know what to write, it was more...

Ok this chapter sort of went somewhere I wasn't expecting and it left me physically in tears and gasping for air a little bit but... I needed it. And maybe you'll need it too idk. I feel like the words here, no matter how short they are, needed to be said and left alone by themselves. Also my wife/lover/inspiration/muse/life Ashley reads basically everything I write and we both agreed that this is what it is and needs to stay that way. So I apologise for the lack of plot development but it will all happen I promise.

Just quickly and maybe importantly, after the linebreak it is all dialogue. Obviously that will be clear but I just hope you quickly pick up on what it is going on... I've done this all intentionally and idididkkdidk im gonna shut up now. (its a therapist ok)

much love. xoxoxoox

chapter is titled after the song Hallelujah (jeff buckley) because I had it on repeat whilst writing and cried like crazy.

Chapter 14 - Hallelujah.

Seconds turn to minutes, minutes turn to days, days turn to weeks. On and on and on it goes until there is no possible chance of escape from this Hell. It could be worse, he could be dead, and yet. . . would that really be worse? Because really, that was the ultimate goal after all.

He had tried, and he had failed, trying so desperately not to cling onto those last final moments of the life he no longer wanted. And he still didn't want it, as he lay here now staring at the dull white ceiling above his head. He thinks that maybe he could draw the lines of this room with his eyes closed now, that with a pencil in hand he could paint the perfect picture purely from memory.

He felt the same way about a particular face. A face that he could draw in his sleep, after his fingers had spent so many hours tracing the hard lines of that jaw. . . that long nose. . . He could capture the bushiness of those eyebrows with merely his fingertips and the striking green of those eyes he had fallen in love with more and more every single day.

But that was all simply a memory now, a memory that he still wasn't sure if it were reality or a dream. He must have imagined it, surely, those three little whispered words of "I love you" could not have been real. And yet. . . They are so clear in his head, like a relentless drum of pain and regret.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Yes."

"Do you know who you are?"

"Yes."

"Do you know why you're here?"

"Stop."

"Excuse me –"

"Just stop, ok? Obviously my brain is working completely fine. I know who I am and I know who you are and why I'm here and how I got into this stupid fucking mess."

"I see. So, shall I let you speak then? Would you like to conduct this session?"

"I wish this session wasn't happening at all to be honest."

"Would you like to tell me why you just swore before?"

". . . Huh?"

"I've known you since you were just a little boy. I know the values you hold and what you believe in, I know it's not in your nature to swear."

"You don't know a thing about me."

"On the contrary, I believe I know quite a bit. Why are you here?"

"Because I have to be."

"Wrong answer. Try again."

"I'm here because I tried to kill myself."

"Good. Now, was that so hard?"

"No. I think I've come to accept it."

"Have you, have you really?"

"Yes. I took a blade to my wrists because I wanted to die. That's it. All there is."

"No, that's exactly why you're here. Because no one simply wakes up in the morning and decides it would be a good day to end their life. That's why I'm here, to help you deal with the decisions that drove you to do that to yourself, to prevent you from doing it again."

"Ha."

"Something funny?"

"Everyone's treating me like I'm going to fucking implode at any minute."

"And are you?"

"I. . . I don't know."

"Can we talk about Ken-"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to talk about him right now, thank you."

"Will you ever want to talk about him?"

". . . No."

"Is he the reason you –"

"No."

"It's ok to admit defeat, you know. It's ok to admit that we were wrong about love, or what we thought love was."

"H-he. . . He loved me. He loves me."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because he told me."

"People lie."

"You really want to talk to me about lying? Let's talk about the fact that everyone except for you, my family and a handful of doctors and nurses, think I'm dead."

"I know that –"

"No. If we're going to talk about lying let's talk about this. Let's talk about how even after almost losing me my parents are still ashamed of everything I am. About how they would rather tell the world that I was dead instead of having me face anyone. About how neighbours and childhood friends and people I don't even know come to our door every single day to drop off flowers and say just how sorry they are. About how my Father refuses to believe I even exist because to him, I died in that bathroom that night five weeks ago."

"You need to understand that –"

"And the lies just keep pilling and pilling up and I don't think I can take it anymore. Everyone thinks I tried to kill myself because of. . . Because of Kendall . . . but he's the reason I'm still breathing today. Because I need him, I need him more than anything and I can't stand it and. . . he thinks I'm dead. I know he tried calling a few times, I know that he would have called after that night and I know what my Mother would have told him. Sometimes I make myself sick with the thought that maybe he has been one of the one's to come to the door that my Mom won't allow me to see. Whenever the doorbell rings it's almost like a drill now, I am to go to my room and not come out until I know "the coast is clear." And how can my parents possibly expect me to be getting better, if they are the reason I want to die?

Because. . . I don't care what anyone thinks I was to Kendall, and I don't care what my Mom tried to make me believe I was, because I know he loved me with every single inch of his heart. I know that without him I feel like I'm just living out my days until I have the opportunity to die again. I don't want to kill myself because I don't have him, or because I'll never know what it's like to have his lips on mine again. I don't want to die because he is in a world that is not my own, I want to live for all those reasons. I need to know that he is alive and that every now and again he would spare a thought to my memory. I need him to be happy and find someone else to love and cherish and someone who can give everything he deserves, in return. In 50 years time I want him to look back and maybe shed a tear to the boy he once knew who "died" in the name of love, but I want him to have a hand in his and a voice telling him that he is still loved now.

I wish. . . I wish that could be me. I wish I could have that life with him and live out the rest of our days like I believe God intended; together. And I wish that I could be everything he needs, but I'm not. The reason I want to die is not because of Kendall, it's because I feel like I don't have use to be here anymore. I feel like my existence means nothing to this Earth and. . . and that's just how it is. I can't even stand to look at myself in the mirror because. . . this is not where I'm meant to be. I want to die because; I don't want Logan Mitchell to exist anymore."