Andrew shifted. He was never close to his best friend, so this was new to him. By meaning close was by meaning that they were in the same bed.
How did this happen? Pills.
It was the end of the day, and Brock was out with J.D. hanging out. Andrew was by himself. With no one to talk too.
He was normally fine with being by himself, but these past few months were awful. It started when they were in Florida. That “it” was bad thoughts being so terrible. Those bad thoughts said to him that he was never enough. They commented about his appearance, the way he played.
The worst of all was the conversations they had to him was that people hated him. Despised him.
Now, Andrew always had these thoughts since middle school. He could understand why they are in middle school, and they tamed down when he started to get confidence in high school. The thoughts wavered through him time from time in his career.
Then spring training happened. He didn’t think they would be like this. The only thing that made him feel good was Brock.
Brock Holt. He was an attractive second basemen, but he could play anywhere. Andrew had a crush on him. Many people did, but Andrew knew that no one would have the special connection they had.
That special connection was him helping, saving his life over and over again. The past season he had multiple attempts. Andrew had so many chances for killing himself. A text from Brock would always save him.
Hey Benny !! You wanna eat out at this restaurant?
Andrew, how ya feeling ?? I miss you
You did so good at the game!! I'm so jello!!
With those texts, Andrew would put the pill bottle down and begin texting. He would normally cry when he did it. He never thanked Brock for doing this countless times. These suicide attempts were secret.
But there he was. In his room. Alone.
There was one thing that Andrew hated when Brock texted him when he was in the middle of an attempt. Andrew would keep on living, existing, being apart in the world.
Days went on, and the thoughts just got worse. He thought even his own teammates turned on him, always hated him. He knew he still had Brock, but the thoughts had consumed him.
He was Brock’s burden.
He could remember the last time he saw the attractive friend, or the one that Andrew was burdened with, so clearly. It was an hour ago.
“Alright, J.D. is finished changing!” Brock smiled, his teeth radiating. He was finished shaving his stubble off his face and he put his phone in his pocket. “I’m gonna leave. You need anything?”
A gravestone and a funeral, please. That’s what Andrew screamed in his head. “No. Maybe some chips? I would like those.”
Brock giggled. “Anything for you.”
Andrew then looked straight forward. He was in the bathroom and he was facing a person for a long time he detested. His square ugly jawline, the dark hairstyle no one liked, and the dark, tired eyes that were showing a long battle that was being lost.
“Why do you keep looking at yourself in the mirror?” the blonde asked, being cheeky. “You already look great!”
‘He’s lying. You look awful.’
Brock must have seen the small twitch of despair in Andrew’s eyes, since he calmly spoke, “Benny, are you okay?”
“Yes.” Andrew quickly squeaked, he didn’t want to seem damaged by others.
“You sure? Andrew you’ve been disappointed in yourself recently. I know, it’s fine, you can-”
“Brock, I am fine.”
The voice that came out of the suicidal player’s mouth seemed so strong it immediately shut up the other. Andrew at first was happy that he got Brock to shut up, but then quickly felt guilt crawl up his spine. He wanted to apologize so bad, but he knew if he said a peep he would go into tears. He looked away, hoping Brock would understand.
“I’m sorry. See you later. I’ll text you when we are finished for dinner.” Then a loud creak was followed by a bang by a door. Andrew turned his face around, and when he saw that Brock wasn’t there, he made small streams from his eyes.
Those small streams became waterfalls.
‘Why did you do that? He hates you now, you fucking burden. No one likes you. It’s better if you could just die. Take those pills.’
“No, no, no!” Andrew tried to fight back by screaming. He exited out of the bathroom and shut the bathroom door with a slam. He collapsed in his bed, which he sometimes called the place where he cried for hating himself.
He did this at least two times a day.
So that was where Andrew was. His eyes were dried for a second time now, since in the middle of that hour he started crying again. He could hear the thoughts over and over, and he didn’t even get a small text from Brock.
“He does hate me.” Andrew whispered to himself. Then he whispered the words that he’d never said, even before attempts. “He won’t get in my way this time, it’s my time.”
The blonde looked at the person who was in the passenger seat. Dinner was fine. At least Brock thought it was going to be. But then the thing with Andrew happened.
Brock knew that Andrew was suffering a bit. He knew that the outfielder started really showing his stress after striking out multiple times. He even heard the words that normally that old Drew Pomeranz used to say.
“I’m the worst person in this team.”
At first, Brock thought he misheard something. Something that was done from his imagination. Time passed on. Andrew’s frustration was shown in his actions now. Brock started to believe that Andrew actually said it.
“Yeah?” J.D. responded to him. They stared for a good solid minute. Brock for some reason couldn’t get the words out. But then he said them in a scared stutter.
“D-Do you think Andrew is depressed?”
The truck went silent again. J.D. looked away, and Brock understood why. He would never just ask someone, “Hey does my best friend have a mental illness called depression?”
But he just did.
Then J.D. spoke. “He has been really, I’d rather say sad about how he is doing. But, if it’s depression, it might be the case. Why are you asking?”
Brock could still remember the face. The beautiful dark hair, perfect jawline, and pretty hazel eyes. But his mouth was curved in a way like he had no energy in him. “He looked sad when he was staring at the mirror, so I thought he was, I don’t know commenting about his appearance? So I mentioned how I noticed he was sad recently, and he snapped.”
“Benny isn’t a person to snap.”
Brock lifted his palm to put on his mouth, and slowly dragged it down to his chin. “Well, he did. He said, ‘Brock, I’m fine’ or something like that. And he was loud.”
“That’s why my eyes looked a bit wet when I came to pick you up.” Brock continued. “I’m worried about him.”
J.D. whispered, his voice barely even heard by Brock. “You still haven’t told him that you like him? Right?”
Brock shook his head. Who would not like the young player. Pretty. Great personality. No wonder why he had so many fans gushing over him. Brock had never met such a perfect person.
“Tell him.” J.D. nodded. “Maybe he’ll like that. I obviously don’t know Andrew as good as you. You gotta ask yourself, what will make him happy.”
'This is the only thing that will make you happy. Those things in the bottle. Right there.'
There Andrew was. For the eighth time. Or eleventh. Somewhere in between that.
But he was there. Looking at himself in the mirror. Doing the same stuff he always did before he got those things in his hand. Crying. Writing a quick note. This time, Andrew didn’t check is the grammar was correct or if the spelling was correct. He almost wanted to stick the pen his arm when the ink started to get blotched by his tears.
I’m sorry I’m doing this, but I hope it’s best for everyone. I’m sick of being a burden for you guys. I can’t always hate myself. Tell my parents that I love them and I wish them well. Please tell my little sister that life goes on, and I did this to myself. Brock, I’m mostly sorry about you, since you always had to deal my stress. I love you guys, I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the best I could be.
The “ew” was blotched out by tears.
Andrew sighed as he wiped the rainstorm of tears on bis cheeks. The cheeks he always thought were fat and atrocious. He shut the bathroom door, but he didn’t lock it.
Brock was probably not going back to the apartment after what happened.
Andrew didn’t blame him.
He kept doing the things he did. Put the light on. See how grotesque he was. Even before shouting at Brock, he knew that the attractive male would never like a heap of shit like him.
‘No one finds you attractive. Everyone finds you ugly. The people that say you are just feel sorry for you. You ugly burden. Die already.’
“I will, don’t worry.” Andrew normally talked to the thoughts, normally agreeing with them. He looked at the pills, slowly putting his fingers around their bottle. He slowly screwed the cap open, and his eyes widened.
He never gotten the pill bottle open before.
Andrew was making progress.
He smiled truly for the first time in months, the joy going through his body. It was like his thoughts were awarding him. He wouldn’t have anyone to annoy. He wouldn’t have anyone to hate him. He wouldn’t have the people he made a burden of himself anymore.
“There you go. Take them. Kill yourself, people would like that. Cora will. Mookie will. Jackie will. Mitch will. That pretty crush of yours, Brock, would love that so much! They all hate you.’
(do you really want to do this?)
(do you think brock actually wants you to die?)
The hope started coming to him. He always heard these thoughts. Every time in an attempt.
They aren’t true, Andrew dragged out another wail. He doesn’t care about me.
He looked at his suicide note again. Everything was going perfect. He smiled again, ignoring the small pleas of hope. They were never true. He dumped some pills onto his hand. This hand was used to scratch himself with, normally at the sides. It didn’t hurt that much, however a couple of times it did. One time it kept on bleeding for two hours.
Those scars were still there. Month old. No one has seen them. Wait. Jackie did.
They got in the shower, and Jackie pointed them out. Andrew remembered clearly. As he remembered the experience, he dumped more of those lovely oval objects in his hand.
“Benny, what are those? Those scars?” Jackie looked dead at them, surprised. “Are those, self-”
Andrew shut him up immediately. “No.”
“Then what are they?” Jackie’s face looked actually serious, and he had his hand out close to the scars, but not touching them.
“There was a cat.” Andrew lied, and played it off with a laugh. “I was walking down at the Common, and there was a stray cat. I picked it up and it clung to my sides. It hurt a lot.”
‘Stay focus. Don’t listen to the past. This matters now. Don't waste time, just kill yourself already.’
Andrew nodded and lifted his palm close to his mouth. He was finally going to do it. Another fulfilling joy went to his body, and another, and-
“Benny! I got you chips, and a little something else!"
With that quick response, Andrew froze.
Why was he here. He didn’t like him anymore. Andrew quickly dumped all the pills in his mouth, and tried to swallow.
‘Hurry up, hurry up, HURRY UP.’
He couldn’t. Tears were pouring out of his eyes, his hand wanting to scratch his sides again. He gladly let them, and this time is was as much as the time they were bleeding. It hurt. His shirt was beginning to be lightly stained with red.
“Andrew, are you in the bathroom again?” Brock yelled across the door. “Andrew, you need to know that you are really attractive.”
They were screaming now.
‘DON’T LISTEN, DO THIS. YOU NEEDED THIS. SWALLOW THEM.’
Then Andrew felt the need to, he felt a familiar itch in his throat, the itch of when food went down his throat. Instead this wasn’t food, it was the thing he lived so long for.
Then he felt a hand over his throat. Andrew opened his eyes.
“Spit them out, Andrew. Spit them the fuck out!” Brock screamed, his voice was demanding. It was the scariest thing that Andrew ever heard. However he refused. The pills were still lodged in his throat. He was this close.
And that made Brock even more aggressive. He jammed his fingers in Andrew’s mouth, making the younger feel even more frightened. Andrew couldn’t breath. Soon it would be overdosing or passing out. He’d love both. But then the feeling happened.
All of a feeling he felt nauseous and he had to vomit. Brock must of saw this, since he slowly let his fingers out and let Andrew vomit, decomposing the pills in his mouth during the process.
“Is that all?” Brock snarled.
I thought you would be okay with it, like it even, Andrew looked at him. He was on the floor now, his back against the sink’s cabinet, however Brock’s hand was still around his throat. Then the blonde let it go, Andrew began speaking.
His voice was barely a whisper, but it was shaky to show how desperate he was. Andrew never been so desperate to end his life. Brock was right there, angry at him, while he was curled up on the bathroom floor with a small trail of tears going down his disgusting fat cheeks. He covered his hands over his face to hide his distraught appearance, and he wailed.
“Why wouldn’t you let me do it?”
“Why wouldn’t you let me fucking do it?” Andrew sneered, now looking at Brock with disgust, that disgust was mostly for himself. “I wanted this for so long, Brock. So fucking long! This was going to be my chance!”
“This was gonna be the one I succeed, Brock.” Andrew shrunk in a ball again, crying or the third or fourth time today. He couldn’t keep count. His sides hurt, his throat hurt, his mind hurt.
“What do you mean by the one?” Andrew opened his eyes again to see Brock now crouching in front of him, his face becoming more nervous. “You did this more than once?”
The younger wiped his eyes and made his fingers go through his stale hair. “I think this is my eight or eleventh. I lost count. But I’ve never been so far, to just put them in my mouth like that. Why did you have to come back?”
The lost boy just stood there, looking at a player he longed for love, admired, and wished he would never come back to see him in a disgusting mess that he was in. He was actually surprised as Brock started stroking his hair.
Andrew could see small droplets of tears fall of his eyes.
“Because, I wanted too.” The sweet memorizing voice of Brock calmed down Andrew so much, the tears seemed to pause on his face. “Why did you never tell me? You know that I’m always here.”
Andrew looked at Brock with his plebeian eyes, and let him gesture his head to his heart. Andrew never heard it before. The sound of Brock’s heartbeat. He liked it. Then, he spoke.
“I don’t want to be even more of a burden, Brock.”
“Baby, you’re not a burden.”
He called me baby. Andrew whispered in the back of his head.
“Andrew.” Brock sighed and sniffled shortly after. Andrew felt one of Brock's tears fall onto his messy hair. “You, you aren’t a burden. I want to help you. Benny, you’re my best friend. I don’t want any harm on you. I especially don’t want you to kill youself. No one does.”
“Well, why does everyone hate me then?” Andrew cried softly, and he started to rub his bulky thumb on Brock’s well physiqued arm to make his mind not to focus on his horrible mind.
(yes do that)
(brock loves you he won’t mind)
“Benny, please don’t tell me you confidence is that bad.” Brock cried out. Andrew could see waterfalls coming out of his beautiful eyes. A few dripped on Andrew’s forehead. “People love you, Benny. People find you attractive, you wonder why the games been getting so popular? It’s because you with your nice looks and sweet personality.”
Andrew shook his hideous head. He couldn’t believe it. Those were lies, all of them were lies, lies, l-
“Benny, stop.” Brock muttered as he wiped away one of his tears. “Stop, stop. Listen to yourself. If you are ugly then I’m on a hockey team. It’s untrue. You brighten everyone up, heck, Cora was telling me today that you’re getting out of your slump,and he meant it.What do you think Mookie, Jackie, Mitch, Raffy, everyone, me, gonna do without you?”
“I, I don’t know.” Andrew started to feel claustrophobic even though he wasn’t even in a small space. He was just so frightened just getting asked that. What will they do if he ever succeeded? Without telling himself that they would be happy, his might started to think.
“They would be lost.” Brock’s answer was the same as Andrew’s. “People would be sad, Benny. I do know Devers would never get over it, or Mitch. They would never feel that happiness again. Everyone will not get over it. And I, I would, I would…”
“What?” Andrew was so scared he couldn’t even peep. But he just did.
“God Benny.” Brock sobbed, and Andrew could feel the grip of his hug feel tighter and he stopped stroking his hair. “I don’t, I don’t know. Andrew, you are my best friend. And I’ll never forget that. You mean so fucking much to me. Knowing that you killed yourself and I didn’t do anything to prevent it would break me so much, Benny. Andrew, in all fucking seriousness, I would not know how to live life happy anymore. I’d probably kill myself too, when you think of it.
“That’s how much you mean to me. I would be lost without you. Meeting you is the best thing in my life. Now lets bandage your hips up?” Brock sniffled, brushing his hands in Andrew’s hair. The feeling felt very relaxing to him and he was so enchanted by the feeling, he felt like in a dreamland.
“Benny, I’m gonna pull up your shirt, kay?” Brock’s gentle voice broke his thoughts, and Andrew nodded. He sniffled as Brock carefully pulled some of his shirt off. Another tear came out of his eye when he heard Brock gasp.
“Oh, Benny.” Brock shivered out. Andrew looked at his hips and never realized how screwed they were. Some of the scratch marks stopped bleeding. Multiple of them were still bleeding.
I am so fucked up, Andrew pondered in his head when Brock cupped his cheeks like he was an angel. “I’m, I’m sorry Brock, For this, all of it.”
“It’s okay, Benny,” Brock exhaled. “Just don’t do it again. Tell me when you’re feeling like this, or anyone really. We all care about you.”
When Brock curved his mouth, Andrew did the same with response, happily knowing that he would help him get through the pain of his voice.
(you will be free from thought now, andrew)