Trigger warning - self-harm, suicidal thoughts, depression, and anxiety.
"I hate them. So much."
"Why the fuck can't they just pack their shit and get the hell out of our lives for good? They were fine with leaving us before, what makes now so different?"
"I just hope Rydel's okay."
Rydel is in the other room talking to our parents, and the rest of us (sans Austin) are sitting in the living room, in constant worry of what's going down next door. Knowing our parents, the things they're saying to Rydel can't be pretty, and I really hope it doesn't get too bad. They've taken out Ratliff, Riker, and now me – Rydel is the only one of us left.
"What do you think they're saying to her?" Riker mutters. "I just…I wanna go in there and be with her, but I can't face them. Even thinking about it makes me nauseous."
"At least you're not in danger of actually being taken away by them," Ratliff says glumly.
"You're not going anywhere, Ell." I bring Ratliff closer to me, patting my shoulder for him to rest his head on. "Jesus, you're still kinda warm."
"I feel fine."
"You feel like shit," Riker corrects. "I heard you telling Aus about it this morning."
"Do you listen to everyone's conversations, or just mine?"
"You guys weren't exactly being the quietest."
"Asshole."
"Guys, don't," I mutter, trying to diffuse the argument before it can really get bad. "We don't need to fight right now. We just need to focus on what we're gonna do from here, because I'm so fucking sick of them being in our lives again. They need to be out for good."
"I can't even be in the same room as them without wanting to sink a blade into my skin and drag it as deep as fucking possible."
"Jesus christ, I'm not a recovering self-harmer or anything, you don't need to watch out before saying shit like that." Riker growls.
"Sorry," Ratliff mutters, not seeming sorry at all.
"Guys, seriously," I snap. "You can't do this right now. We're all a mess and it fuckin' sucks, but fighting with each other isn't going to make things any better. Rydel is trying to convince them to get the hell out, and if it comes to it, I'll get a restraining order. But until we figure out what to do, you guys can't keep arguing."
"The anniversary of Ross' death is coming up. And this isn't making it any easier," Riker mumbles, bringing his knees up to his chest. He pillows his head in them, wrapping his arms around his knees and curling tightly into himself.
Ratliff sighs, scooting over and begrudgingly beginning to rub Riker's back. He glances up at me, shaking his head. "We can't do this anymore, Rocky. It can't go on for any longer. I know you're trying your best, and I know they've broken you, but I just…I can't have one more sleepless night, wondering whether I'll be falling asleep in my own bed or a bed at their house the next night."
"How'd it go, guys?"
Rydel's face is tearstained, but she doesn't look too anxious, as Austin leads her back into the living room. He takes a seat on the floor next to Riker, and she curls herself into his lap, allowing him to wind his arms around her waist and rest his head in the crook of her neck.
"They definitely pushed," Austin speaks up. "But it wasn't nearly as bad as when you had to talk to them, Rocky. We made the right decision in having Rydel be the spokesperson."
"She's crying."
"She just got a little overwhelmed afterward," Austin says. "She's okay."
"He's right," Rydel agrees. "And the main thing…they want Ratliff because their friends and the rest of our extended family are giving them shit for fucking up with the rest of us. They want to prove to people that they can have success with one kid, at least."
"One out of six?" Riker scoffs. "Not a good percentage."
"If I go back to them, I'm gonna kill myself," Ratliff says softly. "And I'm one hundred percent fucking serious. I can't go back there.'
"You won't," I tell him firmly. "No one is going back there."
"How can you be sure?"
"What judge, in their right mind, would give custody back to them, when we have tons of evidence against them and a legal document on which they both signed custody over to me? Why would they give me custody, then ask for it back? That's not how this works. There's no judge that their sob story will appeal to."
"Isn't it a rule of court that a child should be with his birth mother?"
"Not if the mother is abusive as fuck and proof exists."
"They're horrible people, Ratliff. You're not going back there," Austin says. "None of us would let that happen."
"They make me so fucking suicidal," Ratliff replies. "And I don't know how to deal with it. I don't know how to make the thoughts go away."
"The thoughts will go away when the two dicks go away."
"The worst was when they found my cuts for the first time," Riker mutters. "I'm never gonna forget what dad said when he saw them."
"Riker, I said, go do your damn homework!"
He grabs my wrist and pulls me off the sofa, immediately catching my flinch before I have a chance to hide it. The cuts from this morning are still fresh – his grip only brings more pain. My stomach sinks. He's onto me now, he's going to find out, and there's nothing I can do about it.
"Did you get hurt or something, kid?"
"N-No," I stutter, pulling my arm away when he loosens his hold. Maybe I can get away with a few carefully strung together excuses. "M'okay. I- I'll go do my homework right now."
"No, Riker, seriously. If you got hurt, you need to tell us. How can we help you if we don't know you're hurt?"
Before I have the chance to stop him, he takes my arm in his, and draws the sleeve up. I wince and squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to see his reaction. He's going to hate me. Anyone in their right mind would.
"What is this, Riker? Self-inflicted cuts? You did this to yourself?"
I stay silent, hoping he'll just drop the subject entirely, so I can go upstairs and cut some more and forget all of this ever happened. I can feel my heart racing, pounding in my chest, and it's bringing a cold sweat with it. The nausea is quick to follow – three symptoms of a full-on panic attack. He needs to let me go before I lose it.
Mark drops my arm and shrugs. "Whatever. Be that way. But if you were trying to kill yourself, you should have pressed harder and done it vertically. This isn't gonna kill you, no matter how hard you try. One more thing you can't do right, eh?"
"Rik…"
"I'm fine," Riker chuckles humorlessly, pulling up his sleeves and holding his arms out. "See? No new cuts. I'm fuckin' great."
"That doesn't mean you're fine," Austin replies. "There are times I want to fucking put a bullet in my brain, and it's not any less serious because I'm not self-harming. What's going on with you, Rik?"
"You make that sound so fucking tempting."
"Riker."
"I'm fine," Riker mutters. "Except that Ross' death anniversary is coming up and I've spent the last few months having dreams where he tells me how much he fucking hates me for breaking the promise I made to him. I'm fuckin' great."
"I'm so fucking sick of this," Rocky mumbles, pulling me into his chest. He presses a messy kiss to my hair, as I wind my arms around his waist.
"Sick of what?"
"Feeling like shit. I'm supposed to be the strong one. And now that I had that fuckin' breakdown, all I feel is weak. I feel like I've let everyone down and now I'm this weakass baby that can't stand up for himself. I fucking hate feeling like this. I'm so sick of it."
"They really fucked you up, didn't they?"
"If Ryland's suicide attempt hadn't actually worked, it would've been me. You saw how close I was."
"Are you talking about the part where you flatlined in the ambulance or how you went unconscious on me even after I fuckin' told you to stay awake?"
"I couldn't help it."
"You could help jumping off the damn roof."
"The scary thing, Ell?" Rocky mumbles. "I really fucking wish it'd worked."
Thoughts? I know the playlist isn't working, I'm trying my best to figure out how to make it work, but fanfiction hates links, and I can't figure out any other way to do it. Bear with me, guys, I'll try and get it working soon.
Next chapter - Ross' death anniversary is here, and Riker's definitely not okay.
Thank you for reading - I hope you enjoyed.