Cherimon Sleep Tight My Drunken Friend

by mymusicaldream

A mild Cherimon story. Alex/nerimon comes home drunk and Charlie/charlieissocoollike takes care of him the entire night. Alex reveals some heartbreaking secrets of his own, and is forced to face them, alongside the boy he secretly loves. Can he recover from the damage that it does? TRIGGER WARNING: contains violence and self-injury.

9. Chapter 9

I wasn't even awake to stop him. I wasn't there to protect him. Again. This time, it was from himself.

I'd been asleep for a few hours and I woke up naturally. Ever since Alex got back, his cries had done that for me. The first thing that came to mind was just how weird that was. Was something wrong?

I wasn't in any hurry to check up on him, because I thought that he'd be sleeping, what else would he be doing otherwise? It was only when I got to his bedroom, and it was empty, that worry and panic took me over. He rarely left his bedroom, I'd always be the one to get things for him. Even when he did, he'd always sheepishly ask for some help.

I got downstairs quickly, but not fast enough for my liking. My hand rested on the bathroom's door handle. The kitchen was empty, and the cutlery drawer was wide open. It wasn't hard to imagine where he was, and what he'd taken in with him. I braced myself, then I opened the door slowly. From then, everything sort of merges together.

For starters, there was blood. Lots of it. It smelled like copper, and it was so strong there was a metallic taste in my mouth. I had to cover it and pinch my nose with my clammy hand to stop myself from screaming out in shock. It covered the sink, an otherwise white towel, and an area of the floor beside him. He was just lying there, his eyes closed. His arms were covered with cuts. He looked lifeless, but there was still some left in him. His chest was still moving up and down. A small knife was in his hand.

From then on, I can't remember much. I must have phoned an ambulance next, because it couldn't have come on its own. I faintly remember the paramedics, not long later, taking him out of my arms, and my clothes being stained in the red liquid escaping from his wounds. I didn't come with them, and no one tried to talk me into it. They rushed him away, and whilst he was wheeled out of our house, he took a part of me with him.

I felt numb. There was nothing but that. A numbness that spread from my chest, to my arms, to my legs, to my head, to everywhere. I didn't know what to feel, or if I was even capable of it if I wanted to. I failed to stand up a few times, always crashing back down, so I gave up and looked around the bathroom for a few more hours. He'd left the knife behind. Tears refused to come, though I wanted them to. I wanted to feel something, but I couldn't. It was as if there was nothing there to even try and start feeling something again.