Archive of Our Own ^beta

He wouldn’t love you if he knew the real you.

 

The thought comes, like these thoughts always do, completely unprovoked.

Hello, I'm your mind giving you someone to talk to.

A minute ago, I was sitting in my room, on my computer, updating my social media, and looking up song lyrics. Warped Tour is coming through Pueblo, I’ll have to see if I can convince Leo to get us tickets and drive us there. The lineup sucks this year, but that’s not the point of a music festival, is it? Of course, Leo doesn’t like any of my favorite bands to begin with, but I know he’d still do it if he knew it made me happy.

That’s the thought that kicked all of this off.

Now I’m sitting in my computer chair, curled up in the fetal position like a kid doing a cannonball dive into a pool. At least, that’s what I’m doing physically.

Mentally, I’m spiraling.

Because I know the voice is right.

Leo doesn’t love me, not really. Because he can’t love me. He puts up with me. He thinks he loves me, because he doesn’t know how I really am, deep down. He loves the otter he thinks I am, not the cowardly, shitty, twisted wreck that I truly am inside.

So tell me now

If this ain't love then how do we get out?

I try to let him in. I try to let him see me. The real me. He deserves a chance to turn and run. Everyone would run if they saw the shit that goes on in my mind. So I try to show him, try to tell him. But I can never bring myself to tell him those deepest, darkest secrets. So he thinks he knows me. He thinks he knows how bad it gets.

But he has no fucking idea.

If he knew about the nightmares. If he knew about the thoughts I have about my enemies… Fuck, if he knew the thoughts I have about my friends. Our friends.

But I overheard him the other day. He was telling Flynn that I’ve been a “whingy little bastard” lately. He thought I was asleep.

That’s good. That means soon he’ll be sick of me. Soon he’ll leave me, like I’ve always deserved, and be with someone normal, and hot, and popular, like he’s always deserved.

You say you wanted more

What are you waiting for?

I mean, why shouldn’t he? He’s Leo fucking Alvarez. High school quarterback, the most handsome guy in school, and one of the nicest people I’ve ever met in my life. He deserves someone as good as him.

I’m just Chase Hunter.

I don’t know why I’m like this. Why I can’t be normal. Why I can’t stop thinking these insane thoughts. Homicidal thoughts, suicidal thoughts, take your fucking pick. It’s only a matter of time before I snap.

I heard my parents talking. They’re getting sick of me too. I don’t blame them. I heard Mom ask Dad how much longer he thought I’d be in this “emo phase.”

I wish to God it was just a phase. Something that I could know would pass. But none of them understand. I’m never going to be happy. Deep down, I know that.

It’s not a fucking phase, Mom.

I start sobbing, because that’s what I do. Especially lately. The thoughts have been bad lately, and I’ve been having a harder and harder time fighting back.

That’s how I know I’m going to slip one day. And hurt someone else, or myself.

Best that the people I love have moved on by then.

What the hell is wrong with me? Don't fit in with anybody

How did this happen to me?

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. How I’m supposed to fucking deal. Carl never seems to feel this way. TJ would just prescribe religion, which never worked for me anyway. Jasmynn only gets this way when there’s actually a good reason to in her real life. She doesn’t just lose her shit at random, like I do. The best I can come up with is Flynn’s cigarettes. I know he has trouble dealing sometimes, and that’s why he started smoking. He offered me one once, I turned it down. Maybe I can convince him to buy me a pack.

I know they’ll kill me, but…

I don’t fucking care.

Maybe I should call Leo.

No, fuck no, I shouldn’t call Leo.

He’s probably having fun with his normal friends. Or at home with his normal family. I can’t keep calling him every time I’m falling apart.

Especially since I fall apart about once a day.

He deserves better than that. Better than a boyfriend he has to pull back from the brink every other fucking evening.

Why doesn’t he just fucking leave me already? We’re both better off alone.

Sure enough, my phone starts to ring, a polyphonic version of my Flavor of the Week emo jam. I already know it’s him, and sure enough, there’s his face on the screen. I sniffle, and wipe away my tears, as if he can see them.

“Hello?” I say in my best I-wasn’t-just-crying voice.

“Hey, Chula, what’s up?” he says.

“Nothing,” I lie, “What do you want?”

“Want?” he asks, “What do you mean? Can’t I just want to talk to my beautiful boyfriend?”

“I’m not fucking beautiful,” I spit.

“Of course you are,” he assures me.

Liar.

“Chase, is everything okay?”

“Everything is fucking fine,” I say, my voice cracking on fine to let him know that I’m not okay, I promise.

“Chula, have you been crying?” he asks.

“No, *sniff*, I’m fine,” I lie, terribly.

Try and make it look like it's all somehow getting better

'Cause I know how to play it pretty good against the measure

“Chula…” he groans, “I’m coming over.”

“You don’t have to do that, Leo. You don’t have to baby me all the time,” I insist.

“Chula, it’s not babying you. You’re sad, I want to help,” he says, “That’s just what a boyfriend’s supposed to do, right?”

“I said not to fucking come over!” I snap, “Just leave me alone!”

“Chase, what—”

I hang up the phone. Hopefully he takes the hint. He deserves better than to sit here, coddling me.

I start sobbing again.

Because I just yelled at him. The only meaningful thing I have. I hurt him, just for caring about me. Because that’s all I’m good for, is hurting people. He doesn’t deserve to have to put up with me. But he doesn’t deserve to have to break up with me either.

He’d be better off if I just died.

I think like that sometimes. I don’t know if that counts as “contemplating suicide”, from a psychological standpoint, and I’m too afraid to ask. Because there’s no way to ask that doesn’t reveal that those are the thoughts I’m having, and I don’t want to be fucking institutionalized.

Save me from the enemy

Myself

I know I’d never really do it. But I can’t help thinking about it.

Could I make beauty stay if I

Take my life?

I don’t want to kill myself.

But if I died in an accident, that would be okay.

My parents would be better off. They could probably afford to retire early, they could use my college fund for it. And all my friends would be happier too. Leo could date someone who can give him what he deserves. I would probably get my own page in the yearbook. I’d be a fond, bittersweet memory for everyone who knew me, and nothing more. Even the people who hate me— like Clint, and Jeremy, and Micha— would probably pretend to be a little bummed.

Have you heard the news that you're dead?

No one ever had much nice to say

I think they never liked you anyway.

That’s what I tell myself.

But I know that’s not how it is. That’s not how it works. People don’t move on when someone dies.

I’ve lived that.

Sydney is the thing I feel worst about. I was such a shitty kid. I was a complete asshole to him. I bullied him. And not just physically pushing him around, either. I’m the reason that rumor spread; the rumor that he killed his dad. I’m the reason his own friends started to turn on him. I’m the reason he was alone.

Sometimes, I hated him so much that I’d wish he was dead.

Then one day he was.

What kind of sicko wishes for something like that? He was an eight-year-old kid. And don’t fucking tell me that I “was only ten”, like it shouldn’t fucking count.

I knew better.

Everyone started out a little insane

But we learn pretty quick how to fake it for the game.

I wished him dead, and then he was. I got what I fucking wanted. Feeling guilty is what I deserve; the bare minimum of what I deserve. It makes it even worse that I was ten. What kind of a ten-year-old thinks like that? And about his own friend?

One that’s already fucked in the head, that’s who. One that’s already broken beyond all repair.

Because that’s how sociopaths think, isn’t it? Once someone becomes a problem, just kill them? I never tortured any animals or anything, but I didn’t have to. I had Sydney to torture.

His own fucking dad killed himself in front of him, and all I could do was think of ways to make him even more miserable. Just make it worse and worse for him, until the day he died.

I didn’t kill him, but I may as well have.

I hear a knock at the front door, and already know who it is.

God damnit.

I can’t hear what they’re saying, but through the walls, I recognize my mom’s voice.

Then I hear that unmistakable baritone.

I'll tear us apart

I told you to leave me alone.

Can I be your enemy?

I reach over and nudge the door slightly ajar, to hear better. I bury my face in my hands, so they can’t see me crying.

“…just thought that I’d stop by, on the phone he seemed a bit down,” Leo says.

Just leave me like I deserve.

“Of course, thank you for doing that,” Mom says, “I don’t know what has been up with him lately. We might see about adjusting his medication, we think it might be a side effect of some kind.”

“Yeah, sure,” Leo hums, “I just think he’s been having a rough time lately, is all. I know how it is.”

No, you fucking don’t.

“Chase, hon?” Mom taps on the door.

“Just leave me alone!” I growl, face still buried in my hands.

She doesn’t respond, but I hear her short-gaited footsteps walking away.

“Hey, babe,” Leo says softly.

“I told you to fucking leave me alone!” I yell, and throw my keyboard at him. The keyboard, of course, is connected to the computer, so it just flies off of the desk, catches, and swings there uselessly.

“Chase, what’s going on?” Leo asks, entering the room and shutting the door behind him. He walks over to me, and I flinch as his hands touch my shoulders.

“Don’t touch me,” I sob.

“Chula, what’s wrong?” he asks.

God, he really fucking cares, doesn’t he?

“Everything,” I mutter.

“Come here, Chula,” he beckons, offering me his hand. Begrudgingly, I take it, and he leads me to the bed. He sits on the edge of it, and I take my place in his lap. I curl up again, and his strong arms hold me against him. I bury my muzzle deep into his fur. I can hear his heart beating. This is the only thing that calms me down. But I feel like I’m just using him.

I know you well enough to know you’ll never love me

Why can’t I feel anything from anyone other than you?

“Leo, why do you love me?” I whisper. I hear his breath hitch in surprise.

“What… What does that mean?” he gasps.

“Just what I said, Leo. Why the fuck do you waste your time on me?” I pout.

“Chase, what kind of question is that?” he growls, “You’re not a waste of fucking time. You’re the most important thing it the world.”

“That’s just what I mean,” I mutter, “I’m the least important thing in the world. I don’t understand why—”

“No, Chase, you’re not,” he suddenly snaps, “Quit talking like that.”

He pulls me away from him just enough to look into my eyes.

“You’re Chase Hunter. You’re funny, and smart. You’re my best friend. You’re my boyfriend. And you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he tells me.

I shake my head.

“You only think you love me,” I protest, “If you knew how I really am—”

“Chase, I do love you,” he insists, “Nothing you could do, or could have done, could ever change that.”

Do you need this as bad as I do?

I know the look in his eye.

Until the day I die.

He’s telling the truth.

The bitter thoughts dig their claws in, but it’s no use. As I feel the warmth of his body pressed against me, I know that I am loved.

Maybe I don’t have to understand why.

“I’m sorry,” I sigh, “I’m sorry I keep letting the little things get me down like this. I’m sorry I keep going crazy and sabotaging our relationship.”

“What? Chula…” he clicks his tongue, “It’s normal for couples to fight every now and then. It’s normal to feel down every now and then.”

“I feel down all the time,” I argue.

“Maybe…” he starts, but then hesitates.

“Maybe?”

“Maybe it’s this music you listen to? All sad and mopey and shit?” he suggests, clearly aware that he’s walking on eggshells.

“I’m not sad because I listen to emo music,” I tell him.

“I just mean—”

“I listen to emo music because I’m sad, Leo,” I explain, “It helps me feel less alone.”

“But you’re not alone,” he protests.

“Fine, it makes me feel understood,” I clarify.

“Don’t I understand you?” Leo asks, clearly concerned.

“Not always, but…” I snuggle into him closer, “I think that’s okay. I know you try. And it’s enough to have you here.”

I was spinning free

With a little sweet and simple numbing me

“Oh, uh…” his arms wrap around me tighter, “Okay.”

“I’m just afraid that I’m going to screw it up,” I confess, “Go through one of my low points, and say or do something to hurt you. Something you can’t ignore. I’m afraid that, one of these times, I’ll just leave you.”

He looks at me, concern welling in his eyes.

Then he smiles.

“Well, then, I’ll just have to make damn sure you can never leave, huh?” he smirks.

“I guess,” I sigh, not fully convinced. Like I said, he doesn’t know how deep the darkness gets sometimes.

“Hey,” he whispers, looking me in the eye, “Nothing will ever come between us, you understand? There’s nobody in the world who—”

His phone starts to ring. He fishes it out of his pocket, and glances at it.

“It’s Jasmynn,” he says.

“Go ahead, answer it,” I tell him.

“You sure?” he raises an eyebrow.

I tap the answer button and lift the phone to his ear. He takes it from me.

“Uh, hello?” he says. There’s tinny chattering out of the earpiece that I can’t make out.

“Uh, no, I’m with Chase right now, actually,” he says, “We could both come meet you, if you want.”

More chattering.

“Okay, sure, see you there,” he says, and taps the end button.

“Jasmynn wants to hang out at the diner, that sound cool?” he asks me.

“Yeah, sure, that’s fine,” I hum, before remembering what I had been thinking about before… everything. “Oh, hey! Warped Tour is coming through Pueblo this year, I was wondering if you maybe wanted to take me?”

Seventeen without a purpose or direction

“Pueblo? How far away is that again?” he asks hesitantly.

“Six hours or so,” I say nonchalantly.

“That’s round trip, or…” he asks, already suspecting the answer.

“No, one way,” I say.

“Must be a hell of a lineup, then,” he jokes.

“Nah, the lineup sucks this year,” I tell him.

“Okay… And how much are tickets?” he asks.

“A hundred and fifty dollars,” I say.

“Altogether, or…”

“Nah, one-fifty each,” I admit.

“Uh huh…” he says.

“But…” I offer, “If we ask our parents, maybe we can get a hotel room.”

We don't owe anyone a fucking explanation.

“A hotel room?”

“Yeah, you know…” I wink, “A bed, all to ourselves. A shower, all to ourselves. No parents or siblings or friends to… interrupt anything.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, maybe that’d be cool,” he says, like he’s not convinced. Like I can’t hear his tail thump-thump-thumping against the bed.

I look at him. This time I don’t feel guilt. I feel pride. Somehow, against all reason, this amazing man chose me to love. Somehow, he sees something in me that I can’t even see in myself. Maybe I was wrong, maybe it’s not that he can’t see the darkness.

Maybe I just can’t see the light.

He deserves so much better than me. I still know that. But maybe that just means that I have to be better, for him.

He deserves to be rewarded. For all the ways he helps me. For all the ways he’s always helped me cope with everything.

It’s not so pleasant and it’s not so conventional

It sure as hell ain’t normal but we deal.

There’s only one way I know to reward him.

“I’m gonna change my shirt, then we can head out, okay?” I tell him. I pull the shirt off before he can reply. I catch his gaze wandering up and down my torso. I’m just a skinny, average otter. But every time he looks at me, it’s like he can’t believe that he’s with me. I guess that feeling’s mutual, though.

I can’t believe he’s with me either.

I noticed your eyes are always glued to me

Keeping them here and it makes no sense at all.

I toss the shirt aside, waiting for him to take the hint.

“You don’t have to change if you don’t want to, Chula,” he says, “It’s just the diner, after all.”

“Oh, you’re right,” I sigh, then turn away from him and bend over to pick up the shirt I just tossed down. I don’t have much of an ass to show off, but…

I constantly thank God for skinny jeans.

I stay bent over, waiting for him to say something.

“Everything alright, Chula?” he finally asks.

Thump thump thump

I cock my tail up a bit, and turn my head to face him, still bent over.

“Yeah, I was just thinking, we don’t have my bedroom to ourselves with the door shut all that often,” I say, “You know, if there was anything you maybe wanted to do.”

“Chase,” he says, again pretending I can’t tell how excited he is, “Jasmynn’s already waiting for us.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to be quick,” I say as I push him onto the bed.

One last song lyric buzzes in my head as I’m undoing his button fly.

I decide to lean into it.

I only want sympathy in the form of you

Crawling into bed with me.