The love letter and the suicide note

12:00am

A/N

Flashbacks of overdose. I don't know if that would count as a trigger warning, but I'm putting it up just in case. It's a trigger for ME so if it triggers anyone else, here's a warning.

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Orson's chest burned, and he choked on the air as he tried to breathe. He leaned forward in his bed, clutching his chest, as he suffocated on the air that was supposed to be easy to breathe in.

It's just a panic attack.

Breathe, Orson, breathe.

In and out.

In and out.

Orson closed his eyes, inhaling a breath as slowly as possible. He held his breath for 4 seconds, before exhaling slowly. His hands started getting that horrible tingling and tightening feeling, and he clutched them to his chest as he shook his head.

His heart felt like it was going to explode any minute now, and that only made him freak out even more. He knew this was just another panic attack, he knew it would pass, but even though he knew it would pass, it still felt like it would never stop.

His fingers locked up when he closed them into fists, and when he tried to open them, he couldn't. He was gasping for air as his body started trembling and shaking, leaning forward so his face was pressed into his bed.

He was curled in a ball now, gasping and shaking as he failed to get air into his lungs. Tears slid down his face as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on his breathing.

Breathe Orson. In and out. In through your nose and out through your mouth.

He repeated that for a few minutes as he took deep and slow breaths through his nose and then exhaled out his mouth, until he could breath again, and then he slowly sat back up and lifted his hands up away from his chest. He flexed his fingers to try and get the numb and tingling feeling to go away, and after a minute, it slowly went away.

He stood to his feet to walk over to his meds, but made sure not to go too fast or he would fall over from the still kind of numb feeling in his legs.

He hated taking pills. Pills made him sick.

But they also made his panic attacks better. They didn't work for anything else, so he never took the other bottles of pills sitting on his desk. Just the one bottle.

He was so tempted to take them all and end it now, but he already made the decision of doing it December 27th. That date was important. He needed to do it on that day no matter how tempted he was to do it before.

He was tempted to do it every single day so far, and he would probably continue to be tempted, but he knew he couldn't listen to the temptations. He needed to wait, and even though December 27th wasn't for another month, he had to wait.

He needed to wait. It was important.

Orson reached a shaking hand out to grab the pill bottle and opened it. At least twenty something pills sat inside. He dumped a couple pills into his shaking hand, but as soon as they touched his skin, he couldn't stop the flashbacks from coming.

Sick.

Pain.

Empty pill bottles laying next to him on the floor.

Crying.

His roommate found him in his bathroom, barely conscious on the floor. He was screaming at him, saying things Orson didn't understand, as he felt a pair of arms grab him.

The bathroom light seemed to get dimmer and dimmer as his roommate pulled his phone out to dial a number. The lights were beautiful, and Orson felt peace as he stared at it until his eyes could no longer stay open.

Orson dropped the pill bottle from his hand and took a step back as he gasped in fear. His eyes were wide as more flashbacks came.

Waking up in the hospital. Feeling so broken and sick. Crying. Doctors were surrounding him, talking, bright lights in his eyes, but he couldn't hear what they were saying.

Everything went black.

The next time he opened his eyes, he was alone. Alone in a hospital bed, clutching the blanket tightly in his shaking hands. No doctors. Nobody.

Nobody was with him. He was alone.

He moved away from his roommate into a different apartment a ways from him. They were never actually that close, so neither of them minded it, but he did tell him to call him whenever he felt like killing himself again.

Orson said he would, but he never did. That was a lie. He wouldn't tell anyone if he did it again. He'd just do it. That was only one time where someone he knew actually found out and found him, and he never wanted to get to know anyone else after that.

He didn't want to feel the same way he felt when his roommate came to visit him in the hospital after a few days. He felt guilty, like he had done something so horrible his roommate would never forgive him.

He didn't know why he agreed to let Astra get to know him, he knew he was just going to hurt her like he had everybody else. He didn't want to hurt anyone ever again, especially her, but there was just something about her.

No matter how hard he tried not to let her get close to him, the harder it was to tell her to stop calling him and go away. He had been tempted to delete the number on his phone and block it so she couldn't call him anymore and he wouldn't have to worry about hurting her.

But every time he tried, he couldn't. He didn't know why he couldn't, he just couldn't.

There was something about her, and he hated himself for not being able to block her number or not pick up when she called.

Orson shook his head and backed away from the pills, now a mess on his bedroom floor.

"Stop." He cried.

And that's when he felt it. The bile rising up.

He bolted for the bathroom and fell on his knees next to the toilet, just as he threw up. He threw up nothing but stomach acid.

He couldn't breathe as tears slid down his face.