25. pass by

warning: very brief mention of suicide, depressive episode.

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CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

PASS BY

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Sleep was exhausting.

Dmitri didn't think the day would come when he would be the one to think that sleep, the one thing that he always relied on when he was bone deep in exhaustion, was exhausting.

It was almost predictable, though.

After spending four days in a routine; waking up, brushing his teeth, sometimes showering, sometimes spritzing on some cologne and calling it a day, showing up to work (which always went by in a blur), and crashing right back into bed, there wasn't much that wasn't exhausting. Sleep, included.

The worst part of it, though? The fact that he couldn't bring himself to talk to the three people who wouldn't judge him.

Eden, Trinh and Tariq.

Over the past four days, he hadn't said more than four different sentences to Eden, just repeating the same sentences, his words a broken record on loop, over and over and over.

I'm not hungry right now. Can you check on Juno? I'm going to bed, sorry, we can watch the show some other time. I'm sorry.

Those were the four sentences he had put on replay, until his tongue had finally given up on him and he just stopped talking to her altogether.

To make things worse, he hadn't said over two sentences to Tariq. The one person who never failed to cheer him up with his ridiculous fucking sex jokes and his constant anecdotes of the people whom he tattooed and pierced.

Can you please fuck off? I don't want to deal with this right now.

The numbness somehow, somehow outweighed the regret that took over when he spat those words at Tariq.

However, everything that had taken place over the past four days was still better than his state today.

Today, he couldn't even bring himself to get out of bed. No matter how much he tried, no matter how much he cursed himself in his brain.

And he knew that Eden would worry herself sick, because today was a Sunday, and he wasn't leaving his room to go to church, despite promising her that he would try his best to do so. Despite making a promise to himself that he would try his best.

He was trying his best. But it seemed as though his best wasn't enough.

Nothing seemed to be enough to convince himself that he wasn't the same person that he was three years ago, that he could get out of bed without crumpling to the floor, that he could brush his teeth, because he hadn't brushed them the previous night or the previous morning.

Zeus had given Pandora a box, and told her not to open it. She opened it anyway, and evils were cast onto the Earth. That was what he told his class when they were discussing Greek mythology, just as a side discussion because one kid was particularly obsessed with Greek mythology. It had nothing to do with their lesson, but he taught them anyway.

Now, his own fingers were itching to open his box.

He knew that it would happen eventually, but he didn't want to be around to see the evil. There was too much of it, more than anyone could imagine. No one deserved to see that.

A knock on his door startled him out of his thoughts, his body still flat on his bed, wrapped up in his blankets, so tight that he could feel the sweat forming on his back, mixing with the sweat from yesterday, two days ago, three days ago, four days ago.

"D?" Eden's voice said though the door. "You comin' down for breakfast?"

Eden always asked him. Even when his answer was no, even when he went down and didn't eat a single bite of his food, too nauseated to look at the food.

But he always gave her a response. Today, he physically couldn't, his mind playing back the worst memories of the day, memories that he spent the whole year repressing.

This happened every year. On this exact day, he would get hit with everything, because even after three years, he didn't know how to cope with the fact that he had tried to take his own life.

Sure, it had gotten easier. The first year after had been the hardest one— he had still been in college, dealing with deadlines, so focused on passing his exams and finishing college, that he didn't even have time to think about it until later in the day, when all his work was done.

When he did think about it later in the day, however, he had ended up having a panic attack that resulted in his very scared and useless roommate having to drive him to the emergency room at two in the morning because he was convinced that he was dying.

Hopefully, he didn't have a panic attack today. That was the last thing that he wanted to deal with.

"Uh— Dmitri?" Eden said again, a little more hesitant this time. "Can I come in?" she asked, knocking on the door with her knuckles, doing the usual knock, the one that had two slow beats and three fast ones right after.

Flipping over so that he was on his stomach, Dmitri just shoved his face into his pillow, eyes burning with unshed tears, or maybe it was from anger. Fuck off. Eden, please fuck off.

The door pushed open, just slightly, and Eden slipped through it, her footsteps pattering on the ground as she made her way towards him, not sitting down on the bed this time.

If he was being frank, he couldn't even blame her for not coming closer. He probably smelled like shit. A mix of cologne and sweat was never a good combination, but unfortunately, it was the combination of smells that he was emanating.

The both of them were well-versed in the scent, the one that all the high school jocks produced after their gym class.

"Hey," she murmured, taking a seat on the ground. "Are you— wait, never mind, that's a bad question, I'm sorry. How are you feelin'?"

Blinking back the tears that were threatening to spill out of his eyes, Dmitri flipped over again, staring at the ceiling fan, click, click, click every time it made a rotation.

Eden sighed, nodding and saying, "I know that today's hard for you." Taking in a short breath, she just gave him a weak, wobbly smile, eyes glazed over. "But do you think you could eat somethin'? Just a snack or somethin'? It's nearly lunch time," she reminded, the crack in her voice sending a crack right through his heart.

If Eden ended up crying, Dmitri just knew that he would lose it. Big time.

"Please leave," he muttered, his first words of the day. "Get out, please."

Again, Eden just sighed. "D, I just don't know if I can leave when you're like this. You get that, right? Just— come down for lunch, maybe?"

On any other day, literally any other day, Dmitri would have understood. Today, numbness clouded his sense of rationality, and he just gave her a small, "I'm not hungry."

That wasn't a lie, per se. Despite having eaten nothing the entire day, he really wasn't hungry. His stomach was ripping apart his intestines, that was how desperate it was for food, but he wasn't hungry. He was just... nauseated.

Nauseated and tired. That seemed to be his permanent state.

"I know," Eden agreed, standing up and rummaging through his drawer, before handing him a granola bar. I can't even move my hands to take it. Realising that he wasn't about to take it from her, she just placed it on the bed and said, "Is there anythin' that I can do?"

"You can get the fuck out of my room," he muttered, he didn't know why he said it, but he did. And the fleeting look of pain on Eden's face made him regret it almost instantly.

Regret it so much that it outweighed the numbness, just for a brief moment, as he mumbled out a soft, "I'm sorry", using all his energy for those two words.

That seemed to be enough to lift Eden's spirits up again, the slight sadness leaving her face, a small smile taking its place instead. "You don't have anythin' to apologise for," she assured softly. 'I'm gonna leave, come back up after lunch. Okay?"

"Or don't."

Eden just nodded slowly, taking in a deep inhale and leaving the room before Dmitri could hear her exhale.

And all over again, Dmitri was left alone with his thoughts.

I need to get up. Shower.

Feeling around for his phone from under the pillow, Dmitri unlocked it, even going as far as to opening the messaging app. But as soon as he landed on the contact that he wanted to to text, the only contact he had received messages from for the past four days, he powered his phone off again, letting his phone drop back onto the bed.

For six whole minutes, he did nothing. Nothing but stare at his ceiling, stare at the dents in it, the spot of white that he had missed when he was painting it with Eden.

Everything was so much harder, but so much easier back then.

Harder because the wound was more fresh than it was now. The memories were raw in his mind back then. After all, it had only been one and a half years back then.

Easier because it wasn't today. It wasn't April eighteenth when they had chosen to paint the entire room a gentle yet dark green, because Trinh had said that he was just "dark green", and that there was no other way to explain it.

Of course, he had countered it with a quick, "Actually, I'm black. Figuratively and literally".

After six minutes, though, he sat up in bed. It wasn't a big step, but it was still something. Sitting up was something.

Then, he pushed the blankets off his body, his clothes practically stuck to his body, sweat coating the neck of his t-shirt. Get out of bed.

He just sat upright for a second. Closed his eyes, and breathed out. I need to brush my teeth. Finally, finally, he pushed himself out of bed, his knees genuinely aching from how long it had been since he'd last used them.

Crouching down, he tapped the floor once, causing Juno to look up at him from her space on the ground. It seemed like every time he was depressed, Juno got upset, too. Less responsive, less purring, more snuggling up in his lap and not moving.

Now, she couldn't do that either, her broken leg preventing her from doing much of anything.

Fuck, did it hurt to see the splint on her leg every time Dmitri looked at her. Because it reminded him of that day, and exactly how terrible it had been. Worse than today, somehow.

"Hi," he murmured to her, her ears twitching at the sound of his voice, slightly scratchy— definitely not as bad as Tariq's, that was a different level of hoarse— from not using it. "Hi, sweetheart. I'm a little fucked right now. Don't have the energy to talk to anyone. You're an exception."

Obviously, there was no reply from her end, because she was a fucking cat, and she even if she could reply, she wouldn't.

"I should get up from the floor," he mumbled, whether it was to Juno or to himself, he didn't know. "Change my clothes. Brush my teeth, my hair. Get my fucking shit together, maybe."

Juno just purred at that, rolling a little closer to Dmitri, her head finding his sweatpants-clad thigh. God, I fucking love her. I hate myself. Fuck.

"Yeah, I'm gonna get up," he said, but he didn't move. Couldn't move. "In a minute, maybe. Fuck, I'm depressed as fuck. I don't want to die, but I don't know what I want to do," he finally got out, leaning his head against the cupboards behind him, the pressure in his skull only increasing with each breath he took.

"Are you using Juno as your therapist?"

Eyes snapping open, Dmitri turned his head around, only to find Tariq standing at the frame of the door. And he wished he could feel better after seeing Tariq, he really did, but he couldn't feel much of anything.

"Might as well, since I failed at real therapy," he stated, his hand automatically reaching out to pet Juno's head, her satisfied purrs quite literally the only thing keeping him sane.

Tariq laughed as he scanned the room, eyes flitting from the pile of clothes on the ground to the table, the glass that had once been filled with water and his bottle of his meds on it.

Taking his meds was the only consistent thing that he had been doing, solely because he knew exactly what could happen if he didn't take them. And that wasn't something that he wanted to see happen.

"You have to shower," Tariq instructed, bending down to pick up the clothes that were on the ground. Humming, he tossed them into the laundry basket, the one that was already full to the brim with dirty clothes from the past week and a half, because he hadn't gotten around to cleaning it out.

Dmitri just sighed, closing his eyes. "I know I smell rank as fuck, I've been sitting in this scent for the past four days."

"Maybe you've grown immune to it, I don't fucking know," Tariq mused. How the fuck did he manage to stay upbeat when Dmitri was constantly bringing him down? "If you can't shower, just spray some more deodorant. We're going out."

No. Shooting him a blank look, Dmitri shook his head, his eyes still closed. "We're not."

He knew that he was being absolutely fucking insufferable, God, did he know. But he couldn't do anything about it. It wasn't in his control, nothing was.

Finally, Tariq's facade of hardness broke, just two words were enough to create a crack in his glass, causing it to shatter completely.

"Okay," Tariq murmured, crouching down so that he was at Dmitri's (now open) eye level. "Okay. What do you want to do?"

That was new.

No one ever asked him what he wanted to do when he got like this. They always called the shots, they were in the driver's seat and he was in the backseat, half-passed out, too incoherent to even be in control of his own ride.

"I don't know," he stressed, heart picking up from that simple question. "I don't—"

Before he could get any further, Tariq interrupted him with a quick yet soft, "Okay. That's fine. Do you want to talk about it? Be left alone? Leave the house? What do you—"

"I want to stop suffering this much."

Eyes softening, Tariq nodded, standing back up, but not before petting Juno's head once, her head instantly seeking comfort in his hand.

Then, he said, "We're leaving the house for a bit. Okay?" No. Not okay. "Just to get away for a bit, get away from your thoughts and everything. Some fresh air, maybe."

For a second, Dmitri weighed out the options in his head. He genuinely contemplated it, because what did he have to lose anymore? As fucked as it was, he had lost everything, already.

His friendship with Eden was in shambles because he couldn't get his act together, his friendship with Trinh was practically non-existent, his friendship with Tariq was fucked.

He was fucked. So fucked.

"Okay," he agreed. Get up. Just get up. Just— okay, I can't do it.

"Can you..." he trailed off, a fog settling in his brain. Shaking his head, he groaned, the nausea, the everything too much for him to handle. "Can you get me that t-shirt?" he finally asked, head still resting against the cupboard.

He expected Tariq to say yes. Give him the t-shirt. That was what he always did.

He didn't expect him to say, "Dmitri. You can do it yourself."

Fuck.

"Tariq, I physically don't have the energy right now, I can't—"

"Hey," Tariq murmured, crouching back down, and Dmitri just knew that it hurt every time he did it. "You got out of bed. You can get off the ground and put some clothes on. I promise, you can. I'm sorry I'm being so hard on you. If you really want me to get it for you, I will. And if you don't want to go outside, we don't have to. Even if it would be better for you if you did. I'm—"

Not wanting to listen to anything else that Tariq was about to say, Dmitri forced himself to get off the ground, walking all the way to the other side of the room and removing his t-shirt, unbothered, for once, that Tariq was watching him.

"Let's go," he muttered, quickly spraying on some more deodorant, and grabbing his keys from his table, handing them to Tariq. "Don't make me shower, please. You're the one who wants me to leave the house, this is what you get."

Tariq just smiled. He fucking smiled, and said, "This is all I wanted. Well, maybe I wanted you to brush your teeth, too, but this is good. Proud of you."

"Shut the fuck up," was all Dmitri said in response, grabbing a strip of gum from the table and popping it into his mouth. "Happy?"

Again, Tariq smiled. He seemed to be making up for all the lack of smiles on Dmitri's end. "Very. You're doing great."

There were two types of depressive episodes. There was the one he had had a while ago, the unresponsive one. And there was this one, the snappy, irritable one. The one that pissed himself off, because of how insufferable he got.

"Yeah?" he drawled, rubbing his eyes harshly. "That's fuckin' great."

Pausing right before the two of them left the room, Tariq placed his hands on Dmitri's arms, holding him in place. "Dmitri. I'm really proud of you for—"

"Don't fucking touch me."

A flash of hurt crossed Tariq's face, but it left as soon as it came, and he just said, "Okay, I'm just—"

"Please get your fucking hands off me, Tariq," Dmitri muttered, pushing past him and moving downstairs, ignoring the shocked stares that Eden and Trinh shot his way, ignoring everything and going to his car, crashing into the passenger's seat and bringing his head down to his knees.

Breathe. Fucking breathe.

"Dmitri," Tariq's voice soothed, the cracks in it being the only thing that was comforting him. "It's okay. I know you feel bad for snapping, or that you will feel bad soon enough. But I want to tell you that it's okay. Yeah?"

God, Tariq being gentle with him was the one thing that always made his heart hurt. Because it had been so long since someone who wasn't Eden and Trinh was genuinely kind to him and didn't want something from him in return.

"Just—" Shaking his head, Dmitri squeezed his eyes shut, before saying. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Dmitri, there's nothing to apologise for, I—"

"Please stop."

Tariq frowned. "Tri, I promise, it's—"

"Just drive."

So, Tariq shot him a tight, almost pained smile, placed one hand on his knee, constantly rubbing circles on it, and drove.

He didn't take his hand off his knee for the entire drive. The whole thirty minutes of it.

And while it didn't help, not one bit, it didn't make things worse.

It wasn't much, but it was something.

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AN: i know that these chapters have been heavy, so please don't force yourself to read them! i promise i can give you a recap if you need it :)

thank u all for reading 🥰 i hope everyone is keeping safe <3 have a good day!!💓