Complicated || Rowan Ashwood

Ten years.

​Ten agonizing, wasted years of pretending to be a human being, of wearing a heavy mask made of quiet composure and fake perfection while the child locked inside him slowly suffocated in the dark.

​Rowan lay rigid on the edge of the mattress, his 6’2 frame stiff as a corpse in the suffocating stillness of the dorm room. Beside him, your steady, peaceful breathing cut through the dark like a rhythmic blade, every quiet exhale throwing his own spiraling panic into sharp, unbearable contrast. He couldn't sleep. The silence in the room was too loud, too heavy, twisting inside his skull until his mind started screaming that he was boring, that he was weird for staying so still, that if he breathed too loudly you’d wake up, realize how completely broken he was, and leave.

​He couldn't take it.

​Not anymore.

​Suffocating.

​Slipping silently out from under the covers, Rowan crept into the adjoining bathroom, his bare feet freezing against the cold tile as he shut the door with a agonizingly slow click.

​His trembling hands fumbled in the dark for the small metal razor hidden beneath his sink, his breath coming in jagged, wheezing gasps as he slid down against the wall and collapsed onto the floor.

​He dug the blade in.

​Deep.

​Again.

​The sudden, searing bite of metal parting pale skin was the only thing that could stop the deafening noise in his head, the crimson blood welling up and spilling over his wrist in thick, warm rivers that dripped rhythmically onto the white tile. He squeezed his amber eyes shut behind smudged glasses, biting his lip until it bled just to keep from screaming out the agony of a stolen childhood, of a family that dragged him back into their chaos, of a world that demanded he be a stoic adult when all he ever wanted was to be loved, to be held, to be told he was finally enough.

​The door creaked open.

​A sliver of light.

​You stood there.

​Rowan’s heart slammed into his ribs like a trapped bird, his hyper-composed, dominant facade shattering into a million jagged pieces as he frantically tried to cover his bleeding arm with his trembling hand, only to smear dark red across his white shirt.

​He looked up at you.

​Amber eyes overflowing.

​Utterly ruined.

​"Don't... please, don't look at me," Rowan whimpered, his voice cracking into a raw, sickening sob that tore straight from the bottom of his chest, all his carefully built pride vanishing in an instant as he curled into a tight, pitiful ball on the floor.

​He didn't want to die. He was terrified of dying. But the unbearable weight of carrying everyone’s expectations, of overthinking every breath, every word, every silence until his brain burned, had left him with nothing left to give.

​He was so tired.

​So fucking exhausted.

​Drowning.

​"I tried so hard to be normal for you... to be strong... but I'm so fucked up, I'm a mess, I'm so pathetic," he wept hysterically, the blood pooling around his trembling fingers as he looked up at you through blurry, tear-soaked lashes, begging with every broken piece of his soul. "Please... I don't need you to fix it... I just need you to hold me... please tell me I tried my best... please..."

It was supposed to be quiet.

​Rowan stood on the rusted edge of the abandoned railway bridge, the bitter night wind whipping through his messy blond hair and tearing at his thin, sleeveless shirt as the distant city lights flickered like dying embers below.

​He couldn't take it anymore.

​Not another second.

​Finished.

​His chest heaved with ragged, shuddering breaths, his glasses discarded somewhere in the dark grass behind him, leaving his blurred, tear-filled amber eyes staring down into the void. The ten years of stolen childhood, the crushing weight of family expectations, the relentless panic over being weird, broken, and pathetic— it was all going to end right here. He had carefully planned this for months, meticulously crafting a way to disappear so he would finally stop burdening everyone he cared about, convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that the world would be lighter, quieter, and better off without his miserable existence dragging them down.

​A sudden sound.

​Footsteps crunching gravel.

​Your voice shouting.

​Rowan’s whole body violently flinched, his heart dropping into his stomach as he slowly turned his head, his pale, tear-soaked face looking back at you in sheer, unadulterated agony.

​You had found him.

​His secret escape.

​Ruined.

​"Why... why did you follow me?" Rowan choked out, a raw, hideous sob bursting from his throat as he took a terrifying half-step closer to the drop, his hands trembling wildly in the freezing air.

​His dominant, composed facade wasn't just cracked— it was utterly destroyed, leaving behind nothing but a shattered, terrified boy who was drowning in his own misery.

​He was breaking down.

​Hysterically sobbing.

​Gasping for air.

​"Why won't you just let me fail for once?!" he screamed into the wind, the sound tearing his vocal cords, tears streaming down his hollow cheeks in hot, scalding rivers. "I've done everything everyone asked of me! I carried the weight, I played the adult, I gave up my whole fucking life—and I'm still broken! I'm still pathetic! I just want to rest! Please just let me die in peace!"

​He looked at you.

​One last time.

​Begging softly.

​"I'm so tired of being strong..." he whimpered, his voice dropping to a fragile, heartbreaking whisper as he swayed on the edge. "Please... I just want it to stop..."