Trigger Warning for self-harm and suicide idealization. And just general angsty and depressing shit.

Chapter title: "Hurt Me" by Juice WRLD.

hurt me

Beth knew exactly what she was doing. But she had no desire to stop. That was part of the reason she kept convincing herself that she was evil, an abomination, a truly selfish disgrace of a human being.

A succubus, as Daryl had so eloquently put it at one time.

She'd always felt like he was leading her somewhere and she was merely along for the ride. She wasn't even sure where he was taking her until she'd diverted the trail and found her own way in the dark, turning around to find that he'd disappeared along the way. Maybe she'd been leading the whole time after all.

Had she actually chosen the path? Had she been the one to make the decision to be this person she'd become? Did she have the ability to lead anything or anyone? Had she ever? And if she did, why did she use it this way? Why would she ever?

She didn't know for sure. Probably never would. But now she was willfully giving up her power. She was reaching out and taking his hand, and she was allowing him to lead her once more down a dimly-lit path full of twists and turns. And she was waiting.

For the inevitable. For that fork in the road that was bound to appear. She was waiting to see which side Daryl would take, which of those two paths he would lead her down. Because there were only two ways they could end, only two ways they'd ever ended.

They were doing the same macabre dance they'd been trapped in for years. Except she no longer had the energy for it. She was tired. Her feet were sore and she was sick of dancing. And she wanted to lie down, to feel safe for once. She needed to rest.

But more than that, she needed to feel a little less alone. Because the loneliness was becoming stifling; it was growing into an overwhelming mass of torture and grief that constantly fought to consume her. And the only thing that seemed to push it out anymore was alcohol, nicotine, drugs… and Daryl. Always Daryl.

Because, for reasons she couldn't fathom, he'd waltzed back into her life and slipped right back into the place he'd occupied for so many years. As if he'd never left. And who was she to push him away? He offered her a direction to follow, and that was what she craved most. What she needed most. Yet she could see the resentment in his eyes, the pain constantly etched into his features whenever he looked at her.

She'd hurt him. She'd scarred him for life.

But he'd scarred her a long time ago. He'd hurt her over and over and over… and over… And then someone else came along. Jimmy. And he'd filled all the cracks that had been forming within Beth's soul. He'd started to help her forget how hopeless Daryl had made her feel. Jimmy, in an inexplicable and almost immediate fashion, had started to put her back together; he'd started to make her feel whole again. Like she could be who she'd always wanted to be. Like she could be happy - truly happy - for once.

And then, just like that, he'd changed his mind. And there was nothing she could do to change it back. Nothing she could do to bring him back. She could no longer find that sweet boy who'd promised to treat her how she'd always wanted to be treated, who'd comforted her and shown her what love could really be.

No. That boy was gone. He was disgusted by her. He would never look at her the same.

Just like Daryl.

So she was alone again. But this loneliness was deeper, darker. It threatened to swallow her whole. It threatened to strangle the very life from her small body. It told her that everything was her own fault, that she was alone because she was despicable and unbearable. It told her that this pain would never lessen because she had done too much damage and brought a tsunami of bad karma down upon herself.

It told her that she deserved to be alone, and more than that, she deserved to feel how alone she was.

When she kept herself busy, she didn't feel quite so alone. That was one of the biggest reasons why she was perfectly willing to work two jobs. It gave her less time to wallow in her own misery, kept her hands and her mind occupied, gave her something to wake up for and something to stay alive for. In fact, sometimes when she was at work and caught up in the hustle and bustle of her coworkers and customers, she forgot that she'd ever been lonely to begin with. She would smile and laugh and joke just like she'd always done, she would actually feel hungry and enjoy the food she ate, and the constant pain in her chest would lessen just enough that she didn't notice it anymore.

But as soon as she'd leave and find herself sitting in the darkness of her bedroom - and now the darkness of the empty little apartment that was all hers - surrounded by silence and the ghosts of all those who'd left, the loneliness would come crashing down upon her head. It attacked from all sides and engulfed her. At times, it seemed to fill her nose and mouth and lungs like salty seawater, starving her of oxygen and threatening to drown her in the abysmal depths of her own remorse.

The only thing that helped her breathe in those moments was the sickly sweet marijuana smoke that she would inhale until her head was floating above the clouds, or the bitter taste of hard liquor and beer that helped to numb her tongue and her aching chest, or the white and blue pills that would put her head above the clouds and make her conscious weightless.

Even then, there was a point where she would crave the closeness of a warm body - someone to wrap their arms around her and hold her close. Preferably Jimmy's. But as of late, it had been Daryl's arms snaking around her small frame.

Although she sometimes still thought of Jimmy, still wished it was him next to her, still imagined it was him clutching her tight against his slender form and murmuring into her neck. But he didn't want her anymore. Daryl was the only one who could still see any trace of good in her, he was the only one who still wanted anything to do with her. Jimmy would never come back, he'd never accept her in the way Daryl did. No matter how much she wished and prayed that he would…

She fucking hated herself for those thoughts. But she fucking hated herself anyway, so what was the difference? She couldn't help how she felt. She'd never been able to control it, despite all the guilt that ensued. Why would that change now? And if she were to be completely honest… she was utterly fed up with feeling ashamed for those things she couldn't control. She was sick of apologizing for her emotions, for bearing guilt over her inescapable desires and needs.

She was infuriated by the way she felt, but even more infuriated by the way it made others feel.

She couldn't figure out if she was angry at herself for becoming this person - this person she'd never been and never wanted to be - or if she was angry at Daryl for making her this way.

Maybe it was a little bit of both.

Sometimes, a rage brewed to life somewhere deep down that frightened her. She didn't know where it had come from and she didn't know where to put it. It wouldn't dissolve like it used to so many years ago. No, it was here to stay now. It had begun as a formless glob and slowly calcified into hardened rock, growing and filling her whole body with a red-hot anger that desperately wanted to escape. It weighed heavily in her chest at all hours of the day, sometimes growing soft and manageable when she was too high to see straight or too drunk to walk. But it was always there waiting for her when she woke up, solid as stone and heavier than she could ever remember. It would slip out at times - a rude remark here, an inexplicable urge to hit someone there, an unnecessary kick to a wall or a chair every now and then. But it could never be satiated.

There were times when she felt like burning the whole world down just to watch the flames and laugh. Those were the times that scared her most. Who had she become? And when had she stopped recognizing herself?

Everything had melted together into one big, angry, sad blur. She'd turned into a whole different person. Just like that.

There was the girl she'd been and the woman she'd planned to become… and then there was the woman she had become. And they were all vastly different people with very little in common.

Every waking moment spent sober and alone was torture. On the outside, she smiled and laughed and offered optimism whenever she could (because that's who Beth was, that's who Beth Greene had always been, and she couldn't bear to bring others down with her stupid problems). But on the inside, she was either screaming and ripping her hair out and furiously clawing at the walls of her own mental prison, or she was sobbing and weeping inconsolably while curled into a tight ball within herself. But no matter what, she was always thinking about dying. Sometimes, it felt like she was already dead. If only her stubborn heart would just stop beating already.

Oh, how peaceful and relaxing was the thought of death; like a long, endless sleep that she would never have to wake from. In the darkness of death and non-existence, there was no one to hurt her, no one to admonish her, no one to be disappointed in her. In that darkness, there was no pain... There was no happiness either, but that seemed like a fair trade. Happiness never lasted anyway. It only ever ended up making the pain worse.

A long time ago, she'd believed in something better after death. (But she'd also believed in happy endings, she'd even believed her daddy could stay sober for the rest of his life, so obviously she was stupid back then.) She'd been so sure there was a Heaven and a Hell, she'd had faith, she'd believed in something greater than herself. She'd been convinced that once her time came, she would walk through some beautiful set of pearly gates and reunite with her mom and big brother and all the other loved ones she'd lost to death.

But nowadays, she was more doubtful than anything. And when she thought about it, she decided that she didn't want to see Momma and Shawn again, or anyone else. They'd be disappointed that she'd gotten to live while they hadn't, and they'd be angry that she'd wasted her life. And if she actually mustered up the courage and killed herself, she might be sent down to the fiery pits of Hell to suffer for eternity. Although, at this point, that seemed fair. Not to mention, it didn't sound so much different from living. At least in Hell, she would know it was for eternity, and she wouldn't be left waiting with a naive hope for something that was never coming.

Now she was pretty sure there was nothing. And no one. No God, no Heaven, no Hell. There was no such thing as 'true love' or 'meant to be.' There was life and suffering and little glimpses of hope and love before more suffering and then the inevitable release of death - sometimes peaceful, more often violent and/or painful. But nothing else. She was convinced that if there was a God, it was no god she'd want to meet. She couldn't fathom why any being would create humanity just to sit back and watch nearly every single human suffer for living. She'd never asked to be born. And she'd certainly never asked to survive the accident that should've killed her. Especially not when it meant two far more worthy people had to lose their lives.

Her daddy would be sick and ashamed if he knew what her mindset was truly like these days. At least, he would be if he could stop drinking long enough to notice.

The worst part was that she was fully aware of how fucked up she'd become. Yet she couldn't seem to do anything about it. She hadn't seriously thought about suicide since her little attempt in high school, and the scar she toted around for it had always been more than enough to remind her of why she wanted to live. Though it also reminded her of one of the many reasons why Maggie wanted nothing to do with her or their drunken dad. Sure, Beth had dropped into little pits of darkness occasionally over the last few years, when things with Daryl got particularly difficult and piled on top of all the problems within her family. When she felt overwhelmed and aimless.

But she'd always been able to pull herself out (with Daryl's help). Even when she'd sunk so low as to resort back to the terrible habit of self-harming, he'd always been the one to convince her to stop. And he'd given her so many valid reasons to stop - to stop for good.

After everything that had been said and done since then, though... Well, those reasons were nothing more than dust in the wind anymore.

The pain of losing Jimmy, of having to completely resituate her entire life all over again after such a brief time of real happiness, had sent her hurdling head-first back into all of her worst habits. The rage and the grief and the self-loathing and the constant agony would sizzle inside her veins, and she could never find anywhere to put it, no way to let it out.

The only thing that eased the suffering was running a razorblade across her thigh, slicing open her skin and watching the blood pool at the surface. It left her with sore scabs and a red thigh afterwards, and her jeans would rub against the scabs and irritate them. But it always seemed worth it. Because in that moment, when she would open her flesh and watch the blood escape, it felt like all the anger and perpetual sadness was leaking out of her. Slice by slice. Drop by drop. And the high it gave her was a sensation that could never be replicated by booze or drugs; like the physical pain was erasing all of her internal agony, like her head was clear and free… just for a few seconds.

The pain also felt like self-punishment. She told herself that she was simply giving herself what she deserved for being such an awful person; that these cuts were the embodiment of all the mistakes and hurtful words that played inside her head on a never-ending loop. She needed to see the physical wounds that she felt within her soul. She needed to have a real source of pain instead of all that heavy, invisible weight that filled her chest.

The cuts and the blood and the scabs were real. They were hers, and they were the only thing in her life that she could truly control. Others may be able to hurt her, but no one could hurt her like this. No one would ever be able to hurt her as badly as she could hurt herself.

Beth knew that the loneliness was trying to kill her; it was gnawing at her, eating her alive from the inside out. She could feel it. And nighttime was the worst. Lying all alone in a cold bed and a silent room with a spinning head or an aching thigh, falling asleep only to dream of him.

The dreams were probably the most agonizing part. She kept dreaming that Jimmy had come back to her, pleading and apologizing on bended knees. Or that he'd texted her or called her or fucking messaged her back on Instagram. But then she would wake up and check her phone and find… nothing at all.

In fact, he hadn't responded to her in weeks. Nearly a whole month. Even though he'd seen the messages.

And she'd have to remind herself that he didn't fucking want her. No one did. She was damaged goods. She was a pathetic, selfish, broken slut with nothing left to offer.

Yet Daryl kept coming around. Sure, she'd opened the door, she'd invited him back into her life in the first place. But had she actually expected him to come back? Maybe a little. Like this, though? No, not really. Not after everything that happened and how it had happened. She'd been so certain that their bridge was burnt to ashes. But she'd been unable to stop herself from reaching out, from trying.

She hadn't planned on having sex with him or delving back into… whatever it was they had between them. She'd just genuinely wanted him back in her life. Because it felt like she had no one else, and whenever she'd felt like that, she'd always had him to turn to. She missed her best friend, the only person who really knew her inside and out, the only person who could tell her what she needed to hear.

Admittedly, she missed all of him. Especially the way she felt at home in his arms; how she could always fall back into him and be assured that it was where she belonged. Even if she didn't actually belong there.

Daryl felt safe. He felt like home.

And the sex was impossible to turn down. They'd become so comfortable and had taught each other so much over the years. Between the sheets of their beds, their bodies had grown together like vines. And every time felt better than the last, every time was like they'd made an island of the mattress and were enveloped within their own little oasis. Even after all these months apart, even after she'd shared her bed with someone else for what felt like both a lifetime and a fleeting moment. Sleeping together again had felt no more than natural. Inevitable. Like there was a magnet between them that wouldn't allow them to remain too far apart at any given time.

Like they were completely incapable of ever being just friends.

No, she hadn't expected him to ever want to see her again. But he had. And he still did. That night at the bar had been a one-off thing, fueled by whiskey and heartbreak and a deep pit of loneliness. She hadn't thought he'd even read her text, let alone that he'd show up at her side. Yet it had unfolded into another long road of their same old habits, as if the routines and the muscle memory were unavoidable.

He kept texting her back. He kept answering her calls. He kept listening to her stupid drunken ramblings. He kept being kind and understanding and comforting. He kept showing up. He kept staying over. He kept making promises. He kept dragging her deeper and deeper down into the warm, soothing sea of his love. And his lust.

Why, though? She still couldn't figure it out.

It was the same pattern as every time before: the trying, the happiness, the new start. And then the comfort zone, where old habits die hard. The inevitable downfall or betrayal, a slippery slope that never failed to drag them into pain and resentment. And then they'd both bring up all the old shit and keep digging deeper and deeper until they were standing in their own graves, screaming across piles of rotting soil. And the pot would call the kettle black - and a stupid whore. And all that love and lust that had built up over the previous weeks or months would reach its boiling point. And it would erupt in a fury of flames and scalding words, where they would both walk away with broken hearts and bellies full of hatred.

Rinse and repeat. Until your relationship is so bleach-stained that you can't tell what color it had ever been to begin with.

She knew that this routine was just as predictable to him as it was to her. That he had to be blind - or just willfully ignorant - not to recognize when they were falling into meaningless old habits. Yet he didn't stop.

And neither did she.

Why couldn't they learn when to call it quits? Why couldn't they learn to say no to each other?

Most of all… why would he want anything to do with her? When he must know as well as her that they would never work? That it would only end in the same heartbreak and tears and hateful remarks as it always did? No matter how good the sex was or how nice they were being to one another? Why couldn't he accept the fact that they were poison together, that any relationship they attempted to have was doomed to fail? That she would be alone for the rest of her life because she would never be good enough for anyone, least of all him?

Maybe he had somehow managed to improve himself and grow out of his toxic beliefs during his time without her. Maybe he wanted to change for her, for something better. Maybe he thought he could be different, that she could be different with his support. Maybe he believed they could move on and create something fresh, even in the wake of all her unforgivable mistakes.

Maybe he thought she could be better. Maybe he thought she wanted to change.

She hoped he didn't think that. Because he was going to end up awfully disappointed.

Just like all the times before.

It was stupid. It was so fucking stupid. The whole night had gone so wrong and Beth wasn't even sure where exactly it had started. She'd thought she could have a fun night out at a new bar with her friends, drowning her demons in booze and sex, drinking and dancing and flirting until she felt invincible. But everything toppled one-by-one like a string of dominoes.

At first, she'd thought Daryl would tag along and be her companion for the night. She figured they could have a good time out with her friends, getting nice and drunk, and then he would take her home and they'd have sex and he would sleep over again.

He'd been staying over every night since she'd moved into her new apartment and surprisingly, they'd been getting along really well. No fights, no arguments, no hurtful remarks. She wasn't sure how much longer it would last, but she wasn't going to turn down his presence in her new place. He made the scary little apartment feel safer and more like home. So she'd expected a quick "yes" in response to her invitation. What else could he possibly have to do on a Saturday night anyway?

But he didn't want to come out with her tonight. He claimed he wasn't feeling well, said he'd "text her tomorrow."

Which was fine, obviously. She didn't really care. Just a little bit (was he actually sick or did he have something better to do?), but not really. Not enough to be upset or anything. He wasn't her boyfriend so his life was his own business. They weren't together anymore. She had no right to be upset. Or even disappointed.

All this meant was that she'd have to find someone else to entertain her. Because she most certainly didn't plan on sleeping alone tonight. She didn't shower and shave three different body parts and curl her hair and get all dressed up just to walk into an empty apartment and take off her own clothes and crawl into a cold bed at the end of the night. Quite frankly, that would've been a waste of makeup.

She didn't plan on resorting to whatever half-cute guys would be at the Space Bar either. So after Daryl texted her back and she took the hint that he wanted to be alone for the night, she opened Tinder.

There was a guy named Dante that she'd been talking to for the last week. He was good-looking in all his pictures and he seemed fun. She hadn't even hesitated to swipe right once she saw his photos and read his bio. He said he was former military, new to Atlanta after having recently moved down from Virginia for a job offer, never married and no kids. He was older, mid-thirties. Not like she'd ever minded an age difference. (In fact, ever since Daryl came into her life years ago, she found herself gravitating towards older men - with the exception of Jimmy, of course.) They flirted back and forth several times a day, and he'd asked her out at least twice already. She'd been busy, though. A date with a new guy from Tinder was the very least of her priorities at the moment, especially since she'd been spending the last few days with Daryl.

But tonight, she was willing to go through the process of awkward-turns-sensual that would be necessary. It wouldn't be as easy and gratifying as sleeping with Daryl, but it was the next best thing.

She sent Dante a message and asked if he'd like to join her and her friends at the bar. He agreed immediately.

In person, Dante was cute enough, with dark hair and a broad frame and shiny white teeth. Handsome even. And when he smiled, she could see dimples hiding behind his full beard. His voice was deep and had a certain flirty and enticing tone that sent blood rushing between her legs whenever he leaned in and spoke close to her ear, which he had a tendency of doing in the loud bar. He towered over her and she liked that - she liked feeling small, feeling defenseless yet protected at the same time. And when he set his intense gaze on her, she could feel his big brown eyes raking her up and down, as though he were secretly undressing her. She liked that, too.

Nothing attracted her to someone more than knowing they desired her. And this guy definitely desired her.

After a couple hours of heavy flirting and lingering touches, a lot of shared jokes and a little getting to know each other, even dancing together, her confidence had soared and she'd grown optimistic. He kept showering her with compliments and she couldn't resist letting him in closer. He kissed her in the corner booth after she told a stupid joke and his beard tickled her face, but the kiss itself sent tingles of ecstasy all through her body. Maybe the night would turn out better than she'd originally expected. She could hope.

But seven shots and four beers (and a couple lines of coke) in, Beth found herself arguing with Brittany. And Lauren took her side, like she always did. And Abby jumped in to defend Brittany, and then the whole goddamn group was telling Beth that she was being drunk and stupid and overdramatic and that she needed to go home before she said something that she would end up regretting. Beth had no choice but to heed their advice. Maybe she was being drunk and overdramatic. It wasn't like that was anything new for her.

Luckily, Dante had been in the bathroom for the argument, so he hadn't witnessed it. She was grateful for that because she really didn't want to experience anymore humiliation than she already had.

Her friends remained in their corner of the Space Bar, lit up by blinking green and yellow lights, while Beth stomped off to pay her tab and leave. She pulled out her phone, desperate for someone to vent to that knew how Brittany and Lauren and Abby could actually be - someone who would understand. Without thinking, she texted Daryl.

"Everybody's being lame tonight. I miss you."

As soon as she hit Send though, she felt stupid. She shoved her phone back into her purse and ordered two more shots from the bartender.

If she was sober enough to feel regret, then she was still too sober.

Dante emerged from the hallway that led to the restrooms and spotted her across the bar, smiling and walking over to join her. She waved him over with a forced smile and hoped that he couldn't tell how upset she was. She partially wished she could tell him what happened, but she didn't want to seem like a drama queen on their very first night out together.

She was a cool, chill, mellow, laid-back girl who liked to have fun and go on adventures. Not an angry, heartbroken mess. Not the shattered shell of a woman who cut herself and fought with her friends over stupid shit. That's not who she was around new guys. That's not who she wanted to be.

That was what she enjoyed most about guys like Dante, the few truly nice guys she met off of dating apps. Every new guy was a clean slate: she could be whoever she wanted. She could highlight all her best features in her Tinder photos, she could list all her best qualities and personality traits in her bio. She could present herself however she felt was most appealing. She could leave out all the grimy shit, like her past and her scars and her countless mistakes. She could be nothing more than fun and flirty and carefree with these men who'd just met her, these men who liked what she advertised and swiped right in hopes of being noticed by such a beautiful girl. She could hide her anger and her grief, she could shove all of that down and let the few good parts shine through. She could make them believe that she was worthy of affection and love.

Because they didn't know her or her past. So she could be herself. For once. She could be a Beth that men wanted to know and needed to love. She could be… something close to normal.

Her anger and frustration receded as soon as Dante approached and snaked a thick arm around her waist. He leaned in, filling her nose with the delicious scent of his cologne. The smell reminded her of a cologne that Daryl used to wear whenever they'd go out to nice restaurants; he'd worn it every time they went out to a bar together during the first several months they'd started hanging out. It sent a slew of memories flying through her head and she had to quickly push them away and focus on Dante.

Everything reminded her of Daryl. Ever since he'd slithered back into her life - and her bed - she'd been unable to keep him out of the back of her mind. He seemed ever present. She didn't want to miss him, yet more often than not, she did. She really did. Having him back at her side, back in her arms, back between her legs… it had sparked something to life all over again. And she couldn't stop herself from craving his companionship, the familiarity of his presence, the comfort of his voice and his touch and his closeness. The reassurance that he knew her, really knew her, and still wanted to listen to her.

Even right now, she wished it were him beside her. But then again, she didn't. Part of her feared that he would've taken Brittany and Lauren's side and contributed to telling her how drunk and stupid and overdramatic she was being. At least she knew Dante wouldn't do that.

Only because he didn't know her well enough yet.

He asked why she was leaving and she shook her head, laughing it off and making an excuse about how it was getting late and she had to work tomorrow. He groaned in disappointment and pulled her closer against him and she was about to ask him to come home with her, even though she didn't think she really needed to ask since she'd assumed it was kind of a given. But then he was frowning and telling her that he had to go home too, because he had to be up for work in four hours. And how he wished he could take her home and "finish the night off the right way." He promised he'd make it up to her the next time they went out and she simply shrugged, nodding and agreeing.

Outside the bar, he kissed her for a second time. He squeezed her hand and flashed her a pearly white smile and asked her three times if she was sure that she was okay to drive home. That kind of annoyed her but at the same time, it was endearing in a way.

She assured him she was fine and promised to text him as soon as she got home. And at half past midnight, she watched him drive off in a shiny new Mercedes.

A few minutes later, she climbed into her shitty old Civic and made the drive home to her dark, empty apartment. She drove slower than usual, trying to ignore the alcohol swimming in her head. She kept glancing at her phone, hoping it would light up with a text from Daryl.

But it never did.

to be continued...