I Walk a Fine Line (Between The Right and The Real)
Title: I Walk a Fine Line [13/20]
Author: 23a_j10
Beta: therapyrequired
Pairing: Alex Gaskarth + Jack Barakat.
Rating: R/NC-17: Overall.
Warnings: I wouldn't recommend reading this if you're subject to OCD in any form. Mental illness, and self-harm.
Summary: When the only thing Alex believes in is killing him and the only thing Jack believes in is love can the two save each other from their unhealthy and unrealistic lives.
Disclaimer: I don't know/own All Time Low.
POV: First, Jack's. This chapter only.
Dedications: To my beta because she's a great writer.
Author's notes: Chapter 13 is here, thank you to therapyrequired and raimzi for helping me with this, and just generally :)
MASTERPOST
“Why did you start all of this?” I ask Alex who’s sitting on my bed pulling at the sleeves on his jumper. He looks up for a moment, his eyes meet mine but he looks away just as quickly and starts to chew on the fabric. He shrugs dismissing the question, busying his gaze with the posters on my wall. I sigh and stop clearing the dirty clothes; I wasn’t really doing it properly anyway, and take a seat next to him.
“C’mon you can tell me…” I smile at him but he doesn’t seem to see it. He just shakes his head and crosses his arms.
“What’s the matter Alex? You haven’t said anything since the park” I bite my lip and try to stop himself from touching him. I want to push back his hair and tilt up his chin and make him look at me but I know he wouldn’t like that. He wouldn’t even hold my hand on the way back to my house, the last thing that left his mouth was the thought I wasn’t real. I don’t know what to do.
He uncrosses his arms and takes my left arm in his; he pushes my sleeve up and traces his index finger over the dry scab of my first relapse. The unpleasant flicker of pain shows itself dimly as he presses a bit harder, I hold my breath and watch as he turns my arm over. His eyes dart along my pale skin; I know what he’s looking for. He drops my left arm and takes my right instead but before he can pull my sleeve up I take his hand away and press it to my upper thigh.
“Here” I tell him, my voice is quiet but I think he understands why. He presses his fingers into the denim and looks up at me with questioning eyes.
“What?” I ask as he traces his fingers in circles, he doesn’t answer but I suppose I’m getting good at guessing what those eyes mean. I stand up and his hand falls away from me, I unbutton my jeans and slide them down to the middle of my thighs. He watches like he’s fascinated but I can’t stand to see the mess I’d made for myself. Looking intently at my blue guitar resting against my desk I pull up the edge of boxers on the right side. Alex makes a noise but I can distinguish what he means by it. Without warning his fingers are touching my skin again, discomfort rushes through my body,
“Don’t Alex...” I warn him and move away from his touch slightly. I don’t understand why he even wants to see but he doesn’t need to touch. I hate anyone touching my thighs, more accurately my self-inflicted wounds, and he’s no excuse. He makes another noise that I can’t comprehend and touches my skin again, I brace myself because I’m close to cracking as he seems to be tracing words into my skin.
“What?” My voice is chocked slightly from holding back the urge to either snap at him or hit him.
I pay close attention and he asks “Why?” into my upper leg. Then he sits back and waits for a reply as I pull back up my jeans. I sit next to him and avoid is waiting eyes.
“I... I don’t think I can tell you that” I admit as I watch the curiosity twist to hurt in his brown eyes. His mouth forms a small “O” shape but he doesn’t say or do anything except pull his sleeves down again.
“No one knows why... I...” The memory of my Dad fires up in my heart and it hurts all the way to my soul as the tears threaten to burst. “Sorry I...” Is all I can say as I dash from the room. I’m shut in my bathroom before he can follow me; my body breaks to the memory as the tears spill unforgiving down my cheeks. It’s anger and betrayal and depression and torment and confusion and delusion. I pull open the cabinet. Everything’s distorted and unclear, ripples in the water and dunes in the sand. I snatch the first thing to hand and wrench down my jeans. White noise is in the distance and static humming hard in my eardrums, washing over my brain, too much, too much...
Knock, knock, knock.
The sound startles me and I surface from the deep depths of my unhappiness, I pull the shaving razor away from my exposed skin hastily. The knocks are gentle and know its Alex. My Mum is downstairs “leaving us to it” with the TV on. He tries the handle with little force and to my dismay I’d forgotten to lock it, he comes in quickly and locks it behind him. I can’t find it in me to move. Everything feels like floating and falling and flying and falling...
He kneels down next to me and takes the razor from my hand. He places it on the edge of the sink and wets a cloth that’s on the side. He wrings it out and presses it carefully into my cuts, kissing my forehead as he does so. I sit limply out of shame and embarrassment as Alex cleans my wounds. He doesn’t say a word but his actions are gentle and caring, once he’s washed away the evidence and cleaned off the cloth he sits crossed legged in front of me.
“It started when I was sixteen. Only last year and my best friend Rian came to me, upset about something. We’d been best friends since we were little; we’d literally grown up together. I thought we knew everything about each other but he pulled up his sleeve to show me these red marks on his wrist and... And I lost it. I freaked out and I shouted at him for it. I told him he was being selfish and stupid and... He ran away, he ran away from home and he ran away from me. It’s all my fault and... No one’s seen him since...” He doesn’t look at me but he continues,
“After that, I spent all a lot of time looking for him but no one wanted to help me and his parents wouldn’t talk to me. I overheard someone talking about solipsism and I just, everything made sense. No one was real and that was okay because then nobody could hurt me, nobody could leave me and most importantly I couldn’t hurt anyone else. That all these people, I’d just made them up inside my head; I’m only one person and if I ever let any of my subconscious know, that I knew I was the only real person then they would destroy because I wasn’t supposed to. I wasn’t allowed to know the truth. And after you spend each moment looking in time for the mistakes and the misplaced sounds and shapes and obsessing over every detail everything because magnified inside your head and I just... I wasn’t feeling anymore. I was only feeling the constant paranoia of my subconscious finding out that I knew the truth and I’ve just slipped up, I’ve just let my Mom and Lucy hear the truth. They will think I’m crazy, they won’t let it go just because I know they’re not real I know it’s not their fault but, just because I know the truth I, they’re.... I-”
“Alex, it’s okay you don’t need to explain yourself anymore” I silence his rambling confession with my hand to his check. He looks frantic and panicked but stops talking, maybe that’s why he didn’t want to open his mouth earlier. The words escaped his mouth like he’d been dying to tell me all along, but the look that came with it unsettled me. “What are you scared of?” I ask him and he stares straight at me with a serious expression
“I’m scared they’ll call me crazy just because I’ve found something to believe. I’m scared that they’ll mess with my mind and take it away from me. I’m scared of being forced medication and being locked up for just having a belief. People believe in God, and love and rights. What makes God more viable than my belief? Nothing, it doesn’t make sense but I know, I just know they can’t find out and they have found out and. Jack.” He says my name and pauses like he’s drinking in the sight of me, “Jack I’m scared of losing you. I’m scared of losing the only person who feels real to me.”
Chapter Fourteen
Author: 23a_j10
Beta: therapyrequired
Pairing: Alex Gaskarth + Jack Barakat.
Rating: R/NC-17: Overall.
Warnings: I wouldn't recommend reading this if you're subject to OCD in any form. Mental illness, and self-harm.
Summary: When the only thing Alex believes in is killing him and the only thing Jack believes in is love can the two save each other from their unhealthy and unrealistic lives.
Disclaimer: I don't know/own All Time Low.
POV: First, Jack's. This chapter only.
Dedications: To my beta because she's a great writer.
Author's notes: Chapter 13 is here, thank you to therapyrequired and raimzi for helping me with this, and just generally :)
MASTERPOST
“Why did you start all of this?” I ask Alex who’s sitting on my bed pulling at the sleeves on his jumper. He looks up for a moment, his eyes meet mine but he looks away just as quickly and starts to chew on the fabric. He shrugs dismissing the question, busying his gaze with the posters on my wall. I sigh and stop clearing the dirty clothes; I wasn’t really doing it properly anyway, and take a seat next to him.
“C’mon you can tell me…” I smile at him but he doesn’t seem to see it. He just shakes his head and crosses his arms.
“What’s the matter Alex? You haven’t said anything since the park” I bite my lip and try to stop himself from touching him. I want to push back his hair and tilt up his chin and make him look at me but I know he wouldn’t like that. He wouldn’t even hold my hand on the way back to my house, the last thing that left his mouth was the thought I wasn’t real. I don’t know what to do.
He uncrosses his arms and takes my left arm in his; he pushes my sleeve up and traces his index finger over the dry scab of my first relapse. The unpleasant flicker of pain shows itself dimly as he presses a bit harder, I hold my breath and watch as he turns my arm over. His eyes dart along my pale skin; I know what he’s looking for. He drops my left arm and takes my right instead but before he can pull my sleeve up I take his hand away and press it to my upper thigh.
“Here” I tell him, my voice is quiet but I think he understands why. He presses his fingers into the denim and looks up at me with questioning eyes.
“What?” I ask as he traces his fingers in circles, he doesn’t answer but I suppose I’m getting good at guessing what those eyes mean. I stand up and his hand falls away from me, I unbutton my jeans and slide them down to the middle of my thighs. He watches like he’s fascinated but I can’t stand to see the mess I’d made for myself. Looking intently at my blue guitar resting against my desk I pull up the edge of boxers on the right side. Alex makes a noise but I can distinguish what he means by it. Without warning his fingers are touching my skin again, discomfort rushes through my body,
“Don’t Alex...” I warn him and move away from his touch slightly. I don’t understand why he even wants to see but he doesn’t need to touch. I hate anyone touching my thighs, more accurately my self-inflicted wounds, and he’s no excuse. He makes another noise that I can’t comprehend and touches my skin again, I brace myself because I’m close to cracking as he seems to be tracing words into my skin.
“What?” My voice is chocked slightly from holding back the urge to either snap at him or hit him.
I pay close attention and he asks “Why?” into my upper leg. Then he sits back and waits for a reply as I pull back up my jeans. I sit next to him and avoid is waiting eyes.
“I... I don’t think I can tell you that” I admit as I watch the curiosity twist to hurt in his brown eyes. His mouth forms a small “O” shape but he doesn’t say or do anything except pull his sleeves down again.
“No one knows why... I...” The memory of my Dad fires up in my heart and it hurts all the way to my soul as the tears threaten to burst. “Sorry I...” Is all I can say as I dash from the room. I’m shut in my bathroom before he can follow me; my body breaks to the memory as the tears spill unforgiving down my cheeks. It’s anger and betrayal and depression and torment and confusion and delusion. I pull open the cabinet. Everything’s distorted and unclear, ripples in the water and dunes in the sand. I snatch the first thing to hand and wrench down my jeans. White noise is in the distance and static humming hard in my eardrums, washing over my brain, too much, too much...
Knock, knock, knock.
The sound startles me and I surface from the deep depths of my unhappiness, I pull the shaving razor away from my exposed skin hastily. The knocks are gentle and know its Alex. My Mum is downstairs “leaving us to it” with the TV on. He tries the handle with little force and to my dismay I’d forgotten to lock it, he comes in quickly and locks it behind him. I can’t find it in me to move. Everything feels like floating and falling and flying and falling...
He kneels down next to me and takes the razor from my hand. He places it on the edge of the sink and wets a cloth that’s on the side. He wrings it out and presses it carefully into my cuts, kissing my forehead as he does so. I sit limply out of shame and embarrassment as Alex cleans my wounds. He doesn’t say a word but his actions are gentle and caring, once he’s washed away the evidence and cleaned off the cloth he sits crossed legged in front of me.
“It started when I was sixteen. Only last year and my best friend Rian came to me, upset about something. We’d been best friends since we were little; we’d literally grown up together. I thought we knew everything about each other but he pulled up his sleeve to show me these red marks on his wrist and... And I lost it. I freaked out and I shouted at him for it. I told him he was being selfish and stupid and... He ran away, he ran away from home and he ran away from me. It’s all my fault and... No one’s seen him since...” He doesn’t look at me but he continues,
“After that, I spent all a lot of time looking for him but no one wanted to help me and his parents wouldn’t talk to me. I overheard someone talking about solipsism and I just, everything made sense. No one was real and that was okay because then nobody could hurt me, nobody could leave me and most importantly I couldn’t hurt anyone else. That all these people, I’d just made them up inside my head; I’m only one person and if I ever let any of my subconscious know, that I knew I was the only real person then they would destroy because I wasn’t supposed to. I wasn’t allowed to know the truth. And after you spend each moment looking in time for the mistakes and the misplaced sounds and shapes and obsessing over every detail everything because magnified inside your head and I just... I wasn’t feeling anymore. I was only feeling the constant paranoia of my subconscious finding out that I knew the truth and I’ve just slipped up, I’ve just let my Mom and Lucy hear the truth. They will think I’m crazy, they won’t let it go just because I know they’re not real I know it’s not their fault but, just because I know the truth I, they’re.... I-”
“Alex, it’s okay you don’t need to explain yourself anymore” I silence his rambling confession with my hand to his check. He looks frantic and panicked but stops talking, maybe that’s why he didn’t want to open his mouth earlier. The words escaped his mouth like he’d been dying to tell me all along, but the look that came with it unsettled me. “What are you scared of?” I ask him and he stares straight at me with a serious expression
“I’m scared they’ll call me crazy just because I’ve found something to believe. I’m scared that they’ll mess with my mind and take it away from me. I’m scared of being forced medication and being locked up for just having a belief. People believe in God, and love and rights. What makes God more viable than my belief? Nothing, it doesn’t make sense but I know, I just know they can’t find out and they have found out and. Jack.” He says my name and pauses like he’s drinking in the sight of me, “Jack I’m scared of losing you. I’m scared of losing the only person who feels real to me.”
Chapter Fourteen