Worried
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Summary: You'd been living in the house with Pelle, Øystein, and Jan for over a year and are taking Pelle's death hard. The boys try to help after noticing that you're not taking care of yourself. Trigger Warning: Mentions of Suicide, Depression, sleep deprivation psychosis, reckless behaviour, drug and alcohol use. A/N: On this week's episode of Lost in the Sauce with Roommate!Reader...
This one hurts. Reminds me of / is inspired by the time I went two weeks without sleeping more than an hour at a time and went into psychosis, lol.
You weren’t sleeping.
Not for more than a few hours at a time, usually outside, or on the porch if it was raining, and never without seeing the inside of Pelle’s skull when you shut your eyes.
You’d hidden it well the first week.
Everyone was moping around, drinking too much, and not paying attention to how many appearances you made downstairs.
The boys seemed to realize at the same time that there was something very wrong with you.
You’d ventured down the stairs, wrapped in a very baggy sweater and a pair of Linen Pyjama shorts, which was strange considering you got dressed every morning even if you weren’t going anywhere. You made a point out of it and even insisted that they all do the same.
This was red flag number one.
Your face was so pale that the skin looked translucent. Your glassy eyes were vacant, sunken, and framed by dark bags that looked days old.
Red flag number 2.
You’d padded barefoot across the living room without looking over at any of them, as if you hadn’t even seen them, and disappeared into the kitchen, emerging a minute later with a morsel of cheese in one hand and a coffee cup in the other, heading straight for the stairs.
There goes number 3.
Øystein and Jan collectively decided that they would take you to a gig, half hoping that it would cheer you up, half afraid to leave you alone in case you really were doing as poorly as Pelle had been.
When Øystein went up to your room to tell you to get dressed, he found you flat on your mattress, staring up at the ceiling. His eyes washed over the messy room, a complete polar opposite to your usual neat and tidy. You’d even stapled sheets to the wall to block the light from pouring in through the windows.
He felt gnawing concern in his insides, but opted to kick the side of your mattress to get your attention instead of being nice about it.
You immediately jolted, shooting up into a sitting position to stare at him, wide-eyed.
“We’re uh-” He looked slightly taken aback. “We’re going to a gig.”
“Okay,” You breathed, brows pulled together in confusion. “And?”
“You’re coming with us,” Øystein said like it was obvious. “You can’t go like that, though. You look like shit.”
“What if I don’t wanna go?” you challenged weakly, a little afraid of being home alone for the first time since Pelle. It had just been the two of you in the house when he’d done it. You’d been hearing the sound of the gun going off over and over all day by that point.
“Tough,” He shook his head. “Everybody’s scared you’re gonna off yourself. So you’re coming.”
You visibly flinched at the mere mention, and he felt bad for a half second before clearing his throat and forcing himself to look away.
“Faust and Occultus are gonna be here in an hour. That’s how long you have to get ready.”
“Got it?” He snapped suddenly when you just blinked at him.
“Yeah, okay.” You nodded, rubbing your hands over your face.
“Asshole.” You muttered under your breath when he left without another word.
Four hours later, you’d never been happier to see him.
“Øystein!” You exclaimed, throwing yourself into his arms, sick with relief.
He staggered back a single step and held you, obviously startled.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” He breathed, acutely aware that you were hugging for the first time.
“I don’t know who any of these fucking creeps are and I’m shitfaced, get me the fuck out of here.” You muttered into his chest, sounding almost afraid.
His eyes widened slightly, then glanced around at all the unfamiliar faces, all of which were looking at him like he’d ruined their night.
A few were still blatantly leering at you.
“Did any of them touch you?” He all but snarled, still clutching you to his chest.
“Not really.” You shook your head.
“Not really?” Øystein’s eyes narrowed and he felt rage swelling inside of him “What the fuck does that mean?”
“Please.” You sounded so small, and that alone convinced him that getting you home was more important than getting angry.
“Yeah,” he muttered into your hair, leaving an arm slung over your shoulders when he guided you towards the door, casting one last glare at the men on your way out.
Once you stepped outside and the loud chatter from inside faded away, he could hear just how heavily you were breathing.
He lowered his arm and watched in shock when you started walking down the street at a pace far quicker than your usual.
“Hey!” he called after you, rushing to catch up. “Where the fuck are you going?”
By the time he did, you’d already rounded the corner, and he almost walked right into you, surprised to find you pressed up against a wall, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes while you tried to collect yourself.
“Fuck.” You breathed shakily after a minute. “That was so fucking stupid.”
“What happened?” Øystein urged, “Faust said he turned around, and you were just gone.”
“Yeah.” You scoffed out a laugh, still not looking at him. “That’s exactly right. I ran”
“Why the fuck would you do that?” He was too confused to be irritated. “Everyone is looking for you.”
“That’s fucking embarassing.” You sighed, tugging at the ends of your hair. “I didn’t want to go home. I was tired, way too fucking tired.”
“And I needed not to be tired.”
He noticed for the first time just how quickly the words were coming out of your mouth.
“Are you-” He frowned, cocking his head to the side “Are you fucking high?”
You looked up at him with your bloodshot eyes and dilated pupils, and Øystein knew immediately that you were before you’d even had the chance to answer.
You seemed to realize this and didn’t bother.
“And the bar?”
“Only place I know in town where I know that I can get anything stronger than grass,” you shrugged, looking regretful. “I overdid it.”
“No shit.” The boy snapped, looking baffled, then angry, “Are you insane? What happened in there? What did they do? What would have happened if I didn’t walk in there?”
“They just got a little handsy.” You muttered, looking away, “I know, okay? It’s my fault. I was being stupid.”
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” He asked you, looking dead serious, “Is that what this is?”
“Honestly,” you shook your head, gnawing on your bottom lip, “I don’t know. Not sleeping is doing my fucking head in. I’m seeing shit that isn’t there, but it’s worse when I’m sleeping. So I don’t know what to do.”
“Then what do we do?”
Your eyes darted back up to his, clearly taken aback by the lack of anger. All that there seemed to be was genuine concern.
“Because this?” He gestured towards the bar, “This is not happening again. No more running off for benders.”
“I don’t know,” you breathed, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I taxed a quarter flap, so I could probably stay up through the night, but after that, I don’t know.”
“That’s not a solution.” He frowned. “You need to sleep, so how do we make that happen?”
“At this point?” you shrugged. “Could just knock myself out, slam my head against the wall till I pass out.”
Øystein couldn’t tell if you were joking or not, and it scared him a little to see you like that. You were always so easygoing and carefree, and it all just seemed so out of character.
“You could sleep in my room if you want.” He offered without thinking, “It might help not to sleep alone.”
“I’d probably try to fuck you or something,” you waved him off, speaking flippantly “it would get messy.”
The boy made a startled choking noise, his cheeks burning.
“You what?”
“You heard me.” You looked at him. “I’m in a weird place, I’m drunk and high and looking for a distraction, and if I don’t watch it, you’ll be collateral.”
“I’ll sleep outside,” you shrugged, rubbing your arms. “Bring my blanket out and it’ll be fine.”
“Or I’ll sleep in Jan’s room. I don’t know.”
“And what?” Øystein couldn’t help but sound bitter “You’ll try and fuck him instead?”
“I’m not gonna fuck Jan.” you rolled your eyes.
“Why not?” His brows pulled together.
“We’re just friends, me and him.”
“And we’re not?”
“I don’t know what the fuck we are, Øystein.” you scoffed, scrubbing your hands over your numb face “We’ve got our whole trying to kill eachother one minute, then flirty banter the next, thing going.”
“What if I don’t want to fuck you?” The words tumbled out of his mouth, defensive for no reason.
“Then I’d embarrass myself for sure if I slept in your room,” you chuckled softly, looking up at him with a hint of mischief beneath the drunken haze. “God, I hope I don’t remember this shit in the morning.”
“You should’ve just let me find my way home.”
“I don't think you would’ve made it home if you’d stayed in there any longer.”
“I don’t really want to talk about this anymore.” Your entire face seemed to fall into a flat look, guarded all of a sudden.
“Alright.” Øystein sighed, unable to help the nagging concern, “We’ll find the others.”
Neither of you spoke until Jan, Faust, and Occultus came running towards you a half hour later, six blocks from the bar where Øystein had found you.
“Where did you go? I turned around, and you were just gone.” Faust almost ran right into you.
“Sorry,” you muttered, rubbing your arms.
The boy immediately took off his leather jacket and draped it over your shoulders.
Øystein wondered if you’d been cold the whole time the two of you had been outside, not having even considered it.
Guilt tugged at his insides when he saw how Faust dotted on you, noticing just how poorly you really looked.
“Are you okay?” He asked, rubbing your arms over the leather, trying to warm you up. “What happened?”
“I’m fine.” you blinked up at him, brows furrowed slightly “I was just being an asshole.”
“You could never be an asshole,” Faust told you, frowning. “I was worried.”
“I’m sorry,” you sighed, pulling his coat around you tightly. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
You all parted ways at the cars. Faust and Occultus in one, while you got in with Jan and Øystein after returning the worn leather jacket with a tired, but warm smile.
You followed the boys up to the front porch and went up the stairs, staring at the ground the whole way.
“I’m worried about her.” Jan sighed, watching you go. “She just keeps getting worse.”
“I don’t know what to do.” Øystein frowned, rubbing the back of his neck “She says she’s so tired she’s seeing shit that isn’t there.”
“Did she say what?”
He shook his head.
“Where’d you find her?”
“A bar.” The boy sighed, “surrounded by creeps and coked out of her fucking-”
He froze, remembering that you’d said you’d stolen a quarter flap.
Before Jan could even open his mouth, Øystein was halfway up the stairs, so he ran after him, his brows furrowed in concern.
When did you start using drugs?
How had he not noticed?
Øystein burst into your room without knocking
You were sitting on your windowsill, one leg dangling on either side, with your nail raised to your nose. You’d frozen in surprise, halfway through your bump, when you’d been interrupted.
“Stop.” His tone was warning as he stood just inside your room, pinning you under his gaze.
Who did he think he was, looking at you like that?
Like you’d killed somebody.
You might as well have.
You looked Øystein dead in the eye and snorted what was left in your nail, pinching the bridge of your nose immediately after.
His eyes darted down to your hands as he marched over to you just as Jan was staggering through the door, out of breath.
“Where’s the rest of it?” He snapped, only a few feet away.
“Get out of my room.” Your voice was flat and only made him frown.
He took a step forward and, without having to think, you leaned further out the window.
Both boys froze.
“Hold on.” Jan tried to sound soothing, “Be careful, or you’re gonna fall.”
“I’m not gonna fall.” You told him.
He could see now that you were off your face.
Your eyes were bloodshot and crazed.
“You’re freaking everybody out.” He told you, “You’re just tired, get off the window.”
“Just leave me alone.”
“We’re not gonna fucking leave you alone so you can kill yourself or whatever the fuck it is that you’re trying to do!” Øystein shouted, startling you enough that you jumped.
There was a collective intake of breath until you steadied yourself.
“Øystein, stop it.” Jan tried to keep his voice firm, but it shook.
He’d never seen you like this, and it scared him.
If you had a momentary lapse of judgement and threw yourself out the window, there wasn’t a thing either of them could do to stop it.
“Would you please get down? You’re scaring us.”
You frowned.
“I’m not gonna kill myself,” you muttered, pulling yourself inside the room. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Where’s the rest of the Coke?” Øystein asked, softer than anyone had expected.
“I finished it.”
“Liar.”
“Just leave me alone.” You wrapped your arms around yourself and, for a moment, you looked and felt like a child. “Seriously, guys. Just go.”
“We’re not gonna do that.” Jan told you, “You need to sleep.”
“I can’t.”
“Not with all that fucking coke in you, you can’t.” Øystein snapped, earning him a glare from his bandmate.
“For fuck’s sake.” you rubbed your face roughly, barely able to feel your hands. “I’ve had enough that I’m not going to sleep anyway. I’ll try in a few hours. I will.”
You were seriously contemplating the banging your head against the wall until you knocked yourself out option at this point.
The black cat sitting on your dresser was muttering to you to do it. Its voice was far gentler than Øystein’s.
You just needed them to leave.
‘Get them out.’ The cat hissed
‘Get them out of our room.’
‘Get them out!’
“I’m trying!” you shouted, staring at your dresser with wide eyes.
Jan and Øystein exchanged a look of near panic.
“Okay, that’s it.” The guitarist muttered, shaking his head. “Give me the fucking coke, or I’m going to take it from you.”
‘That one is very rude.’
“I know,” you scoffed, still looking at the dresser.
It almost sounded like a laugh, but turned into a startled gasp when he grabbed you suddenly, and you started thrashing in his grip.
“What the fuck are you doing?” you shouted, trying to free yourself. “Let go of me you fucking asshole!”
Øystein was as gentle as he could be with you, pinning your arms at your sides and clutching your back to his chest in hopes that you’d tire yourself out and just hand it over.
“Jan!” you flailed “Get him the fuck off of me!”
He stood there, feeling helpless.
“Ow!” you tried, yelping, “you’re hurting me, Øystein!”
“I’m not,” he told you simply. You were weak from the lack of sleep and nowhere near getting yourself out of his arms. He didn’t even have to hold you all that tight. “Just calm down.”
“Pelle!” you screamed as if he was standing there with them, frantic and near tears. “Pelle! Help me!”
The sound of you screaming like that felt like a knife in both boys' chests.
you sounded like you’d lost your fucking mind.
Øystein could feel your body giving out on you. Your movements slowed, and your breathing quickened until you were hyperventilating.
He looked to Jan, wide-eyed for help.
Your legs gave out, and Øystein gently lowered you onto the hardwood floor, sinking down with you still in his arms while Jan scrambled over, looking panicked.
“You need to breathe.” He told you, crouched down in front of you.
“I can’t.” You gasped for air, finally done struggling.
“You can.” Øystein’s voice was in your ear, sounding a little hoarse. “You’ve been doing it your whole life.”
“It’s alright.” Jan told you, “You’re fine. Just breathe.”
‘You’re not fine.’ the cat taunted, jumping from the dresser onto the floor ‘you’ve lost your god damned mind.’
“Shut up!” You channeled all your breath to shout at it, “Just shut up! You’re not even fucking real!”
Øystein and Jan looked at eachother, baffled.
Whatever the hell you were talking to seemed to be at the other end of the room, towards the door.
The concern morphed into relief once they realised that you’d gotten a hold of yourself by screaming at it.
You were slumped back into Øystein’s chest, sobbing with your head in your hands.
“Jesus,” Jan breathed, sitting back on his heels and feeling like he might just start crying too.
Øystein didn’t look any better.
He just squeezed you a little tighter and rested his chin on the top of your head while you cried.
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