Chapter Text
It was a day like any other. Thomas excitedly chatted with his chemistry partner, scribbled thoughts across his paper in English, and was called by the teacher several times when he tried not to fall asleep in class. When the bell rang, signalling a half hour of freedom for lunch break, he met up with Teresa, heard her complaining about her ‘narrow-minded, half-brained idiot of a teacher’ who had apparently given her a lower grade for proposing another interpretation in her assignment than their personal opinion.
“I mean, we’re supposed to create our own view of the story, but mister know-it-all is just too arrogant to realise that!” She made a disgusted huff and nearly threw her sandwich away, but then she decided against it, and took a large bite of it instead. Thomas simply nodded, too engrossed with his own food to comment on her rant. They sat in silence for a while, simply eating and enjoying each other’s presence in the otherwise stressful environment. They had been friends ever since they were kids. At first, they hadn’t liked each other, Thomas accusing her of being a simple-minded girl, Teresa too enraged to confront him. In the end, Thomas realised his accusation was wrongly founded and he apologized, where after their friendship quickly blossomed. Sure, they had their arguments, both being immensely stubborn, but usually they would reach a compromise or agree to disagree. No matter what, Teresa was his go-to person and he trusted her with his life, as she did him.
His train of thoughts were interrupted, when Teresa declared she’d better get ready for her next class. He realised break was nearly over, and waved at her as she went. Before going to class, he stopped by the boy’s room to put some water in his face. He had stayed up late to finish a postponed assignment and knew he would struggle to stay awake for his last classes today. Luckily, he didn’t have work or practise today, so he should be good to relax in his room before his mother returned from work. He looked at himself in the mirror, poking at the bags under his eyes, hoping they weren’t too obvious. His mother would fuss over him if he did, and the last thing he needed was for her to worry more than usual. Since his father’s death a year ago, she had struggled to pay the rent and take care of him. Thomas did the best he could, taking a part-time job, doing the dishes, cleaning the house, try to stay out of too much trouble to help her, but he knew, she pushed herself hard at work, and she always came home exhausted. There was a period, just after his father’s death, where she had been heavily malnourished, and developed a depression, and he never wished to see her so miserable ever again.
He sighed heavily, trying to shake the thoughts away. Just as he was about to turn away from the mirror, he spotted something on the ground between to stalls. Turning around, he realised it was a book. He frowned. Why would someone leave a book here? Did someone drop it? He went closer to inspect it. The cover was entirely black with no title or author name on it. Curious, he opened it. A swirly handwriting was scrawled on the pages, different dates adorning the upper left corner. On some pages, there were different sketches of landscapes, roads, mostly dark locations. I should probably take it to the lost and found, he wondered. Before he had the opportunity to do so, the bell rang signalling the start of a new class.
“Shit!” he exclaimed, running out of the bathroom and towards his math class while simultaneously putting the handwritten book in his backpack. He was several minutes late, and mumbled his apology while ignoring the teacher’s disappointed lecture about wasting his time. He sat down quietly and did his best not to agitate the teacher further, completely forgetting about the abandoned book in his backpack.
A year ago, he would’ve given a snarky reply and casually sit down. He wouldn’t have cared about his attendance record, as he caught up pretty quickly. He was a smart kid, the teachers said, just too restless. He couldn’t sit still in class, always talked back to the teachers, and did strange assignments with little to no relation to the curriculum. He had been the quirky kid who for some reason scored great marks on tests. He had changed, though, when his mother started worrying about whether he would do well enough to get into a university. Then she would start worrying about paying for university, and she would get this devastated look that broke his heart. Eventually, he discovered, if the teachers stopped calling her about his behaviour, she wouldn’t bring it up, and she could walk about with one less worry.
The lesson was tedious, the teacher spending the time going through necessities for their next assignment. When it finally ended, Thomas met up with Teresa to their only shared class on that day. Luckily, they had to do a task in pair, so the lesson passed quickly with friendly banter, as they solved it quickly and used the rest of the time to chat. Teresa had one more class, so Thomas went home by himself, thoughts about what to make for dinner filling his head. He took a detour, walking through a forest. The scent of leaves welcomed him making his head lightheaded as he relieved himself of any worry. There weren’t any other than him in the forest, and the illusion of being completely alone comforted him. Here there weren’t anyone to take care of, anyone anxiously trying not to disappoint. It was incredibly relieving.
At some point though, he had to take a path that led away from the forest and towards his house. He walked towards a modest, white house, the garage empty, wild bushes devouring the garden. He scowled slightly at the sight, remembering the time and effort his mother used to spend on the garden. Back then, that had been her only worry. Someday, I’ll help her weeding it out.
As soon as he stepped inside, he noted the silence. Before, she would’ve welcomed him home from school with a wide smile. He would pretend to be annoyed by her chirpiness and run to his room on first opportunity. Now, he wished he could go back in time.
He brought his bag upstairs to his room and slumped in the chair. Tired, he ran a hair over his face, rubbing gently at his eyes. Gathering energy, he reached for his notebook, wanting to finish homework as quick as possible. However, when he reached inside, his hands found a smaller, leathery book, he couldn’t recall. He frowned, wondering as he pulled the book out, weighing it curiously in his hand. Then he remembered. He slapped his forehead, annoyed with himself that he hadn’t handed the book in. He had completely forgotten about it in his rush. He turned the book over, wondering who the owner was.
It can’t hurt to just… Letting his curiosity take the better of him, he opened the book on the first page. He couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed when there was no name scribbled on the front. Flipping the page, he read the first entry.
4th of July
This is my official first entry to this so-called diary, which my parents are sure will ‘cure’ me.
I can’t say I’m surprised, nor convinced. If anything, I think writing down what’s happening to me, will only make me feel more disgusted with myself. They say I’ll look back and marvel at how far I’ve come, once I get better. They’ve failed to acknowledge the giant risk that I may not. I think they’re in denial. I heard them talking to the doctors, while they thought I was asleep.
‘He’s not usually like this’
‘We’re terribly shocked’
‘What would possess him into doing such a thing?’
This just proves, that they know nothing about me. Which doesn’t really help my case at all. I wish I wasn’t here. Who the bloody hell fucks up jumping off a building anyway?
Thomas inhaled sharply. This was someone’s diary. And not just that; this was someone writing about their attempted suicide. He really shouldn’t read this. This was none of his business. The weight of the words struck him hard, and he suddenly had trouble breathing. He threw the book away, distantly hearing it clatter on the ground. Closing his eyes, he took deep breaths, trying to veer his thoughts somewhere else. Not this. Not again. I can’t. Slowly, his breath evened out, his grip around the desk easing. I never should’ve picked up that stupid book, he thought bitterly, gritting his teeth. Exhausted, he threw himself onto his bed, closing his eyes, trying to clear his clouded mind of any thoughts.
It wasn’t before the sound of a door closing disrupted him, that he realised, he had fallen asleep. He shot up, ignoring the sudden rush of dizziness, and looked at his phone. It was well over 6 pm. He grunted, realising he was extremely late for cooking dinner, and hadn’t finished his homework. Lazily, he got up and headed downstairs, where his mom was drinking a glass of water.
“Hi mom. Sorry, I’ll go shop for some dinner now, I fell asleep,” he gave her a welcoming smile, grabbing his wallet from the kitchen table. She had smiled seeing him, but frowned at his words.
“You’re not pushing yourself too hard, are you? Let me make dinner tonight, honey, you should rest if you’re not feeling well and I don’t mind –“ she rambled, already out of her seat and on her way to put her coat on, when he gently ushered her back, interrupting her.
“It’s fine mom, I’m okay. I just completely forgot. I’ll be back soon,” before she could argue, he was out the door, tying a red scarf around his neck.
The autumn wind was cold, but also comforting, the freshness clearing his mind and cooling his head. He walked down the familiar neighbourhood, listening to birds preparing for winter, children playing on the local playground, elder couples reminiscing their past. He loved people. Loved listening to them, watching them, getting to know them. He had always found himself happier when surrounded by people, by friends. Usually, it was easy for him to get along with all kinds of people. They loved his quirkiness, his optimism, his easy-going character. He used to be the kid everyone knew, everyone liked. In the beginning of his 10th year in school, he was bombarded with invitations to all kinds of events. Now? Well, people still remembered the person he was, and he was still cheery and ecstatic. But he rarely went to parties. There were too many things to take care of at home, and he would feel guilty for having a great time, while his mother was struggling at home. Sometimes he went, though, but only to not make his mother worry. He knew, she remembered how social he had been a year ago. He didn’t want her to feel guilty.
A bell chimed as he walked into the local grocery store. He didn’t dwell too much by the shelves, knowing he was late enough as it was. Luckily, there weren’t too many in the store, and he quickly paid for the food and was on his way back.
While walking in a brisk pace, he thought back to the book he had accidentally brought home. I really should hand it in tomorrow. His thoughts changed to the owner of the book. Who didn’t write their name in a diary? Someone who writes about their suicide. He shook his head immediately, not wanting to dwell on the thought.
When he got home, he started preparing dinner immediately, busying himself. His mother sent him worried looks, but he shrugged them off with a comforting smile. They ate together, discussing their days. Thomas didn’t mention nor think of the black leather book until he lay in his bed. There, the thoughts crept back in his mind, causing him to twist and turn. He cursed quietly, shutting his eyes tightly, forcing himself to stay in bed.
He would not read another page.
***
“It’s not here!” the blond shrieked, his room a mess after his outbreak. He had nearly torn his backpack in his search for a small, but valuable, book. Luckily, his aunt had already left for her nightshift, leaving him alone in the small apartment. He heard a faint sound from his phone on the desk, picking it up to squeeze it between his ear and shoulder while continuing to scrutinise his room.
“Calm down, Newt. It has to be somewhere,” a voice sounded from the other end.
“I’m telling you, Alby, it’s not here! I’ve looked everywhere! It must’ve fallen out in school,” he says irritably, scowling as he realises.
“No, no! It can’t! What if someone finds it, and reads it? It can’t happen, Alby, it can’t!” He runs a hand frustrated through his hair, pulling at it slightly, his voice breaking slightly. Though he had first been doubtful of the effects his parents had hoped the small diary would provide, it had proved to be a relieving place, where he could vent. He wrote all his thoughts in there, the good, the bad, things he hadn’t told anyone, not even Alby.
“Newt. Newt! Calm down. Take a deep breath.” The blonde stopped in his frantic search to listen to his best friend’s advice. Once doing so, his heart immediately calmed, his mind clearing.
“Look, tomorrow you’ll go to the lost and found box. Chances are, some shank found it, thought it was some kind of notebook and delivered it. They probably didn’t look twice at it, alright?” As always, Alby’s calm person calmed him. He felt heat rush to his face, as he realised, he was right.
“Yeah. Sorry, Alby. It’s just so important to me,” he said quietly, collapsing onto his bed.
“Hey, no worries. I gotta go though, duties calling. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”
“Yeah. See you,” he replied, throwing his phone on his bed when the call disconnected. He threw an arm over his eyes, trying not to imagine what could happen if someone read it. Instead, he focused on Alby’s advice. He was grateful for his best friend. After his transfer, he had felt out of place, abnormal. The dark-skinned man had at first been cold, calculating. But after they were paired up, he warmed up, gradually becoming more and more friendly. He took care of him, showed him around, introduced him to his friends, and soon Newt felt more at home, than he had ever felt back in England.
With a slightly less troubled mind, he fell into a somewhat peaceful sleep.