Tears Of The Soul; Attyston

[Deleted]

Connor held his left hand out after the right was wrapped . Once bother were done, he swallowed, gagging a bit and biting at his lip before glancing at Attyston sullenly. He pushed hair from his face and wandered out of the bathroom and back o the livingroom. Eyes landed on his backpack andhe looked over his shoulder before crouching in front of it. He knew he'd get caught trying to shoot up. But he was desperate to keep from hitting a crash sooner, had snuck a toke the night before to hold off the withdrawals. He wanted to hold them off a little longer. Plus he wanted to be numb, forget the images in his head... If he could down some of these pills in time... He fishedaround, pulling out a bottle of OxyContin, guard dropping in his desperation as he fumbled with the screw cap.

[Attyston Thomas]

I sigh before butting off the bathroom light, starting down the hallway. I stop once I notice him crouching in front of his book bag, bottle in his hands. I felt betrayed, I did. I'd done all sorts of things for Connor, yet he couldn't try for me. Yes, he'd eaten, but that was just the start. I'd taken him in, I bought him food (which he didn't usually eat), clothes, and I loved him.
"Whatever." I mumble, chuckling bitterly as I turned on my heel to start back to my room. Let him shoot up. Let him starve himself. I accidentally slam the door behind me before sitting on the edge of my bed, putting my head in my hands. I stand and reach for the notebook that was on the nightstand before searching for a pencil. I sit on the floor, my back towards the door, as I started writing.

[Deleted]

Connor flinched as the door slammed. He lifted his head, blue eyes guilty, then looked down at the unopened bottlein his hands and sighed. What the fuck was he doing..? He tossed it into his packpack, zipped the thing up, and set it in the hallway closet before closing the door.
Well here went nothing. Tonight would suck...but he was tired of hurting Attyston.... He really did have to choose.
He wandered to the bedroom door and opened it without knocking, shutting it gently and wandering over. "I put i-it all in the closet.." He choked, stressed with the fact that he had done so. He couldn't help it, it had become his lifeline.
Sitting down next to Att, he curled up, tears dripping down his cheeks as he took his free hand. "I love y-you..."

[Attyston Thomas]

I don't turn to look over as the door opened, instead staying intent on my writing. My green eyes don't flick to Connor as he sat down next to me. Put it in the closet? Big deal, he should throw in in the fucking ocean or something. I bite my lower lip as my pen continues to scrawl across the page and I move my notebook so that he can't read over my shoulder. I jerk my hand back as he takes it, though it hurt me to do so.
I loved him, but I was just fed up with it all. I was fed up with taking care of him, loving him, and getting nothing but pain back, then a tear stained 'I love you' that was supposed to draw my back like a moth to a flame. Fuck it.
I pause, my eyes scanning over my scrawl, though it wasn't near done.

I'm done having faith in society,
I'm done having faith in you and me.
Don't you see,
what you're doing to me?
I put up with it all,
yet I'm the one who takes the fall.
I'm washing my hands of it,
I just.. I quit.

[Deleted]

Connor flinched when he pulled away. Hadn't he done what Att wanted? He hadn't touched the stuff, put it out of reach... He just wasn't ready to toss it yet.
Dropping his hand, he worked his jaw, teeth grinding together, and finally got to his feet with a scowl. "The one time I-I try." Be mumbled, slinking out of the room and picking Jascaar up when he reached the living room. He kissed the kitten on the top of his head, holding him close to his chest and looking down at all his things from Christy, stacked in a neat pile. He slipped into the shoes beside them and wandered out the door, kitten tucked against him.
Blue syes watered but his anger held the guilty tears back and eventually he sat down in a parking lot and pulled out his phone, opening the video again and watching it until he couldn't see through blurred vision. Teeth gritted and he glared down at the blocked number in frustration, wishing he knew who it was because he could really use beating their face in at the moment.
Scowling he finally got to his feet and started walking again. He wanted his fucking guitar and journal, his dad couldn't keep him from it. So he started home.

[Attyston Thomas]

"Bye." I mumble absently as he stands to leave. I bite the tip of my pen, trying to think of a rhyme. I wanted this damn thing to rhyme, it had to. It just seemed right for it to rhyme. Finally I think up a rhyme and quickly scrawl it down before I can forget it and shift my position before stretching my legs out, wincing at the pins and needles that shot up my leg. I hear the front door close but don't go running like I would have ten minutes ago. Let Connor leave, he didn't have anywhere else to go. I push my hair out of my face before twisting around to pop my back, pissed off at everything.

I'm done having faith in society,
I'm done having faith in you and me.
Don't you see,
what you're doing to me?
I put up with it all,
yet I'm the one who takes the fall.
I'm washing my hands of it,
I just.. I quit.
You always come back,
after my heart attack.

[Deleted]

Connor eventually scrambled back out of the house with nothing more than possibly a few popped stitches, and he scampered back towards Att's before freezing. No. He wouldn't go in there.
Blood spotted the fresh gayze as Connor slid to the ground, shivering in the cool breeze as he set his guitar down, opened his journal and skimmed the last few entries.

Connor || Crayze || Sykes

“Each and every one of us has a fire that burns inside us and they can try like hell to put out that flame but as long as in our minds we know who we are meant to be, they don’t stand a chance.”
--------------------------------------------------------

Entry #33

I can't remember what happened the day I was diagnosed, can't conjure up the thought--the reality--that my life decided it wanted to jump off the face of the earth. I can't decipher the meaning, understand why I'm the one dying. I'm not able to recall the last proper conversation I had with my father. It had to be before mom died, before Adam shot himself in the head and they hauled Christy off to foster care, saving at least her from being mauled by the monster Jon was becoming. The monster he became. It's hard to believe that it's been a little over three years since the tragedies struck, hard to believe that at one point in my ebbing life, I was actually happy.

Entry #34

At times, you wonder what makes you who you are. People, influences, just the idea that you're losing your fucking mind. Strike one for me, I must be officially insane. A seventeen year old guy journaling? Yeah, I've lost it. But something about being able to speak out with words of silence, being able to control myself for once. Something about the freedom, no set backs. Being able to attempt to block the horrors of my life. The knowledge that, at any given moment, my body can just decide it's done and shut down.. Heart, lungs, all my working organs. Fine one moment, dead the next. Crazy, right? But I'm not afraid of dying, no longer afraid of the constant beatings from my father. No. I'm afraid of never having something to live for in the first place. I'm afraid of being forgotten.

Connor

Entry #35

Makes you wonder, makes you think real hard. About who you are, about what you're doing. About why everything seems so old and routine. The same stuff over and over. Familiar sights to see, the same bridges to cross. It's like you're running in circles, while the whole world revolves around you. Taking the same turns day after day, wishing to be a part of what you see. Wondering what anything is anymore, if you're a part of anything that matters. You're simply stuck in the memories that seem so much more alive than now. Waiting for your train to break off track. Waiting to find some meaningful change. And realizing that life isn't an advertised paradise, it's reality.

Sometimes for me, the hurt grows so strong I can't even breathe. The power of wishing, imagining, that things will get better in time. That if I remained steadfast and take the blows that come my way, the pain will eventually become an indifference. But sometimes the hurt grows so strong that I get scared. I run and hide. And then, I cry.

Connor

Entry #36

I'll never forget the day that door pretty much closed on my life forever. I was nine. Mother had taken Adam to soccer practice and Christy was just a wisp within her. Just a tiny, precious being, starting to grow. I listened as the car engine started up, watched them pull out. Jon's hand fell, heavy against my shoulder. 'Come here Connor, I want to show you something.' Back then, Jon wasn't just my father, he was my dad. Of course I listened. He showed me how to use meth multiple ways that day. But as I said before, I was nine, didn't know right from wrong. And then he showed me the blade, sharp against my shoulder. I didn't know what being high meant, what crazy was. He was both and he drew blood, made me cry. 'Don't go telling Mommy, though. You might make her jealous.' Hardly, and I still have the scar today. Some part of me knew none of this was right. I had never seen Jonathan like that. But I listened to him, didn't tell. Because in all truth, I was afraid. Afraid that that door would close on us forever if I did. Afraid she would walk out. So what if I had told the first time it happened instead of the second, or third? Could she have stopped it? Could she have saved us? Sorry, mother dear, but you're dead now just like Adam. And once again I'm alone with Jon. This time I know it's all wrong. So why do I keep going back for more?

Connor

Entry #37

It's funny how we always wish time away. I'm at that age where we all just wanna grow up you know? Can wait to be old enough to do whatever shit we want. But despite how much we want to grow up and do 'grown up' things, we're afraid of getting older. I guess that means I'll be forever young, but whatever. And then you have those parents or adults who say they will never go back to their teen years, while we're all sitting here stressed about growing old. We want to live the life, follow our dreams. But nobody wants to die. It's a confusing fucking paradox of achieving your dreams, if that makes any sense. We want things, but we don't want to deal with the things that come with those things we want. It's this big dramatic eye-for-an-eye scenario. None of us wants to start the chain, but none of us want it to end because that leads us to the unknown and makes things unfair. But life has never been fair. We have to play the hand that we've been dealt.

A game of poker, chance, lies, deceit. Been there done that, still do always will. Until my last breath. That's how I get by. I hate everything about myself. But that doesn't mean I'll change, I'll never change. I'm just like everyone else. I'm afraid of change.

Connor

Connor sighed shakily and pulled his pen out, taking it into his left hand. He just needed to write, vent, cry....

Entry #38

I don't know what's happened to me, honestly. My emotions are chaos, I'm confused and scared. I fell in love again far too fast and I'm just going to keep screwing it up. I never asked to live this life. I never asked for a lot of things, but I especially didn't ask to hurt him along the way... he deserves so much better than gashed up arms and a broken heart. I don't want to leave him or give up, but I don't want to die on him either... He's scared, or angry or both. Can't put my finger on it but I know it's my fault. That's not a surprise, of course. I'm a royal fuck up, probably the highest there is.

It's always my fault. Maybe I was made to screw things up. We give ourselves this image of perfection and shit, but really what do we have? Eyes, ears, lungs. Whatever, half of me doesn't even fucking work anymore. I'm screwed. Half the people on this planet are screwed. Maybe I should stop complaining, keep my damned mouth shut for once. Whining won't get my brother back, won't erase my mistakes. Won't even save my life or the hearts of the ones I love.

I just... don't want anybody hurt because of me anymore, especially Attyston now. I've hurt too many people. I told him I would try, I'm sure as hell trying. It's scary. How long will my sick body even last? How do I explain that one? Everybody thinks life is this thing we happen to have, but guess what? It's not a fucking right, and it's not all about shitting rainbows and candy, either. It's a fucked up little thing we go through that challenges our strength and durability every day, tests us to our wits end. And you know what? Life is a helluva lot harder when you've been ripped off. For me, love and life will never be heaven, because I'm already in Hell.

Connor

He sniffled as he looked over what he wrote, drawing his knees to his chest before curling up with his head on his guitar case. The journal was left open beside him, and he closed his eyes, eventually drifting to sleep with his pen clutched in his hand.



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JACK from caution 2.0 made this gorgeous template.

[Attyston Thomas]

I eventually stand up from my place on the floor and check the time. It was around eight pm, how had that happened? I shrug my shoulders and look at my writing, before setting the notebook down on my bed and starting down the hall. Connor was gone, and I wasn't surprised. He'd come back eventually. I pause before opening the hallway closet and pull out his book bag, pulling the bottle from it. I screw the cap off as I make my way to the bathroom. I dump its contents in the toilet before flushing and turning away, shaking my head. There was the end of that problem. Or at least until Connor got his hands on more. Finally I screw the cap back on and put it back in his book bag and replacing it in the closet. I wander into the kitchen and pull out a beer before walking back to my room. I lay out on my bed and stare up at the ceiling as I drank, soon falling asleep.

[Deleted]

Connor woke when it got too cold for his thin body. He shivered and curled up, grimacing as he realized he was on the concrete. Siting up and rubbing his face, he got to his feet and wandered inside, setting his guitar down and tossing his journal on the coffee table, where he left jt. He didn't care if Attyston's saw his fucked up thoughts at this point. Curling up on the couch, he slept on and off, and early the next morning he was throwing on the clothes they bought, pulling his hoodie on, and grabbing his ratty backpack from the closet. He tossed the empty bottle aside with a scowl, eyeing the empty bag of meth, ecstasy, cocaine. He'd sold his last bit of marijuana for kitten formula. Today would be rough.
Grabbing a spiral even though he really didn't try at school anymore, he sighed. With his luck he'd flunk junior year again. Snagging a beer from the fridge he left without a word, and didn't return until school got out, eventually slinking back inside and dropping his bag by the door.

[Attyston Thomas]

I'd woken up and went to the kitchen, surprised to find him sleeping on the couch. I creep around him to pull out the tub of ice cream from the freezer and a spoon before heading back to my room. I stayed in there all day, only exiting to find a pencil. By the afternoon, papers littered my room and the now empty ice cream tub was sitting on top of the drawer.

Everything turns out this way,
split, broken, and cracked.
Nothing can stop it-
but the pain shows me that I'm alive.
The purposeful torture of hanging on-
just pull it out quick;
let me bleed out faster.
The End fast approaches;
don't slow or stop it. Let it come.
Let us end,
let us love,
let us be wrong(ed),
let us be.
----------------------------
I hate how it is,
how we are and how we end.
But, its for the best;
or at least they tell me.
You lied and hated;
so I'm right.. right?
Am I wrong to quit:
take the easy way out?
I'm usually wrong,
but majority rules?
But, never.
Trust you on this?

It was the afternoon when I finally leave my room again to use the bathroom. I open the door and start down the hallway, going into the kitchen. I pull open the door to the fridge and grab the case of beer, starting back across the living room when the door opens. I freeze, looking over at Connor before blinking and starting back to my room again. I didn't know where he'd been, but I really didn't want to.

[Deleted]

Connor stared at him, eyes the case in his hands, and scowled. "Y-you can but I can't," He muttered, rubbing his bruised chest from a fight in the halls.
He shook his head, grabbing the nearest thing, it being his journal, and chucking it at Attyston in frustration. "S-s-see that?! Then tell m-me I don't care," He spat. "M going to the park."
He snatched his ipod and put his headphones in, cranking the music as he stepped outside and wandered off to the park, sitting in the shade and watching kids play with their parents or older siblings. He sniffled, wiping at an eye angrily. Why couldn't that be him and Christy out there? Muther by letlive. came on and he bit his lip, drawing lines in the dirt with his finger.

[Attyston Thomas]

I roll my eyes as he yelled before something hit me in my back and fell to the floor in a rustle of paper. "I don't want the damn thing!" I growl, turning my back to Connor again before shutting the door to my room angrily. I plop onto my bed, cracking open a can and finishing it in a few big gulps. Fuck him. He could do every drug out there, but I couldn't drink? Fuck him. I pull out another beer and lay back on my bed, crossing my legs at the ankles. Soon there are several beer cans lying on the floor and a fourth in my hand as I sat on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I wanted to do anything but think, but all I had was time. Time to think and be pissed off. And drink. The drinking was the only upside.
Finally I find myself on my feet. They carry me down the hallway and out onto the street, stumbling slightly in the fading light. My foot hits an uneven spot in the pavement and I fall to my knees, a sharp 'fuck' escaping my lips.

[Deleted]

Connor listened to music until his ipod died. And the. He found himself on a bridge, peering over it into the water, wondering how quick Attyston might get over it if he jumped, how Christy might winder where he went but grow up happier, how nobody else would even miss him.
But he didn't even have the heart to attempt. Maybe another day down the road. He felt useless, pointless. It was 't even worth it. With his luck someone would haul him out alive..
Fingers traced the scar over his throat, wishing he'd never woke up from that coma, nevermade it past the three weeks they told him he potentially had three years ago when his lungs almost failed.
Yet here he was, and he'd lost everything. Well shit karma sure was a bitch.
Stepping away from the brudge he walked back towards thepark and finally to the beach, sitting down next to the carved log, a hand tracing the letters as he gazed out across the water in thought. "I really f-fucked this one up A-Adam.." He rasped. "I'm a-a-a mess without you..."

[Attyston Thomas]

I pick myself up off of the ground before starting towards the park again, intent on finding Connor and giving him a piece of my mind. With the time of day it was, not many people were still in the park, but I search everywhere. At the swings, in the play set, at the slides. "Dammit." I mumble, plopping down on a bench and pulling my head in my hands. Where was the damn guy.
"Attyston?" a sickly familiar voice asks.
I look up to find a brunette standing in front of me. I'm immediately on my feet, shaking my head. "Go the fuck away, Trisha." I slur, shaking my head.
"Att, please-"
"No, you fucking slut! You cheated on me with my friends!" I shout, attempting to push my way past her.
"It wasn't-" she starts and I turn on her, anger scrawled across my face.
"How about, for once in your life, you shut your fucking mouth." I hiss, turning away from her shocked face to stumble towards a tree to plop myself down under it, rubbing at my face.

[Deleted]

Connor stood when the breeze by the water got too cold. He shiveed, listening to the faint sound of an angry voice carried on the wind. Arms crossing over his thin body he lowered his head and began to trudge through thesand and back into the actual park area, shaking his shoes clean as he went.
He glanced up at a brunette, then up at the sky, practically tripping of Attyston's legs and falling to his knees. "Shit, fuck," He hissed, dusting hmself off and spinnin to complain when herealized who it was.