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Post by peter on May 19, 2013 20:52:12 GMT -5
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i just wanna dip my toe in death, to see if its a warm bath
 he beat up a fucking girl. i hope he rots in hell.
can't believed i looked up to him.
i swear to god if he hurt jack . . .
pete chewed on his lip nervously as he scrolled through the asks on his tumblr. how did this get out? jack would never tell anyone. it had to have been chelsea. he put his head in his hands, holding back the tears that wanted to fall. he wasn't going to cry at starbucks. he would get home, to jack, and then he would cry. he was about to exit out of his tabs when he saw the word 'cut' in one of the asks.
anonymous asked:
you don't have emotions because you cut
wide eyed browns stared at the screen in shock. he could hear his heart breaking, and he wondered if anyone else around him could hear it too. he closed his laptop, staring off. and just like that, all the thoughts came creeping back into his mind. he was back to the old him: the one he had tried so hard to get rid of.
and he thought, 'one day, i won't be sad anymore.'
because, one day, he'll be free. he'll cut too deep, or hang from the ceiling, jump from the roof, pull the trigger. one day he won't be sad anymore because one day he'll be free.
pete doesn't remember gathering his stuff and leaving the coffee shop. he doesn't remember purchasing the razors from the wal-greens and he's not completely sure how he wound up in this side of town, the side he avoided because he was sure he would get mugged. but he was here and he was alone and it was dark, and not just outside but in his mind and in his heart.
he set down against a building in the small alleyway, pulling up his sleeves and running his fingers along the scars on his arms. they are there to remind him who had left him and what words had been said to him. they are like notes on a post-it, but instead to be on paper, they are on his skin.
and there he goes again, writing more notes on his skin, permanently sticking them to his wrists and even though there is only one note on each arm the ink spills and suddenly there is no room left. and just like that he's done it. he's become the toxic being his brother warned him about, the one he swore he would never become again. but how do you kill a monster when you've become the monster?
and when the high doesn't fade after around ten minutes pete is scared because the ink is still spilling and now he's selfish because he promised jack and he didn't do what he said he'd do until it was too late. he sighs, head buzzing more and more, resting his head against the building, closing his eyes and imagined jack at his funeral, only this time it might not be his imagination because he fears he cut too deep and if he did he will lose jack for sure.
he is getting dizzy and he needs to call someone, jack, 911, anyone, but if he does then they will send him away and he doesn't want that. the only things he wants right now is to be in his soft warm bed, cuddled into jack because he's the only person he has left that makes him feel okay.
but he can't do that because he's done it again and jack will surely hate him this time. too many promises are broken, pete is sure of it. he watches the the ink flow and wonders when it'll stop, before he falls asleep or after. pete sighs softly. his head is clearing slightly in between the waves of pain and dizziness, the calm before the storm. he took up their time again, his and jack's, and now they can't go back. he doesn't understand how he can keep doing this to jack. pete loves jack more than the stars in the sky, the hairs on his head, the cells in his being, and he hopes to god that jack loves him that much too because pete doesn't think he can handle losing his stars. they say everyone has a fault in their stars and pete realizes the only fault in jack's is pete.
pete closes his eyes.
for the final time pete opens them and doesn't remember how he got to the emergency room or when they put him in the hospital bed or when the stitches in his wrists started to itch but they do and he wonders if jack's on his way or if he's already here or if he already left and pete can't help but hate himself even more.
when he hears a knock at the door frame, because his room doesn't have a door, he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to make himself small as possible but it's hard when you've done what he's done and are crying because of it.
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Post by ian michael cowan on May 20, 2013 0:44:13 GMT -5
jack was on tumblr, sitting at home alone and bored as his mind wandered off wondering where pete was. he clicked on his inbox, eyes widening at some of the things he was reading. pete made a mistake. why couldn't these people just understand that? they were happy, sure they hit a few bumps in the road but jack literally wanted to be with no one but pete. he deleted all the messages, writing a nice long post finding himself practically sobbing by the time he hit post. he wrote that just once things got physical between pete and him but it was because of jack shoving him first, he knew lying wasn't the right thing to do but these people accusing pete of hurting him made him sick to his stomach. no matter how true their accusations were. jack also wrote about forgiveness, forgiving and forgetting. not to mention just how much he truly loved pete and how nothing could ever change that. his eyes scanned over it one more after it was already up, blinded for a second while he wiped his eyes. how could all of these people bash the one man he truly loved? he knew what pete did was wrong, and he swore if he could punt that bitch who told everyone he would. she tried to warn jack about pete but what the fuck did she know? they weren't like pete and him, their relationship wasn't this. she wasn't marrying her best friend, jack was.
his eyes scanned the clock again, where the fuck was pete? he sent him a few texts about dinner plans, but got no response. jack sighed, closing his laptop and looking around the room for a second. he walked over to their dresser, picking up a picture of the two of them and he grinned. jack took note of the twinkle in their eyes when they were around each other, even before they knew of each others feelings. he remembers back in those days, finding fangirl's fan fiction about the two of them and they always laughed it off saying it would never happen and how crazy these girls were. who would have thought right? he was startled by the phone ringing, maybe it was pete. but why wouldn't he call his cell phone? jack jogged over to the phone, picking it up. "hello? y-yeah he's my fianc-" the mere second the words slapped him in the face his eyes swelled up, tears dripping down his cheeks almost immediately. "w-well is he alright? i-" is cut off by the woman on the phone explaining everything, also adding in some information about the special floor in the hospital. "like a psychiatric ward?" he asked, biting his lip the woman explained they deal with a lot of different cases up there. eating disorders, drug and alcohol abuse, mental illness, self harm, etc. by the time she finished, jack had already had a bag packed for pete. this time jack wasn't going to shove it under the rug, this time pete was getting help. real help. "i'm actually on my way, okay you have a good one. thank you, bye bye." he hung up the phone, throwing it against the wall watching it break. "god-fucking-damn it pete." he bowed his head, sighing hard before grabbing the bag and leaving the apartment.
the drive to the hospital was tough, imagining if things weren't going some what good. like if no one got to pete in time, jack squeezed his eyes shut for a second trying to shove the thought out of his head. he couldn't ever imagine his life without pete in it, he saved him from himself. and now? he'd be damned if he weren't gonna do the same. he pulled in the lot across the street, walking into the emergency room asking the nurse where pete was. he held onto pete's bag tightly, sighing as he followed her. once they stopped at the door frame, she went back to the desk. jack swallowed hard, taking a deep breath before turning and knocking on the frame lightly. "pete?" he spoke softly, walking in to the room and frowning seeing his arms. jack takes quick note to his crying, setting the bag down in a chair before quickly walking to his bedside. "ssh," he attempts to calm him down, leaning down and kissing his forehead.
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Post by peter on May 27, 2013 17:43:51 GMT -5
arrogant boy cause a scene like you're supposed to  they'll fall asleep without you
once jackson kisses his head, the young man lost it. he began to sob, putting his head in his hands, shoulders shaking. he felt as if he couldn't do anything right. and it was true, he couldn't take care of jack, no matter how many times jack told him he was forgiven pete still had hurt him, he couldn't take care of his brother, he couldn't stop self harming, he couldn't stop hating himself, he couldn't even fucking kill himself right. suddenly pete wished he were dead, wished he would have cut all the way through. he wanted to disappear, he just didn't want to hurt anymore. he wanted to be free.
as soon as he wished it, he wished he never thought it. he felt guilty for wishing that. what would jack do? pete knew jack loved him, he wasn't stupid. he was just sad. very sad. pete felt himself calm down a tad bit, the tears stopped flowing, for now. he wiped his eyes and sniffled, looking at his arms instead of jack. it was obvious the cuts were very deep. he was lucky that they were able to stitch them up. the young man sighed and shyly looked up at jack and spoke, his voice hoarse and rough from crying, and very, very sad.
"i'm sorry jacky."
he didn't know what else he could say to jack. anyway, pete was sorry. sorry for everything. sorry for not being strong enough, sorry for being sad, sorry for wanting to die, sorry for not being enough. pete shook his head, putting his hands on the sides of his head. why did he think things like this? why couldn't he stop? he pressed his palms against his skull, trying to force the thoughts away. after a moment he let his hands fall. he wanted to go home. he needed to go home. opening his eyes, he looked at jack, his brown eyes wide.
"jacky, can i go home, please? i'm tired. i really want to go home."
he wanted to lie down in his bed with jack and sleep for a very long time. because, he was okay. he's fine. he had to tell himself this because maybe one day, after thinking that he's okay enough, the thoughts he had will go away. pete nodded, pulling the covers down, wincing at the pain in his arms. when did they start hurting? they hurt really bad. he hissed softly, biting his lip.
"please, take me home."
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