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rafayelxsylusho · 1 month ago

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The land of no return part 3

Got this idea from the new update.

What if Zayne really leaves?

Part 1 here Part 2 here Part 4 here Part 5 here

Part 6 here Part 7 here Part 8 here

Headers: @bc.lay on Tik Tok

DEPRESSION

Day 68-365

Depression settles over you like a shroud, heavy and unyielding. It's a silent, insidious enemy that creeps in when you're at your weakest, when your guard is down. It doesn't announce its arrival with fanfare or grand declarations. No, it slips in quietly, a shadow lurking at the edges of your consciousness, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

At first, you don't even realize it's there. You're too busy drowning in the anguish of loss and the bitter ashes of shattered dreams. Depression hides behind the anger, the bargaining, the reckless pursuit of pain and danger. It watches, it waits, biding its time until the other stages of grief have run their course.

But as the months drag on, and the world continues to spin, depression emerges from the shadows. It wraps around your heart, your mind, your very soul, until you can barely breathe. The once vibrant colors of your life fade to a dull, lifeless gray, and the simplest tasks become obstacles.

You find yourself unable to get out of bed, unable to face the day. The thought of food makes your stomach turn, and the idea of seeing others, of pretending to be the person you once were, fills you with bone deep dread. You pull the covers over your head and pray for the darkness to claim you, to drag you down.

Depression is a master manipulator, a cruel taskmaster that demands your complete submission. It whispers lies and half truths, convincing you that you're not good enough, that you don't deserve happiness or love. It tells you that you're better off alone, that you'll never find someone who can replace the one you lost.

So you stay in bed, day after day, watching the world go by outside your window. Depression feeds on your apathy, your hopelessness, your complete and utter lack of will to live.

It's a lonely, isolating existence. You push away the people who care about you, the ones who try to reach out and pull you back from the brink.

Your loved ones rally around you, determined to break the hold depression has on you. They refuse to let you slip away, to surrender to the darkness that threatens to consume you whole.

Xavier, takes it upon himself to drag you out of bed and to work each day. He arrives at your door, armed with a sense of purpose and a steely resolve that brooks no argument. No matter how much you protest, how much you beg for the comfort of your blankets and the oblivion of sleep, he will not be deterred.

He storms into your room, his eyes flashing with a fierce determination. "Get up," he commands "You're coming to work today. I won't let you waste away in this room any longer."

He hauls you out of bed, ignoring your feeble attempts to resist. He throws open the curtains, letting the harsh light of the day spill into your sanctuary, chasing away the shadows that have made it their home.

"Come on," he says, pushing you towards the bathroom. "Shower, brush your teeth, and put on clean clothes. I'll be waiting outside."

And so, with a heavy heart and a soul weighing as much as lead, you comply. You go through the motions of your morning routine, the familiar actions now alien and unwelcome. But you do it because Xavier demands it, because he refuses to let you surrender to the darkness any longer.

While Xavier takes charge of your work life as Caleb steps up to fill the void in your personal life. He becomes your shadow, your constant companion.

Taking over the kitchen, filling the fridge with healthy meals, and the counters with the ingredients for more. He cooks for you, even though you have no appetite, even though the thought of food makes your stomach churn with revulsion.

He sits with you as you pick at your plate, urging you to eat, to nourish your body even if your soul is starving. He talks to you, filling the heavy silence with the sound of his voice, even as you stare blankly at the wall, lost in the labyrinth of your own thoughts.

He takes on the chores that you've neglected, the laundry piling up, the dishes stacking in the sink. He cleans your house from top to bottom, airing out the stale air and letting the fresh breeze carry away the musty scent of despair that clings to every surface.

But Caleb doesn't stop at household duties. He takes it upon himself to make sure you keep your appointments, from the dentist, therapist and cardiologist. He sits with you in the waiting rooms, flipping through outdated magazines and making idle chatter, trying to keep your mind off the dread that coils like a serpent in your gut.

Rafayel and Sylus, join forces just like Xavier and Caleb, in their mission to pull you back from depression. They take turns entertaining you, dragging you out of the house and into the world, whether you want to go or not.

Rafayel, with his boundless energy and infectious laughter, sweeps you along on beach walks that stretch for miles. He points out the beauty in the simplest things, from the intricate patterns of seashells to the breathtaking sunsets that paint the sky in hues of orange and pink. He won't let you wallow in the darkness, insisting that you find something, anything, to appreciate in each day.

Sylus, with his daring spirit and thrill seeking heart, takes you on midnight motorcycle rides that whip through the empty streets. The wind roars in your ears, the engine growls beneath you, and for a fleeting moment, you feel alive. The adrenaline surges through your veins, momentarily chasing away the numbness that has settled in your limbs.

Together, your friends close ranks around you, a united front against that depression that seeks to destroy you. They won't let you face this alone, won't allow you to surrender to darkness. They are your guiding lights, your anchors in the storm, refusing to let you be swept away by the tide of despair.

There are days, many days, when you feel yourself slipping, when the darkness beckons you with a siren's call that grows louder and harder to resist with each passing moment. But your friends, your loved ones, they won't let you go. They hold on tight.

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Night is always a treacherous time, a vast expanse of darkness that stretches endlessly before you. It's during these hours that the silence becomes deafening, that the absence of another heart beating beside yours is most keenly felt.

Sylus tries to be your anchor during the worst nights, his presence a warm glow in the cold darkness. He sits with you for hours, he attempts to distract you, to make you laugh, all acts of love, born from the desire to see you whole again.

But even Sylus couldn't protect you from the nightmares that haunted your dreams, from the memories that clawed at your heart. The night was a battleground, and you were always fighting a losing war.

It was on one of those nights, when the darkness seemed thickest and your resolve was at its weakest, that you saw Mephisto, his crimson eyes glowing in the moonlight, watching. His presence was a cold hand around your throat, a reminder that even in your solitude, you were never truly alone.

In that moment, the last vestiges of your desire for companionship shattered. The night becomes your enemy, a time to be endured rather than shared. You close your windows, sealing yourself off from the world outside, wanting to keep the nights to yourself, to face them alone.

So when the sun sets and the shadows grow long, you retreat into yourself, a hermit in your own home. The darkness is your confidant, your lover, your judge and jury. It's during these hours that you're most honest with yourself, when the masks fall away and you're left to grapple with the raw truth of your existence.

The night is a cruel mistress, demanding and unforgiving. But you've learned to dance with her, to move through her embrace with a grace born of necessity. You've learned that sometimes, the only way to survive the darkness is to claim it as your own, to make it a part of yourself rather than something that consumes you.

Your dreams are a twisted mirror, reflecting the shattered remnants of the life you once shared. In the realm of slumber, the memories of your love story warp and contort, morphing into nightmares that leave you gasping and crying out in the stillness of the night.

You see his face, beautiful and beloved, as he whispers words of devotion that now sound like cruel taunts.

"I want to spend the next decade with you"

"I don't want this to end, I don't want to go home..."

"I need you, I have never denied that," he says, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. But in your dreams his touch burns like a brand, searing your skin and leaving you aching for a warmth that will never return. You try to lean into his hand, craving the comfort and solace you once found in his embrace, but he pulls away, fading into the shadows like a ghost.

Just once, your dreams take on a vivid, almost feverish quality. The familiar scent of his cologne fills your senses, and suddenly you're back to that night, where passion and desperation collided in a perfect storm of the senses.

You see his face, his eyes dark with desire as he looks down at you. His hands, strong and sure, roam your body with a familiarity that still makes your heart race. The heat between you is palpable, a living thing that consumes everything in its wake.

You can hear his voice, low and husky with need, as he tells you how beautiful you are, how much he wants you, how he could never get enough of you.

The dream reaches its climax, and you feel him enter you, slow and steady, filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and pain that leaves you crying out his name.

You feel his lips on your skin, tracing a path of fire from your collarbone to the sensitive spot beneath your ear. His breath, warm and sweet, ghosts over your neck as he whispers words of love and lust.

Your body, primed and ready, jolts awake, leaving you soaked. But it's not just the sweat that soaks your skin, the proof of your body's reaction to the dream. No, there's a different wetness, a slick heat that coats your inner thighs, a testament to the desire that still burns brightly within you, even in sleep.

Your dreams are also haunted by the ghosts of the past, by the memories of a time when life was simpler, when love was a given and friendship was unshakable. Night after night, you find yourself transported back to days of your youth, where the greatest worry was whether you'd pass your math test or if your favorite cartoon would be on TV after school.

In these dreams, you see Caleb and Zayne, your constant companions, your partners in crime. Caleb, with his mischievous grin and his endless well of silly ideas, is always there, ready to make you laugh until your sides ache and tears stream down your face. He spins you around like a toy, your skirt flaring out around you as you giggle and stumble, your balance lost and found in the circle of his arms.

And Zayne, dear, steadfast Zayne, is never far behind. He's there to catch you when you stumble, to steady you on your feet, his large hands gripping your elbows, his eyes crinkling at the corners with a smile that never fails to make your heart flutter. He's the voice of reason amidst Caleb's madness.

His voice is the same, the timbre of it, the softness in it, the way it wraps around you like a blanket, warm and comforting and safe. It's the voice you heard in your dreams for months after he left you that first time.

Because this wasn't the first time Zayne had left you. He'd walked away before, disappearing from your life without a trace, only to return years later, sweeping in like a prince charming and stealing your heart all over again.

You think of Caleb and the way he'd always been there, your constant friend, your rock in a world that seemed to be crumbling around you. He'd been your sunshine on dark days, your laughter on solemn occasions, the one person who could make you smile when you thought you'd never smile again.

And Zayne... Zayne had been your heart, your soul, the other half of you that you never even knew you were missing until he'd found you, until he'd made you whole.

You'd think, after all this time, that the well of tears would run dry, that the endless stream of sorrow would eventually cease its relentless flow. But as you lie there, curled up in a fetal position, your body wracked with anguish, you realize with grim certainty that the tears will never stop. They are an inescapable companion, as constant and as unwelcome as the grief that clings to you like a second skin.

Your pillow grows damp, the tears soaking through the fabric, the saltiness of them a bitter reminder of the pain that consumes you. You breathe in the moisture, the dampness filling your lungs, the salt stinging your nostrils. It's a cruel irony that even in your deepest despair, your body finds a way to sustain the tears, to keep the sorrow flowing like a river of anguish that threatens to drown you.

As you cry, you feel the tears sliding down your neck, tracing the curve of your jaw, dripping onto your collarbone. They leave a trail of moisture on your skin, a map of your despair, a roadmap of the heartache that threatens to tear you apart.

The sobs come in great, heaving gulps, each one a wrenching, agonizing convulsion of your lungs, your throat, your very being. They tear at your insides, clawing at your heart, shredding the fragile remains of your composure. You feel as if you might split open from the force of your grief, as if your soul might be ripped from your body, leaving behind a hollow, empty husk.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Dr. Elijah your cardiologist and now also your primary care doctor, fate, it seems, has a wicked sense of humor, is a handsome man, his deep blue eyes, a shade darker than the ocean, meet yours with a concern that seems to pierce straight through to your. His red hair, a fiery auburn that catches the light and frames his face in a way that's both striking and strangely comforting, falls across his forehead in a manner that's almost boyish, despite the seriousness of the moment. He reminds you of Zayne in a way.

"Y/N" he begins, his voice gentle yet firm. "I've been reviewing your chart, and I think it's time we consider putting you on antidepressant medication."

You feel your stomach clench at the suggestion, a wave of dread washing over you. Medication, a chemical Band Aid to patch up the gaping wound in your heart. It feels like an admission of defeat, a acknowledgment that the pain you feel is too much for you to bear alone.

"I don't know," you hear yourself say, "I don't want to rely on drugs to make me feel better."

"It's been almost eight months," he says, his voice soft but insistent. "of you struggling, of you fighting this alone. I know the pain is still raw, still devastating, but it's time to start thinking about your long term well being."

He pauses, letting the weight of his words sink in. "Antidepressants aren't a magic cure," he explains, "but they can help regulate your mood, make it easier to function day to day."

You bite your lower lip, your teeth sinking into the tender flesh as you consider his words. The thought of depending on medication to get through each day is daunting, but the alternative, a lifetime of endless tears and unrelenting anguish, is even more terrifying.

"The antidepressants I'm recommending have been thoroughly tested and are considered safe for people with your heart condition. They won't have any adverse effects on your heart health."

He leans back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours. "I understand your concern. It's natural to have worries about putting something new in your body, especially given your medical history. But I assure you, your heart is in no danger from these medications."

Elijah pauses, allowing you a moment to process this information. He knows that trust is a fragile thing, and he's determined to earn yours in this matter.

"However," he continues, his voice taking on a more serious tone, "I want to monitor your progress closely. For the first couple of months, I'll need you to come in for weekly check ups. This way, we can keep a close eye on how your body is responding to the medication, and make any necessary adjustments."

You take a deep, shuddering breath, your shoulders rising and falling with the effort. "Okay," you whisper, "Okay, I'll do it. I'll try the medication, and I'll come in for the check-ups."

He stands up, his chair scraping softly against the floor. "I'll give you a moment then we can discuss the specifics of the medication and schedule your follow-up appointments."

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Weeks turn into months and you find yourself settling into a new rhythm of life. After a month the antidepressants, begin to help dull the sharp edges of your grief. Each morning, you wake up a little easier, the weight on your chest a little lighter than the day before.

Caleb, continues to be your rock during this time. He's there to pick you up when you stumble, to wipe away your tears when the memories of Zayne threaten to overwhelm you. Even from afar, stuck in Skyhaven with work commitments, he calls you every day, his voice a lifeline connecting you to the world of the living.

Your nights out with Rafayel and Sylus become more frequent, more enjoyable. Laughter comes a little easier, the sound of it foreign and rusty at first, but growing smoother with each passing week. You find yourself able to smile at their jokes, to join in their antics, even if the joy behind it is still a fragile thing.

Work takes on a new focus, a distraction from the constant ache in your heart. You throw yourself into your responsabilities, determined to prove your worth, to show that you're still capable of excellence despite the pain that dogs your every step.

Dr. Elijah remains a constant presence as well, a guiding light in your journey back to health. He monitors your progress with diligent care, adjusting your medication as needed.

Slowly but surely, you begin to reclaim pieces of your life. The world starts to look a little brighter, the future a little less daunting. It's a gradual process, a journey of small steps forward, but you can feel the change, as tangible as the sun warming your face after a long winter.

The nightmares still haunt your dreams, but they come less frequently now. You wake up with a start, tears still streaming down your face, but the anguish behind them has begun to ebb. You know that the pain of losing Zayne will never truly go away, but you're learning to live with it, to carry it with you like a scar that will fade with time.

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As you sit in Dr. Elijah's office, two months after starting your antidepressants you feel a sense of accomplishment. The past eight weeks have been a journey, a struggle, but you've made progress. You're not the same broken, grief stricken person you were when you first started this path to healing.

"I want to reduce your appointments to once every two weeks," Dr. Elijah says "Unless, of course, you need to come in sooner. And I also wanted to thank you for trusting me with this medication, Y/N"

"Thank you for everyth..."

Dr. Elijah chuckles softly, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Do you know why doctors dont trust atoms?

"I...no..."

"Because they make up everything"

You blink, taken aback by the sudden attempt at humor. It's not a joke that would typically elicit laughter, but for some reason, you find yourself dissolving into giggles. Your shoulders shake, and a sound that's been foreign for months escapes your lips, a genuine, unbridled laugh.

The more you try to stifle it, the more it grows, until you're practically howling with laughter, tears streaming down your face. Your tummy aches with the unfamiliar exercise, and for a moment, you forget where you are.

Dr. Elijah watches, his smile widening, his gaze softening as your laughter fills the room. He seems to be taking in the sight of you, his eyes shining with a warmth and a hint of something almost like awe.

As your laughter subsides and you catch your breath, you glance up at him, your cheeks flushed and your eyes sparkling. It's then that you notice the way he's looking at you, his gaze intense and almost reverent.

You freeze, suddenly self conscious. It's a look you once knew all too well, a look that made your heart flutter and your stomach dance. It's a look that Zayne used to give you, a look that spoke of admiration, of affection, of a deep abiding care.

For a moment, you're transported back to a time before the pain, before the loss, before the grief. You remember the way Zayne's eyes would light up when you laughed, the way his smile would stretch wide and his gaze would grow soft and warm.

The memory is bittersweet, it's a jolt to your system, a shock to your heart, and for a moment, you feel the old ache threatening to resurface.

But as quickly as it came, the moment passes, and you're left blinking away tears, your laughter fading into a soft, stunned silence.

Dr. Elijah seems to realize the intensity of his gaze, and he blushes, looking away quickly. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice slightly strained. "I didn't mean to stare. It's just... You have no idea how good it is to see you finding moments of joy"

You and Dr. Elijah both startle at the sudden knock on the door, the sound piercing the moment that had unfolded between you. As the door swings open, you turn to see Yvonne standing there, a stack of papers clutched to her chest.

Your laughter, a sound she hasn't heard from you in months, seems to have caught her off guard as well. It's clear from her expression that the joyous sound was a surprise, a stark contrast to the constant sorrow she's witnessed from you since Zayne left.

For a moment, time seems to stand still, the air thick with a mix of astonishment and tentative hope. Yvonne's gaze darts between you and Dr. Elijah, taking in the scene, your tearful eyes, the doctor's flushed cheeks, the palpable shift in atmosphere.

Dr. Elijah clears his throat, the sound breaking the spell. "Ah, Yvonne," he says, his professional demeanor sliding back into place. "Can I help you with something?."

Yvonne blinks, seeming to shake herself from her stupor. "I apologize for the interruption, Doctor," she says, "I'm here to deliver these papers and to remind you that your surgery is scheduled in 20 minutes."

Dr. Elijah nods, taking the papers from Yvonne's outstretched hand. "Thank you, Yvonne," he says, glancing over the documents briefly. "I appreciate the reminder. I'll make sure to be down to the operating room on time."

As Yvonne moves to leave, you stand up abruptly from your chair, the sudden movement causing it to scrape loudly against the floor.

"I... I should be heading out as well," you say, your voice slightly hoarse from the laughter that still tingles in your throat.

Dr. Elijah rises from his chair, his tall frame unfolding with a gentle creak of leather. He meets your gaze, his eyes warm with a mix of professional pride and personal affection " I'll see you back here in two weeks for your follow-up appointment. Keep up the progress, and don't hesitate to reach out if you need anything before then."

You nod, a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth. "I will, Dr. Elijah," you promise, meaning it with every fiber of your being. "Thank you, for everything."

With that, you turn and walk towards the door, your steps feeling a little lighter than they did when you first entered. Yvonne holds the door open for you, her gaze softening when you approach.

As you step out into the hallway of the hospital, you fall into step beside Yvonne. The two of you begin to chat, your conversation a familiar dance of shared history and inside jokes. It's a comfort, this easy banter, a reminder of the life you used to live.

You can't help but reflect on the significance of this moment as you walk side by side with her. The sound of your laughter, the casual conversation, the feeling of taking a step forward, it's all part of the slow, steady process of healing and moving towards a new normal.

You feel a spark of hope kindling in your chest, a fragile but persistent flame that whispers to you of a future where the pain of losing Zayne won't be the only thing that defines you. It's a future where laughter, friendship, and the simple joys of life can coexist with the love and grief that will always be a part of who you are.

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A couple of months later you sit on the edge of your bed, your phone clutched tightly in your hands, your heart pounding in your chest. The room is dark, the only light coming from the glow of the screen illuminating your face. You've been here before, countless times, pouring your heart out to Zayne message after message.

At first, it was a desperate attempt to hold onto him, to keep him close in any way possible. You wrote about your days, your thoughts, as if he was still here, still a part of your life.

But now, a year later, something has shifted. The pain is still there, a constant ache that you've learned to live with. But there's a new feeling too, one that you've been hesitant to acknowledge until now.

Acceptance.

With trembling fingers, you begin to type, the words flowing from your heart onto the screen. This message is different from the rest. It's not a plea for him to come back, not a desperate cry for the love you once shared. No, this message is a goodbye.

"Zayne," you start, your fingers hovering over your phone, your breath catching in your throat. "It's been almost a year since you left, a year since our lives took different paths. I know I can't change the past, and I know I can't force you to be a part of my future. But I've realized that I'm tired of holding onto the pain, tired of dwelling on what we lost."

I'm not leaving you behind, Zayne," you continue, your fingers moving faster now, the words flowing more freely. "I could never leave behind the love we shared, the way you touched my life, the way you changed me for the better. No, this isn't me leaving you. This is me accepting that you're gone, that our story has ended. And I'm sorry it took me so long to understand that."

You take a deep, shuddering breath, feeling the sting of tears in your eyes. "I'll always love you, Zayne," you type, your voice cracking with emotion as you whisper the words aloud, as if speaking directly to him. "I'll carry that love with me always, no matter where I go or who I become. You'll always be a part of me, a piece of my heart that I can never get back. But I know now that it's time for me to start living again, time for me to find my own path and create a new story."

You pause, blinking back the tears that threaten to obscure the screen. "So this is goodbye. Not because I stop loving you, but because I've learned to love myself enough to let you go. I hope that somewhere, somehow, you find the peace and happiness that you deserve.

With a final, trembling breath, you hit send, watching as the message disappear from your screen. It joins the hundreds of others, all left unread, all a testament to the love that consumed your life. But this one feels different, feels like a weight lifted from your shoulders, a door closing on a chapter of your life that has shaped you forever.

As you set your phone down on the nightstand, you feel a sense of exhaustion wash over you. The process of grieving, of healing, is not an easy one, and it's taken every ounce of your strength to reach this moment. But as you lie back against your pillow, you feel something that you haven't felt in a long time, hope.

Hope for a life where you can love again, laugh again, and find joy in the simple things that once seemed so meaningless.

With that thought, you close your eyes, letting sleep claim you. And for the first time in a long time, you dream not of the past, but of the future, a future where you are free to become the person you were always meant to be, a future where the love you shared with Zayne can live on, not as a cage, but as wings.

@exitingmusic

@heeknow

@crazyzombieblaze

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