What’s Good For You [BXB/DDLB]

⚠️ Attempted Suicide in detail, PTSD, very depressing overall tbh so if you're not in the best mindset rn, I'd suggest you come back later

(•.•)

Sascha had been standing at the crosswalk for over ten minutes. He stared straight ahead, eyes unblinking and body frozen in space. He was watching the passing cars, analysing the traffic structure and mapping out an easy way for him to make his move and ensure it be successful.

This wasn't his first time at this crosswalk. He started coming here when he was fifteen, the night his Maeve, his grandmother, beat him half to death with a wooden broomstick and whipped him with cable wires, then demanded he go to the grocery store and buy her daughters tampons. He was covered in bruises, his face bloody and sickening, it made him vomit when he went to the restroom to wash himself and saw his reflection.

And what had solicited the harsh abuse, you ask? He got home two minutes pass curfew because his school was an hour away and he didn't have control over bus schedules. Maeve accused him of going out with so called "street whores" and lashed out, beating and yelling, reminding him that he was the product of whore. She'd told him numerous times that he'd never be more than the son of a slutty addict and a pedophile. And of course, now, he was conceived was completely his fault, he had a say on the actions that his fourteen year-old mother made before his existence. That's why Maeve took all her anger out on him, the innocent result of a teenager's careless decisions. He was the one in the wrong and he deserved to be punished for it.

That night, he passed by the crosswalk and thought maybe if he just vanished out of existence. Maeve would definitely be relieved, he was after all one of her biggest problems. And, bonus, he wouldn't have to endure the pain anymore. He could just end it all and never have to worry about it ever again. Unless he ended up in hell, but somehow, that option still felt better than his reality.

But he didn't do it. Because for some fucking reason, there was a tiny part of him that still had hope. Hope that he'd get older, leave, become his own person, and finally he free. So he held on for another two years until high school came to an end.

Maeve, for the first time in her life, celebrated Sascha's birthday that 18th of June, one week after graduation. She bought him a cake, decorated the front yard with balloons and a big colourful banner that read "Happy Eighteen".

She placed a giant wrapped gift next to him and told him to open it. Sascha smiled for the first time in a long time. This was unbelievable, he was sure Maeve and her daughters hadn't even celebrated his first birthday. He was ecstatic, to say the least, and he didn't even know to express those emotions because they were new to him. He wanted to cry, and laugh, and then cry some more. He wanted to hug Maeve, kiss her on the cheek and thank her for finally welcoming him into her family.

But of course, the tiny shred of euphoria was ripped away from him when he uncovered the shimmering wrapping paper and saw what was inside. A suitcase. His suitcase.

He looked up at Maeve, her oldest Cecilia stood on her right, her youngest Dahlia on her left. They watched him with matching expressions, the kind fronts they'd displayed before undetectable. Dahlia told him to keep unwrapping and he did, his fingers trembling while he struggled to fight back tears.

He wasn't let back in the house after that night. He was eighteen, he was out of high school, his grandmother, who'd been made his legal guardian against her will, didn't have to deal with him anymore. He was an adult now, no longer her responsibility.

He already had a job working at a chain coffee shop, saving up for community college because for some reason, he hadn't seen Maeve's actions coming a mile away. Man, was he fucking stupid. Of course she'd want nothing do with him once he was no longer a legal obligation. He couldn't believe himself for even considering college.

He used some of his savings to find the cheapest apartment his town could offer. He settled on a one bedroom, one bath unit with a kitchen and no living room. It was perfect for him. He just wanted a roof over his head, even if the roof sometimes leaked on rainy days, who cares, he had buckets he could stick under and move about his life. He was okay.

Until he wasn't.

Because seven months later, Sascha found himself standing at that crosswalk again. This time, it's something that shouldn't have gotten to him as much as it had.

Just thirty minutes before, a costumer staggered into the coffee shop reeking of tobacco and alcohol. He made a fairly simple order off the menu with no added customisations. Sascha passed the order to the barista and several minutes later, he called the man over and handed him his beverage. The man took a sip, immediately spat it on the counter, and then proceeded to hurl his cup at Sascha, completely soaking him.

He froze, astonished and confused. Other costumers turned to the sudden sound, all watching with shocked expressions but none daring to say a word.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" The man started barking. "This isn't my fucking order, you worthless son-of-a-bitch. I can't believe I waited fifteen minutes for you to do the fucking bare minimum and you messed it up, is this what you're getting paid to do? You service workers really have the nerve to complain about wages when you don't even do your job right, fucking pathetic!"

Now, Sascha couldn't tell you what happened after the man started yelling like Sascha had just murdered his toddler, because half way through, he'd started to dissociate from his present reality to one he hadn't lived in over half a year. Suddenly, it wasn't the bearded drunk throwing pointless accusations at him, it was Maeve standing above him holding an extension cord in hand and spewing on and on about how worthless he was, how he should never have been born, how she was miserable because of his existence, how he'd turn out just like his mother. He was curled up on the floor, silently sobbing and waiting for her to swing that deadly weapon she loved so much.

Why was she back in his memory? He'd done a fairly okay job at erasing her from his thoughts. She only made appearances in his dreams, a place where he was assured he'd always escape from. This instance was too real, and the scars that covered his body seemed to reawaken the longer he stayed in his head.

He was brought back to reality when the bearded man reached over the counter and landed a harsh punch across his cheek. Costumers gasped, but once again, no one moved. They didn't wanna get involved, or maybe it was just another case of the bystander effect. He'd learned about this his psychology class. When there's a crowd, people are less likely to stand up and help, because everyone is hoping the person next to them will be the hero instead.

The manager arrived, and the second she touched Sascha's shoulder, his stomach gave out and his threw up, vomiting all over the counter and floor. He hadn't had much to eat in the past few days so all that came out was that morning's breakfast of a dry bread-slice and acidic bile.

He was fired on the spot. Manager told him his behaviour was unprofessional, but he knew she just didn't like him for whatever reason and was looking for an opening to sack him.

So Sascha was standing at crosswalk with his backpack loose on his shoulders, wondering what he'd done for literally every person he met to hate him. Was it his face? Maybe he just had the kind of face that rubbed people in all the wrong places. He was a quiet kid, didn't like talking because he knew people didn't want to listen. He kept to himself, woke up every morning hoping to get a meal by the end of the day. He didn't have friends, didn't have family, didn't have anyone but himself to worry about. So he only worried about himself, but it seems like the whole world also worried about him. They worried about his existence and wanted him gone.

So why not just give them what they wanted? But this time, for real? He'd leave, go far away and never again hurt anyone's feelings. They'd be happy, he'd be happy. For once, everyone would be happy.

Fifteen minutes passed. He watched pedestrians walk pass him and cross the street. He waited for them to fizzle out, and then waited some more for the lights to change. The first car drove by and he took a step. His heart was racing and his body was shaking beyond control, but his mind was clear and his choice was made. He gripped on the straps of his backpack and closed his eyes when he reached the middle of the intersection.

There was honking. But the last thing he heard was voice yelling for him to get out of the way. And then he blacked out.

(•.•)