Confessions 7 (skit)

Hey, I’m back to continue the Confessions skit story. 

I’m not sure how many Confessions parts there will be in total. Maybe 10, but I can’t say for certain. 

This skit is going to be part 7. That’s just for calling them Confessions because the whole skit story actually started before I came up with that title. This skit story began in early March. So it’s been running for a few months already. 

I have lots and lots of thoughts I want to write out in the form of skits. I think it’s better that way than to just have me rambling. Reading skits feels more entertaining than long and boring paragraphs of me info-dumping on my characters. I can let my characters’ words and actions speak for themselves. 

This skit story sure has been an experience. Yeah, I’m the one writing, but every time I write, I don’t feel fully in control. Logically, I know that’s true, but like.. how to put this. All of my characters feel so real and are so vivid in my mind. 

And the bickering. Oh god, the bickering. I daydream very often, and my mind keeps on wandering to scenes of my characters bickering with each other. Sometimes it’s over something petty and not that serious; other times it’s not. And it hurts. It makes me feel this weird mix of emotions. They keep arguing. There’s so much conflict. It’s painful. 

And I know. Oh, how I know. I haven’t written anything so.. raw? straightforward? no beating around the bush? vulgar?.. before. This is an experiment for me too. No more ignoring and pushing it under the rug. This might be the least censored version of anything I wrote involving my characters. The gaps in the puzzle are being filled. 

That is who they are. Without it, I feel like parts of their personalities are missing. Of how I see them, who they are to me. 

They aren’t good people. Pretty much all of my characters are morally-gray people. I know that they’re not the best and nicest people around. I really hate them at times. It’s okay to be upset with them. I am too. 

Yes, I’m thinking of Fierdan and Jack the most, but it’s not exclusive to them. They’ve said and done some pretty screwed up things, and not everything they say, do, and even think can be fully believed at face-value, but it doesn’t mean every other character is better than them. Because that’s just not true. All of my main characters are messed up in their own special ways. They’re not good people. They all have flaws and caused harm. 

I just felt like I have to emphasize that. I’m obsessed with my characters, yes, but I’m also critical of them. They deserve to be criticized. Because their words and actions.. geez. Come on now. 

One last thing before the skit. Planning and writing this one is painful. It hurts. Geez, this is rough. I can’t believe I’m writing this. How dare I. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe. 

Why did I say all that? Well, read on and you’ll see. I’m sorry in advance. 

(Am I really? *shrugs*) 

It’s pretty obvious at this point, but this skit story is basically for mature audiences. Because of the themes. And part 7 is no exception. 

Now it’s time for the content warnings. I think they’re important to include. 

**WARNINGS: strong/explicit language, mentions of sexual content, smoking, interpersonal conflict, certain details about mental health and illnesses/disorders and body image, mentions of blood and self harm and suicide. 

—————————————

[A few minutes after the end of part 6. Jack ran into his apartment and then his bedroom, his bedroom door still slamming behind him as he throws the tank top on top of a large pile of dirty laundry in a corner. When it lands, he sighs and falls on the bed. With another sigh, he kicks off his shoes and socks and then unbuttons his pants and takes them off before adding them to the pile of dirty laundry. He lies back down, the back of his head making an indent on his pillow.]

Jack: *mutters* Damn it, I’m sick of those two. First, that shit with Ryen because I’m never good enough for him and his high expectations. I always do something wrong, huh? Our personalities clash, but we’ve gone through so much together. And yet.. and yet.. he still treats me like shit and causes my RSD to spike. I hate how I’m still so damn sensitive to rejection. I hate how painful it is and how it makes me say and do stupid things. I get it; he hates me. 

Jack: *raises one of his arms, stares at his hand before lowering it back to his side* And Fierdan.. god, fuck that guy. I don’t know how much more of this shit I can bear. He has the audacity to call me the ‘master manipulator’ when he’s the one playing all these mind games. What the hell is that guy’s problem? 

Jack: *looks lower, his face getting red, sighs* That sly bastard. How am I still turned on because of him? It’s not fair of him to mess with me like that. He knew what he was doing, moving his body like that on top of me, us touching each other like that… Fuck! 

Jack: *his fingernails dig into his palms as he clenches his fists* That son of a bitch made me hard, and for what? For him to then say that shit about Dylan? We were having a moment, damn it, but if it was too soon after what I told him, then maybe it was for the best that we didn’t go further. *sighs* And of course, my body doesn’t care about any of that or what time of day it is. It’s not fucking fair! 

Jack: *unclenches his fists, his fingers brush the hairs on his stomach, groans* What kind of foreplay ends with moaning but then saying something unexpected and unrelated? Yeah, he’s unpredictable alright. Any normal person would’ve said something like “Oh fuck, fuck me!” while struggling to not turn every sound coming out of their mouth into moans.. but no, he’s not normal. God, why did he think it was a good time to say all that then? Moaning only to then say that shit? Fucking hell, Fierdan. 

Jack: *bites lip, one of his hands hovering above the area just below his stomach, his fingers gripping the band on his boxers, shakes head* No, I shouldn’t. The only reason my body is reacting this way is because of him, and I’m not gonna give him the satisfaction that he’s made me… *frowns* No, I’m upset at him. Fuck you, Fierdan. *face grows more red, starts sweating* That’s right. Fuck you. I thought you wanted me to. Damn it, I wanted to fuck you too. Isn’t that what you wanted? Why else would you lead me on like that? That’s what you wanted, right? You looked disappointed when I said I didn’t want to anymore. You killed the mood, Fierdan. It’s all your fucking fault! *tightens his grip on the band, indecisive on whether to lower his boxers or not*

Jack: And it’s not fair. How come he looks so hot and gorgeous when he’s mentally fucked? No one deserves to look so good, even when they look and smell like shit. He’s such an asshole. He doesn’t even have to try. Meanwhile I view myself as garbage in the shape of a human being, and the only way for me to not hate how I look is if I cover it all up. Mark, paint, mutilate my body all up until I can’t recognize my real self anymore. I’m so fucking fake. *his fingers touch the patch of skin under the top of his boxers* Ugh, just thinking of his face and hair is making me feel aroused. How does he naturally look like that? No makeup, no hair dye, no tattoos, no piercings.. none of those things are necessary. He just can’t look ugly, actually ugly, that fucker. Life is unfair, man! 

Jack: *his face is red and sweaty as the fingers inside his boxers move further down* I need a distraction. *turns his head to glance at one of his drawers where he keeps a pack of cigarettes and vape pens* I just need.. to get up. *slowly sits up, not moving his hand* I’ll just smoke. No, I just need a puff. Any.. thing. *the hand not in his pants reaches out in the direction of the drawer before lowering back down again, sighs* I need to get up. Come on, body, get up. Don’t let him... *gravity feels like it’s too much for his body since he ends up on his back again, staring at the ceiling* … win. *sighs again, speaks softly* He’s right. I’m a hypocrite. Congrats, Fierdan, you got me. You win. And god, do I hate myself for it. 

[Around the same time that Jack entered his apartment. Fierdan is still standing, facing the front door as if Jack will suddenly turn around and come back. But he doesn’t. Fierdan knows that. He continues staring at the door, despite knowing better.] 

Fierdan: You can’t leave me. You can’t just do that when I’m in this state. Come back… *reaches out his arm towards the door* 

[For some reason, Fierdan thinks about Soulless again. He imagines that he is having a conversation with Soulless, like they’re together in Cincernum. It’s not actually happening; it’s all in Fierdan’s head. Just like what he says isn’t out loud; it’s only his thoughts. A conversation only in his head.] 

Fierdan: Ugh, you can’t just do this shit! Running away won’t solve any problems. 

Soulless: You lecherous creature. The only reason you want him to come back is so you can satisfy your sexual urges. 

Fierdan: *frowns* That’s not true. I just want him to tell me why. 

Soulless: *places its hand on Fierdan’s shoulder* Tell you what? 

Fierdan: Why he tricked me into thinking they came back from the dead. They shouldn’t be alive. 

Soulless: Silly Danny boy, silly Danny boy. 

Fierdan: *moves his shoulder out of Soulless’s grip* Wait, you’re the one who told me I was the one at fault. You said I tricked the others into believing the others were still alive. Well, at least with Finny. I know you did. 

Soulless: Do you even know reality? What’s real? *grabs both of Fierdan’s shoulders, its nails digging into his skin* You’re making this all up, after all. You killed me. I’m not actually touching you. It’s all in your head. 

Fierdan: *ignoring Soulless, shakes head* They think I’m narcissistic. That I have a huge ego. That I’m a self-centered.. *sighs* whatever. I must be a really shitty narcissist then. 

Soulless: Fierdan? Hello? Why did you imagine me talking to you if all you’re gonna do is ignore me? This is boring. *lifts one of his arms and inspects it* 

Fierdan: I have no sense of self worth, esteem, or any of that kind of shit. I am nothing. I feel empty. I’m so fucking empty. 

Soulless: I know, it’s alright. You just want to be fucked. Since your darling left, I can substitute. We can play like we used to. Your brain is corrupt enough for you to imagine it being real, right? 

Fierdan: *takes a few steps away from Soulless, not paying any more attention to it* Why can’t I fucking feel anything? Anger and lust are the closest feelings I have any attachment towards. Everything else feels fake. There’s a hole in me that I don’t know how to fill, so I just drink, smoke, and fuck. And for what? A burst of dopamine? To feel good? It never lasts. Nothing good ever does. They all are exhausted with me, but how about they try living in my own head.. this hell. I mean, fuck, what am I even doing? 

Soulless: Don’t be talking all depressive now. 

Fierdan: It’s all a mask. It’s better to pretend that I’m someone capable of emotions and can empathize with people and just.. be a decent person for fuck’s sake. It’s better than them knowing the truth. I’m a black hole, sucking up everything good in others until there’s nothing left. I fuck up everything. *smirks* Sucking and fucking. I could make a sex joke out of that. Just.. you fucking watch me. 

Soulless: You can’t even tell delusions from reality. Do you even know that you experience psychosis? What is reality? What is actually happening? What did you just conjure in your mind? You’re thinking of me since you can’t stand to be alone. It’s pathetic, really. I pity you. 

Fierdan: *glances down for a second, sighs* Damn. Thinking all of that self depreciating shit finally did the trick. It was a total turn-off. *smirks* Not like I could fuck well or do anything sexual when my mind’s like this, thinking all this shit. *relaxes his shoulders* But finally. Damn. 

Soulless: Want me to help turn— *grins* What am I doing? Asking before? Consensual?  *scoffs* 

Fierdan: I fuck up everything. Why am I so impulsive? Why can’t I control myself? I knew saying and doing those things were horrible ideas. But what did I do? I did that shit anyway. I fucking hate myself. *starts pacing back and forth* He hates me. Now he also hates me. And the rest think I’m a creep. *stares at his hands and wrists* The blood won’t leave. It won’t dry. 

Soulless: There’s no blood. 

Fierdan: Shut up! I can feel the sticky red covering my hands and wrists. Oh god, it burns. I need.. I need…

Soulless: There is no blood, Fierdan! 

Fierdan: I need to redo it. Another layer. I can’t see the red. I need to see it. 

Soulless: Stop it, Fierdan! You don’t need to see any blood. 

Fierdan: *glares at Soulless* Since when you do you care? You never gave a damn about me before—

Soulless: For fuck’s sake, I’m not even Soulless. You’re just arguing with yourself.. with different parts of your subconscious. You’re just talking to yourself. It’s all just you. You are the only one here. 

Fierdan: *stares at his hands and wrists again* They all hate me anyway. I’m only a burden. I shouldn’t be alive. I don’t deserve to live. I destroy everything. *sighs* Everything would be so much better if I was gone. 

Soulless: That’s not true! 

Fierdan: Of course. My parasite needs me. *walks to where he dropped his hoodie, picks it up, and takes out the pack of cigarettes before dropping the hoodie again* 

Soulless: Am I even Soulless, or am I just another part of you? 

[During the next several minutes, Fierdan smokes a few cigarettes. He stops thinking of Soulless, at least for the time being. When he’s done with each cigarette, he presses the burnt end into the space between each knuckle on his opposite hand. When he’s done with that, he uses other areas on the back of his hand. After he used up half the box, he throws it on the floor and steps on it. He blinks his eyes rapidly and stares at his hands.]

Fierdan: Well, fuck. I don’t feel a thing! *starts scratching his wrists* Not a fucking thing! *laughs manically until he coughs, struggling to stop* 

[A little later, the coughing fit stops and the pain from his hands and wrists kicks in. And oh god, it burns. It hurts so much. He pretends that he can’t feel it, but he can and he does.]

Fierdan: It’s not real. None of this is real. I can’t feel anything. I’m not human. I’m a pest that needs to be discarded. Yeah, I should do that. I’ll just kill myself. Maybe that’s the only way for peace to be achieved. *yawns* Or maybe I’ll just slit my wrists. That sounds like less work. I’m a lazy piece of shit who doesn’t do anything beneficial. So what if I’ve also been reading and researching the Books of C. like crazy just like he does? I’m never good enough for him. I’ll never be. I was always an unwanted son. Even Duke was. 

[Fierdan lies down on the floor, his knees tucked to his chest. He tries to suppress the tears from flowing. Eventually, he gives up and passes out, his hands and wrists burning from pain.] 

[Between an hour and two later. The sounds of knocking at Fierdan’s front door and someone repeatedly calling his name. After a few minutes of this and the person at the door not leaving, he reluctantly gets up, rubbing his eyes and then the back of his neck. He staggers toward the door and then grabs the doorknob so tightly as if it’s the only thing preventing him from falling over.]

Fierdan: *mutters under his breath* Why did I sleep on the floor? What the hell am I even doing here? 

Brock: *continues knocking at the door* Fierdan! Hey, anyone there? Answer me, Fierdan! Hello? *looks into the peephole* I see you! Hi, you look like shit! What happened? 

Fierdan: *rubs his temples with his free hand, groans* Go away. I’m aware that I look like shit. I don’t need another reminder. 

Brock: Let me in! Please, please, plea—

Fierdan: *sighs loudly and opens the door* What do you want? 

Brock: Fierdan! Hi, how are you? 

Fierdan: I swear, you’re just like a dog. So loud and vocal and clingy for who knows what reason. 

Brock: I just wanted to see you. Everyone else is busy at the moment anyway. I missed you. 

Fierdan: I’m not someone worth missing. 

Brock: What are you talking about? Of course you are. I did.

Fierdan: *rubs his hand over his face, sighs* That’s because you’re you. *pauses* I hope I’m not talking to myself again. God, I’m pathetic. 

Brock: *quickly grabs Fierdan’s wrist and stares at the hand* Oh my—

Fierdan: Let go of me! *struggles to free his hand from the other man’s grip* 

Brock: *tone of voice changes, looks up from Fierdan’s hand to his face but doesn’t let go* Are you okay? 

Fierdan: *frowns* What? Just let me go! *bites his tongue as he tries to move his hand out of Brock’s grasp and a fresh burst of pain is felt there and in his mouth* Ow, fuck! 

Brock: *sighs and lets go* Of course it hurts, you dummy. It would be weird if it didn’t. 

Fierdan: *has tears in his eyes* I was telling myself it doesn’t actually hurt, that this pain isn’t that bad, that I can’t feel a goddamn thing, but.. *looks scared as he looks at Brock* it hurts. It really, really hurts. 

Brock: You really are just skin and bones, huh? 

Fierdan: What? 

Brock: When was the last time you ate? Had a proper meal? *grabs Fierdan’s forearm* Wow, your wrists look red too. What the hell happened to you? 

Fierdan: I’m.. I’m not hungry. And that’s none of your goddamn business. 

Brock: You’re just so slender and bony. It’s like you barely have any body fat. You need to eat, you know. 

Fierdan: *grimaces, sighs as he knows Brock’s grip is too strong for him* Stop that. Just.. stop. 

Brock: Why? Your limbs are so slender, and I can see the outlines of your bones and your veins in your hands. And your wrists are so small, and I bet I could see your ribs if you take off your shirt— 

Fierdan: *cries* Stop it! I know my body is like this, but… *notices Brock inspecting his arm which reminds him of the body inspections that Soulless and Taurel gave him* I’m not a girl! 

Brock: Huh? I never said you were. Sure, you don’t have the most hyper-masculine, manly body out there, but you’re still a guy. You still should try to gain weight though; your body concerns me. 

Fierdan: *starts trembling and hyperventilating* Z. He.. He kept telling me how I’m not a ‘real’ boy and won’t ever be a ‘real’ man. I’m too girly, too gentle, too sensitive.. too emotional. Maybe he was right about that. 

Brock: Why do you care about what that man thought of you? Wasn’t he a complete asshole who did tons of fucked up shit? 

Fierdan: That’s right. He was, but he was.. was.. *tries to regulate his breathing but fails* he was still my dad. And I killed him, fucking up any chance of forgiveness and understanding and… Fuck! I’m such a bad person. *pauses* How can I say that when I know what he did to Dawn and how many other girls and women. *swallows* To.. To Dawn. 

Brock: *sighs and loosens his grip* 

Fierdan: *quickly pulls his arm to his chest, begins to stop hyperventilating* Don’t do that shit to me ever again. I.. I know my body looks like this, and it’s really pathetic and messed up and.. god, why do I have to be a freak of nature? 

Brock: Not do what? 

Fierdan: *groans* Give me PTSD flashbacks because of the shit you said and did! 

Brock: I did that? Oh shit, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.

Fierdan: *says bitterly* No, no. It’s my fault. I should make it so excruciatingly obvious whenever I get triggered. Maybe I’ll just scream from the rooftops something like “You triggered the fuck out of me!” next time someone does, so they get the memo. 

Brock: That sounds like a lot. You don’t have to—

Fierdan: Of course I don’t have to! I’m not going to actually do that. It’s so.. so *winces from the pain* stupid. 

Brock: *takes a deep breath* Dude, I’m sorry. I really am. I shouldn’t have touched you and talked about your body like that. I didn’t know you were so.. sensitive about that sort of thing. Honestly, I still am concerned about you, but I’ll stop. 

Fierdan: It’s okay for you to be concerned. I mean, look at me. It’s just that.. well, what feels like body inspections, like I’m being tested and analyzed and graded just for how I look and how my body works.. it isn’t exactly pleasant. Sure, it might not be for anyone, but for me, it’s.. it’s a special kind of hell. 

Brock: I’m sorry. 

Fierdan: It.. It’s fine. 

Brock: Why did you do that to your hand, to your wrists? It looks like it hurts so much. 

Fierdan: Oh, well, it does. It really fucking hurts, to tell you the truth. 

Brock: Then.. why? Why did you? 

Fierdan: To feel pain. That’s the whole point. *sighs* Or to redirect it. Or just to see if I can actually feel anything. I feel so fake and numb all the time, like I can’t fully and genuinely feel anything. Everything feels so distant. Except, I don’t know, intense rage when I act like such an asshole.. or lust which makes me become an asshole for different reasons. God, I’m such a bad person. I can’t stand it. I can’t blame others for hating me. 

Brock: I don’t hate you. 

Fierdan: You should. 

Brock: Why? *pauses* Wait, don’t answer that. 

Fierdan: Because I’m a terrible person who ruins everything and everyone. I destroy all that I come into contact with. *tears fall from his eyes* It’s all my fault. He left me, and I’m not sure he’ll come back this time. I pushed him to his limit because of my violent mood swings and delusions. I keep.. I keep fucking up over and over. 

Brock: Then try again. Apologize. Start over. 

Fierdan: *stares at his hands* It’s too late. I messed up way too many times. It’s over between us. He’s gone.

Brock: I doubt that. 

Fierdan: *looks up at Brock, sniffs* What do you know about us? We were a couple destined to fail. We’re just too.. too… *quickly rubs his eyes* Fuck, I don’t know! It’s all my fault, and I just want to die.  

Brock: Well, don’t die. 

Fierdan: *stops crying, says sarcastically* Wow, thanks for the advice. It’s very appreciated. 

Brock: *frowns* No need for the sarcasm. 

Fierdan: It really hurts, you know. I feel like I lost one of my main reasons to live, to keep going. I made him leave, and he’s so fucking sick of me. I just know it. I sure am a piece of work. I’m high-maintenance. Put so much work in and get nothing good out of it. That was our relationship. 

Brock: Then find another reason to keep going. The end of a relationship isn’t the end of the world. 

Fierdan: To you it isn’t, but to me, it is. I feel like I’ve been abandoned all over again. I know I caused this, but it still hurts like hell. 

Brock: Do you have abandonment issues, Fierdan? 

Fierdan: *looks away* May.. Maybe. *winces* Ow!

Brock: Your hand? 

Fierdan: Uh, what? 

Brock: Does it still hurt? 

Fierdan: What kind of question is that? Of course it still hurts. I didn’t treat it or anything. 

Brock: That’s right! Why have we just been talking all this time? 

Fierdan: Huh? 

Brock: I know basic self care. Come on, let’s go to your bathroom. 

Fierdan: Self care? What? 

Brock: To treat your wounds. Disinfect it, wrap it up. That sort of thing. 

Fierdan: *smirks and laughs* Do you mean first aid? 

Brock: Shit, you’re right. First aid. Yes. 

Fierdan: I figured. Then, well, come on now. Let’s see what you can do. Hopefully, you won’t leave me an amputee. 

Brock: What? I can’t just amputate—

Fierdan: *sighs* I know that. I was joking. 

Brock: *breathes a sigh of relief* Oh. Of course I knew that. 

Fierdan: Okay, let’s go. Come on. 

Brock: Wait, do you even have a first aid kit? Or will I just have to wing it? 

Fierdan: *shrugs* This way, Brock. 

Brock: Oh, okay then. 

[Fierdan walks to the bathroom, Brock following him. They stay in there for a while, around a half hour. Bandages cover Fierdan’s hand and gauze is wrapped around both of his wrists. The smell of disinfectant is stronger in the air than smoke.] 

Fierdan: *stares at his covered wrists, talks softly* Thank you, Brock. I didn’t expect you to be able to. 

Brock: *grins* Like I said, I know the basics. I know the disinfectant stings, but are you feeling okay? 

Fierdan: *sighs, leans against the wall* What does feeling ‘okay’ even mean? 

Brock: Well, I.. I’m not sure. Does it still hurt a lot? 

Fierdan: It hurts.. less. 

Brock: Oh.. Oh, that’s good. That’s an improvement. 

Fierdan: Yeah, I suppose. *looks up at Brock* Look, I really am sorry about before. I was being a jerk. I actually did miss you. 

Brock: *gently brushes a hair out of Fierdan’s eye* I know you did. There’s something between us, after all. 

Fierdan: *frowns but doesn’t move* There’s nothing between us. 

Brock: *strokes Fierdan’s cheek with the tip of his finger* Is that so? 

Fierdan: *starts blushing* I.. I don’t know. *reaches out and touches Brock’s hair* Your hair is so fluffy. You really are just like a dog. 

Brock: Well, you’re a.. you’re a… *forgets what he was going to say and instead says* Your eyes are beautiful. The color, the shape.. I love everything about them. 

Fierdan: *smirks and brushes his bangs to the side* Is that right? 

Brock: You’re beautiful. *pauses* Or handsome, if you prefer that. 

Fierdan: You’re flirting with me. 

Brock: *blushes* Oh, am I? 

Fierdan: *leans closer to Brock* Yes, you are. *has an intense look in his eyes* Why did you really come to see me?  

Brock: Well, I.. I… *is at a loss of words* 

Fierdan: *has his hand which isn’t covered in bandages at the back of Brock’s head, pulling him closer to him, looks like he is about to kiss him, then at the last moment he lets go and takes a large step back, breathing heavily* 

Brock: Whoa, Fierdan! What was that? 

Fierdan: Fuck, fuck! What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m so, so sorry. *starts trembling, speaks very fast* I don’t have any feelings like that for you. I just got carried away. And you’re straight! What was I thinking? You’re not into me. God, what is my fucking problem lately? 

Brock: Breathe. Let me get a word in. 

Fierdan: Soulless is right. I am a lecherous creature, a sex fiend, a filthy fucking sinner. 

Brock: I mean, that was unexpected. I didn’t expect you to actually kiss me. Well, intend to. You almost did. 

Fierdan: Oh my god! Shut up, shut up, shut up! *starts fidgeting at the gauze* 

Brock: Hey, stop that! 

Fierdan: Get away from me! I deserve punishment. I need more pain. *a small piece of the gauze rips off and falls on the bathroom floor* Hate me, please! It’s what I deserve. 

Brock: I don’t hate you. 

Fierdan: Why the hell not? 

Brock: Because.. *sighs* I don’t know. I just don’t. 

Fierdan: *tears off more of the gauze* You make no sense. Do you know that? 

Brock: Well, neither do you. We can be illogical together. 

Fierdan: You don’t know anything about me. 

Brock: Hey, that’s just—

Fierdan: *screeches* Get out! Leave me alone! 

Brock: Hold on, we can—

Fierdan: Get the fuck out and don’t come back! *breathes heavily* I’m not a good person by any means. I’m the real villain. I destroy every relationship I have. I should live and die alone. 

Brock: *opens the bathroom door* That isn’t true. You’re not that bad. 

Fierdan: What the hell do you know? You don’t know all the shit I did and went through. Don’t try to sympathize with and comfort me. Don’t pity me. It’s useless. It’s impossible to relate to me. 

Brock: *looks like he’s about to say something but only leaves the bathroom without another word* 

Fierdan: *whispers* No, don’t leave me alone. I didn’t mean it. Come back. I’m sorry. 

Brock: *can’t hear Fierdan* I’ll leave since that’s what you want. I just missed you, that’s all. I’m sorry. Goodbye, Fierdan. 

[The front door is heard closing with a thud. Fierdan sits on the cold, tiled floor of the bathroom with his knees up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. He stays like that for a while.] 

————————————

End of Confessions, part 7. 

RSD = Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria. Intense feelings that come from real or perceived rejection, usually over exaggerated from what actually happened to cause the rejection. It is said that it is common in people who have ADHD and some other neurodivergent people. 

I think that’s the only term that might’ve been hard to understand. In this part anyway. 

I initially planned on ending this part in a completely different way with other characters, but I got carried away with Fierdan. It’s all because of him. Again. 

It’s fine. I’ll just include those plans of mine in part 8. Hmm, it’s probably for the best. I think it’ll be too much to include it all in this part. 

Just wait and see. I’ll write it soon. Some day. Hopefully, the wait won’t be too long. Life is a bit chaotic. I’m definitely obsessed with my characters and this skit story though. I’ve been having a moment. My mental state is… *shrugs* 

I know it’s a lot. Things are pretty intense, huh? 

Yeah…

Until next time. Bye. 

~ Shan/Shyrah