26. metaphors

warning: mentions of suicide, read with caution. please skip to the end if you need a recap, or comment here.❤️

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CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

METAPHORS

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When Tariq had said that he wanted Dmitri to get some fresh air, Dmitri hadn't expected him to take him to a fucking park.

Having a mental breakdown in public wasn't exactly in his Top Ten Things To Do Before I Die list.

"Are we good to stop here?" Tariq asked, nudging Dmitri and taking a seat right there on the dry grass. Then, he pulled out a box from his bag, honestly, Dmitri didn't even realise he was carrying a bag, and handed it to him.

"The fuck is this?"

Tariq just shrugged. "I made lunch." What? "Knew you wouldn't eat anything at home, so... I made sandwiches. For you to eat, uh— whenever you're feeling up to it."

Guilt eating at his stomach, leaving him too nauseated to even think about putting food in his mouth, he just said, "I'm really not—"

"You're not hungry," Tariq finished for him, nodding in concession. "I know. But I also know that you need to eat, because you haven't eaten anything today. I really don't care if you're hungry or not, you need to eat. If not now, later. But we're not leaving until—"

"Shut the fuck up," Dmitri muttered, cutting him off mid-speech as he opened the Tupperware container, taking out a sandwich and biting into it. "Happy?"

Through a small laugh and a grin, Tariq hummed, his spirits so visibly lifting when he watched him eat the sandwich. "Who knew that me being rude to you makes you motivated?"

"You talking pisses me off enough that I'd rather do anything than listen to you speak."

Maybe that was rude.

Actually, it was definitely rude, and Tariq didn't deserve that when all he was doing was trying to help.

Still, Dmitri couldn't help the anger bubbling up inside his chest, anger at Tariq for constantly pulling him up when all he wanted to do was sink, at Eden for putting up with the amount of trouble he constantly gave her instead of just telling him to fuck off, but mostly, at himself.

Because it had been years, and this day never failed to revert him back to the person he used to be ages ago.

Mad at everything and everyone, feeling like he didn't have a single person to lean on, like he was a burden to everyone around him.

He just wanted to stay in bed. Away from everyone, so that he couldn't bring them down with him.

"Fair enough." Tariq laughed softly, his arms resting on his knees which were folded up, hair shifting with every small gust of wind that blew past them, the sun directly striking his skin, making it look more golden than brown.

Tariq was genuinely one of the prettiest people Dmitri had ever laid his eyes on, but at that moment, he could not give less of a shit.

Fuck, it hurt to not be able to say anything to Tariq when he so badly wanted to, his body just frozen, his mind frozen, replaying the same words over and over and over and—

"Wanna talk about what's going on up there?" Tariq asked softly, moving his hand, probably to touch his head, maybe knock on it, but pulling it back before he could. "You can if you want to. I won't—"

"I'm just so tired," Dmitri finally said, his voice cracking on the last word, chest aching, God, did it ache. "I'm so tired of falling apart on this day, of being a piece of shit to everyone around me when I'm depressed and when I'm levelled out, of existing when I don't even know if I want to."

Breath audibly hitching in his throat, Tariq turned his head around to face Dmitri, before starting off with a weak, "What does that mean?"

Earlier, the numbness in his chest was spreading, spreading, spreading all through his body, through his veins, leaving no part of his body untouched. Now, it was still. Finally settled.

Settled enough for Dmitri to talk without feeling like one of his organs was failing because of how much everything hurt.

"I don't— I don't want to die," he mumbled, reaching his hands up to rub his eyes, rub away the exhaustion of just existing. "I just— I don't want to live like this anymore. It's genuinely— it hurts every year when this day comes around, because I'm reminded of my headspace at that time, and that's not something that I want to remember," he finished, looking at everything but Tariq, the flowers on the trees, the blades of grass, the clouds in the sky, even the small squirrel that scurried away from the tree.

He just couldn't bear to see Tariq in pain because of him.

"Do you—" Breathing out a soft laugh, Dmitri shook his head at the sheer absurdity of the situation, of his own mind. "Do you know how fucking embarrassing it is to have a therapist, and just— not talk to her? I have all the resources, I have everything that can help me get better. Meds. Therapy. You. I have everything, but nothing is working, because my brain isn't working. I hate feeling like this, I don't want to feel like this anymore, Tariq."

Of course, Tariq didn't understand. There was no way he could, Dmitri knew that. Just like how he couldn't understand Tariq's physical pain, he couldn't understand his mental.

It was just a fact— no one could understand it unless they experienced it. And Dmitri didn't wish for anyone to experience it. Ever.

"I know," Tariq murmured, gaze fixated on the grass below them, his voice so soft that if Dmitri didn't know him as well as he did, he wouldn't have been able to make out that he was holding back tears. "What can I do? I know that I can't fully understand it, but I want to be able to help. It sucks so bad to see you deal with so much, on this day or any other day."

If Dmitri could feel something at that moment, he would have burst into tears.

Unfortunately, he was numb. Completely numb. So, all he said was, "It doesn't make sense. I'm fine every other day— well, almost every other day—, I function every other day. But today, all my progress gets wiped. It's like—" Letting out a frustrated sigh, he bowed his head down, nails sinking into his palm, so close to drawing blood until Tariq reached out and pulled his fingers out of his palm.

"You're hurting yourself," he murmured, still holding his hand, only for a second, before hastily letting go.

"I really can't care about what I'm doing to myself."

Tariq nodded, fixing his gaze back to the dirt on the ground. "You should," he pointed out, like it was that easy for Dmitri to give a shit about himself, when he had spent the last three years giving a shit about everyone but himself.

It was easier that way. Caring about other people always came easily to him, making sure they were okay made him feel like he was okay, too.

But then, when everyone stayed okay, and he had no one else to worry about, that's when things went to shit.

"I should," Dmitri agreed softly. "I really should. I don't know how to explain how my mind works to you. Trust me, I want to, but I don't know how," he stressed, deciding to grab a tuft of grass in his hands, the next best thing to piercing his nails into his skin.

Smiling, actually smiling, Tariq hummed under his breath, slowly nodding. "Try a metaphor or something. You're good at those."

Dmitri snorted at that, because it was quite the opposite, really. "You're good at those. I'm literally the least metaphor-y—"

"Metaphorical, Dmitri. Metaphorical."

"Shut up," Dmitri breathed out, jokingly for once. "I don't know how to explain— okay, okay. This won't make sense, but it's fine. So... Imagine today, April eighteenth, is a wound. And three— well, four years ago, it was a fresh one. Four years ago, everything that I did, walking, breathing, reading— everything made it sting. Nothing made it better, no matter how many fucking ointments I used. No matter how many people I met at clubs, or bars, or college. No matter how many friends I tried to make, how many fake hobbies I developed to distract myself. It would just— keep stinging.

"Then, six months and a fuck load of changes later, I was semi-okay. Don't get me wrong, the wound was there. It was still fresh, just covered in collagen or whatever the fuck—" Glancing at Tariq who looked to be intently listening, Dmitri cracked a small, weak smile. "Sorry, you know that I'm shit at science. I think it's collagen, I don't fuckin' know. Anyway. It was... better. The wound. But then, six more months passed by, and April eighteenth came by again."

"As it does."

Another weak smile later, Dmitri nodded. "Yeah. Soon enough, you'll start to sense a theme. The collagen got fucked, the wound became fresh all over again. And the healing process started all over again, too. But this time, I knew what to do. To an extent. So... The healing didn't take as long this time. But I had to go through the process again. And the next year, again. And I keep having to go through the same healing process, and it's getting really fucking tiring, Tariq. I'm exhausted."

Almost as soon as he was done, Dmitri wished he hadn't said anything at all. Because while he had used metaphors, that was the most he had ever talked about it. And all it did was leave him feeling worse than he did before.

Tariq didn't notice his discomfort, though. He didn't notice the rising nausea, the rising panic, the rising every-emotion-to-exist.

He just said, "I don't think I'll ever really know how you feel. But I get it. I understand it, I think."

Dmitri just gave him the best smile he could give him, one that he was certain wasn't even a real smile, just a slight upturn of his lips, because he couldn't let Tariq think that it was his fault that he was shutting down.

"Can we leave?" Dmitri blurted out, he didn't even know he was going to say that until he did. "Sorry. I want to talk about it, but I'm just—" A coward? I don't know what I am. I just know that I can't do it.

Eyebrows pinching together, Tariq frowned slightly, reaching forward to brush a leaf off his shoulder, and saying, "You're what?"

"I'm scared," he admitted softly. Don't cry. Don't fucking cry. Don't cry.

Crying in front of Tariq was also not on his Top Ten Things To Do Before I Die list.

"I'm so scared of being the same person that I was those years ago," he continued, ignoring Tariq's gaze burning into his skull. "I know that I'm not, but shit, Tariq, you don't know how bad it can get. It's so bad right now, you just don't realise it because I'm responsive, but my mind is the worst place to be in right now, and that's exactly where I'm fucking stuck. It's so bad. I don't know what to do," he whispered, raising his head up at the sky and blinking harshly, preventing the tears from falling.

Tariq sighed, his hands instantly reaching up to touch the back of his own neck, his go-to habit when he was either uncomfortable, sad, or thinking.

In this case, Dmitri hoped it was thinking.

After a brief second, Tariq just sighed again, and said, "Whether or not you know it, you're doing so much better than you were before. I know that you're going to say that it's because you're on meds, and I'm sure the meds are doing a great job, but you're doing so well, too. Like— you don't even see it, but you've genuinely gotten brighter. And I know that it doesn't feel like it right now, and that it hasn't felt like it for a while, but one look at you and I can already tell that you're doing better than before. You should be—"

"Proud of myself," Dmitri mumbled, the tears springing back to his eyes again. "Yeah, that's a little hard to do when my main thought is that I'm a fucking coward— God, I hate that word— and that I'm selfish."

His brain was always a bad place to be in, but right at that moment, it was easily the worst place he could be in.

"I just—" Sniffing softly, Dmitri shook his head, cursing under his breath. "I'm fine, I'm fine. It's just that— I feel like shit would have been okay if I hadn't seen my parents, if they hadn't said those words to me. I mean— you saw me that day. Shit like that— it just... It builds up, and that slows down the healing process. Sometimes, it just makes it raw all over again. It's just... It comes in waves, and then, suddenly, everything's too much and I'm drowning."

Dmitri just knew that him spilling this much, talking about it this much after repressing it for years would come back to haunt him. Or worse, it would send him spiralling even further.

Frankly, he didn't want to know what his mental state would be like if he spiralled any further than this.

When he finished speaking, Tariq gave him the saddest fucking smile he had ever seen, nodding. "I'm still proud of you. You may not see it right now, but this? Talking about it? That's still healing. I promise, you're not doing as bad as you think you are."

I don't believe that, he wanted to say, but all he got out was a weak, "Every day is so hard. Some days are easier, but holy shit, it's so fucking hard when the only thing in my mind when I'm simply existing is that I tried to stop doing that. It's... It's tough."

Chewing the inside of his cheek, so hard that it made him wince, Tariq just asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"About what?"

"About that day. What you were thinking. What you're thinking right now. You can if you want to. I'll just shut up and listen."

Dmitri laughed a weak laugh, because as nice as Tariq's insistence was, he didn't want to do that. Especially to him.

"I don't want to—" Pausing for a second, Dmitri just took a moment to gather his thoughts. "Ri, you understand that my mental state was genuinely scary, right? Like, it was genuinely fucking terrifying. I was really scary to be around, my thoughts were... not very good."

They were more than not very good. Way more.

"I know," Tariq agreed, voice barely above a whisper. "I genuinely mean it. If you want to talk about it, you can."

Fuck. "Are you sure?"

He just nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"Okay. Okay, I'll use metaphors to soften the blow. Imagine this..."

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AN: i am here for all of the people who can relate to dmitri, if u want to talk, my dms are open for u i love u guys <3

thank u for reading 🥰 i hope everyone has/had a good day today!! see u tomorrow <3