I'm Kevin, I'm 18, and trying to live my life


©
07
Sep
66N
Kevin wakes up in the hospital, knowing exactly what brought him there. He just doesn’t remember it. 
[[MORE]]

His parents left him alone when he showered. That was the only time. They’d taken everything out of the bathroom that was potentially harmful, so it’s not like he could do anything. He couldn’t do anything, not matter how much he wanted to. 
He had showered more quickly than normally did. He wasn’t really sure how, seeing as everything seemed to be going five times slower these days, making everything less and less bearable by the second. 
He stepped out of the shower, quickly drying off, and putting his clothes back on. A plain t-shirt that was a lot looser than he remembered, a random pair of sweat pants and his Stamford University hoodie, pulling the sleeves up to his elbows. 
Kevin’s eyes fluttered open, a bright white ceiling staring up down at him. His head hurt, his stomach ached. The sterile stench burned his nose. He tried to speak, but it came out as a cough. He heard a shuffling, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mom rushing to his side.
“Oh, god, Kevin, you’re awake!”
“Wh-where am I?” his voice was hoarse and quiet.
He knew his dad would be on a conference call when he got out of the bathroom. Kevin figured he’d be in his office working, but when he entered his bedroom, his father was sitting at Kevin’s desk with his laptop open and his cell phone pressed to his ear. 
“Hold on one second, Matthew,” his father said into the phone, before turning to Kevin. 
“Hey, Kev, do you need anything? How you feeling?” 
“I’m alright. Is it okay if I run to the library quickly?” he asked. 
“Yeah, sure, but be back quickly. And straight there and straight back, alright?” Kevin nodded, even thought he nod was a lie. His father then went straight into his phone conversation. Perfect. His plan would work perfectly. 
He made his way up the stairs of his basement bedroom, up to the main level of his home. He had to stop at the home’s library, that was for sure. He couldn’t come back without a book. His dad would surely suspect something. He’d stop at the kitchen, do what he needed to do, go to the library, find a random book (whether he’s read it or not) and go back to his father, say he’s going to take a nap, then never wake up. 
Kevin didn’t mean to ask that. He knew exactly where he was. He was in the hospital. He just doesn’t remember what got him there. He lifted his hands, examining them. The IV was put in the back of his right hand, the pulse oximeter on his right pointer finger, and the stitches hadn’t even been removed yet from the last time. He probably tried to kill himself.
“You’re in the hospital,” his mother said. “You tried to kill yourself last night.”
He didn’t remember doing it. The last thing he remembered was trying to figure out how to. Which plan did he go with?
“Do you remember anything?” his mother asked.
He made his way to the kitchen, trying his best not to drag his feet, as that would probably make a lot of noise. He knew where his parents kept his sleeping pills: in the cupboard on the shelf where they held their tea collection, all the way in the back. He wasn’t supposed to know about it, but he caught his mom hiding them there the other day. Hopefully they were still there. 
He opened the cupboard, pushing aside all the boxes of tea, until he finally found the bottle. Finally these things would do him some good. The bottle in his hand, he made his way over to the cupboard, taking out a glass of water, then going to fill it up in the sink. Setting the glass on the counter next to the sink, he then opened the bottle of pills, dumping it’s contents into his hand. Hopefully this was enough. It had to be. The doctors had to put him on strong sleep aids because he was able to fight off the others. This had to work. He needed it to work. 
Kevin shook his head, still staring at his hands. He didn’t remember doing it. Not at all. He wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing.
“Oh, god, Kevin,” she said in a soft voice, her eyes filling with tears. He still wasn’t looking away from his hands. He didn’t want to look at his mom. He couldn’t. Not after what he’d just done to her, and would undoubtedly try to do again.
After picking the first book he saw on the library bookshelf, he made his way back to his bedroom. The pills were pretty quick to kick in usually, roughly 20-30 minutes. He should’ve figured that a higher dosage would be faster to work. He was stumbling by the time he was going down the steps. 
“Kevin, are you okay?” his father asked, turning around to see his son, who was sitting himself down on his bed. 
“I just started feeling really gross all of a sudden,” he mumbled, his head spinning. He wanted to vomit. And without warning, that’s exactly what he did, all over the floor. Kevin’s father rushed to his side, trying to help his son, who was already having trouble sitting up straight. 
“I’ll get the doctor, you stay here,” his mother said, even though the second half of what she said was rather stupid, there was no way he would be able to even move.
“What a fuck up,” a voice said, once his mother was out of the room. Kevin turned his head to see Marcus, with a smirk on his face, leaning against the wall.
“At least I could succeed,” he said, pushing himself off of the wall. “You can’t even kill yourself.” Kevin tried to speak, but he couldn’t seem to find his voice. 
“Seriously, Kevin? Get your shit together. It’s not that hard.” Kevin looked back up at the ceiling, trying to tune out his brother.
“I guess you’re better at killing others, then,” Marcus said casually. “It’s okay, we can’t all be good at everything, now can we?”
“Stop,” Kevin whispered, feeling tears prick his eyes. Why couldn’t he just be freed of all of this? Why was it so hard for him?
“I’m sorry, does this bother you?”
Kevin stayed silent.
“Does it upset you that I’m saying this? Does it bother you that I’m six feet under, and you’re not? Does it bother you had no trouble causing my demise, but you can’t even cause your own?” There was an extra hint of anger in Marcus’ last question, and it hit Kevin right where it hurt him most.
Kevin was about to respond to his brother, when he heard footsteps entering his room.
“Alright, Mr. Howarth,” the doctor began, her voice loud, too loud for Kevin’s liking. She began reading detail about his hospitalization off his chart, but Kevin wasn’t paying much attention. He was far too focused on all the possible ways he could end it the next chance he got. 

Kevin wakes up in the hospital, knowing exactly what brought him there. He just doesn’t remember it. 

His parents left him alone when he showered. That was the only time. They’d taken everything out of the bathroom that was potentially harmful, so it’s not like he could do anything. He couldn’t do anything, not matter how much he wanted to.

He had showered more quickly than normally did. He wasn’t really sure how, seeing as everything seemed to be going five times slower these days, making everything less and less bearable by the second.

He stepped out of the shower, quickly drying off, and putting his clothes back on. A plain t-shirt that was a lot looser than he remembered, a random pair of sweat pants and his Stamford University hoodie, pulling the sleeves up to his elbows.

Kevin’s eyes fluttered open, a bright white ceiling staring up down at him. His head hurt, his stomach ached. The sterile stench burned his nose. He tried to speak, but it came out as a cough. He heard a shuffling, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mom rushing to his side.

“Oh, god, Kevin, you’re awake!”

“Wh-where am I?” his voice was hoarse and quiet.

He knew his dad would be on a conference call when he got out of the bathroom. Kevin figured he’d be in his office working, but when he entered his bedroom, his father was sitting at Kevin’s desk with his laptop open and his cell phone pressed to his ear.

“Hold on one second, Matthew,” his father said into the phone, before turning to Kevin.

“Hey, Kev, do you need anything? How you feeling?”

“I’m alright. Is it okay if I run to the library quickly?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure, but be back quickly. And straight there and straight back, alright?” Kevin nodded, even thought he nod was a lie. His father then went straight into his phone conversation. Perfect. His plan would work perfectly.

He made his way up the stairs of his basement bedroom, up to the main level of his home. He had to stop at the home’s library, that was for sure. He couldn’t come back without a book. His dad would surely suspect something. He’d stop at the kitchen, do what he needed to do, go to the library, find a random book (whether he’s read it or not) and go back to his father, say he’s going to take a nap, then never wake up.

Kevin didn’t mean to ask that. He knew exactly where he was. He was in the hospital. He just doesn’t remember what got him there. He lifted his hands, examining them. The IV was put in the back of his right hand, the pulse oximeter on his right pointer finger, and the stitches hadn’t even been removed yet from the last time. He probably tried to kill himself.

“You’re in the hospital,” his mother said. “You tried to kill yourself last night.”

He didn’t remember doing it. The last thing he remembered was trying to figure out how to. Which plan did he go with?

“Do you remember anything?” his mother asked.

He made his way to the kitchen, trying his best not to drag his feet, as that would probably make a lot of noise. He knew where his parents kept his sleeping pills: in the cupboard on the shelf where they held their tea collection, all the way in the back. He wasn’t supposed to know about it, but he caught his mom hiding them there the other day. Hopefully they were still there.

He opened the cupboard, pushing aside all the boxes of tea, until he finally found the bottle. Finally these things would do him some good. The bottle in his hand, he made his way over to the cupboard, taking out a glass of water, then going to fill it up in the sink. Setting the glass on the counter next to the sink, he then opened the bottle of pills, dumping it’s contents into his hand. Hopefully this was enough. It had to be. The doctors had to put him on strong sleep aids because he was able to fight off the others. This had to work. He needed it to work.

Kevin shook his head, still staring at his hands. He didn’t remember doing it. Not at all. He wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing.

“Oh, god, Kevin,” she said in a soft voice, her eyes filling with tears. He still wasn’t looking away from his hands. He didn’t want to look at his mom. He couldn’t. Not after what he’d just done to her, and would undoubtedly try to do again.

After picking the first book he saw on the library bookshelf, he made his way back to his bedroom. The pills were pretty quick to kick in usually, roughly 20-30 minutes. He should’ve figured that a higher dosage would be faster to work. He was stumbling by the time he was going down the steps.

“Kevin, are you okay?” his father asked, turning around to see his son, who was sitting himself down on his bed.

“I just started feeling really gross all of a sudden,” he mumbled, his head spinning. He wanted to vomit. And without warning, that’s exactly what he did, all over the floor. Kevin’s father rushed to his side, trying to help his son, who was already having trouble sitting up straight.

“I’ll get the doctor, you stay here,” his mother said, even though the second half of what she said was rather stupid, there was no way he would be able to even move.

“What a fuck up,” a voice said, once his mother was out of the room. Kevin turned his head to see Marcus, with a smirk on his face, leaning against the wall.

“At least I could succeed,” he said, pushing himself off of the wall. “You can’t even kill yourself.” Kevin tried to speak, but he couldn’t seem to find his voice. 

“Seriously, Kevin? Get your shit together. It’s not that hard.” Kevin looked back up at the ceiling, trying to tune out his brother.

“I guess you’re better at killing others, then,” Marcus said casually. “It’s okay, we can’t all be good at everything, now can we?”

“Stop,” Kevin whispered, feeling tears prick his eyes. Why couldn’t he just be freed of all of this? Why was it so hard for him?

“I’m sorry, does this bother you?”

Kevin stayed silent.

“Does it upset you that I’m saying this? Does it bother you that I’m six feet under, and you’re not? Does it bother you had no trouble causing my demise, but you can’t even cause your own?” There was an extra hint of anger in Marcus’ last question, and it hit Kevin right where it hurt him most.

Kevin was about to respond to his brother, when he heard footsteps entering his room.

“Alright, Mr. Howarth,” the doctor began, her voice loud, too loud for Kevin’s liking. She began reading detail about his hospitalization off his chart, but Kevin wasn’t paying much attention. He was far too focused on all the possible ways he could end it the next chance he got. 

self para    trigger warning    
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