It's been one month. One fucking month and I can't keep my shit together.

In my defense it's been shit. Everything has just been complete shit and I'm barely keeping my head above water as it is and then tonight…

My dad got hurt—shot—he got shot, because I couldn't—

I couldn't, I didn't know…I mean I usually go through all his stuff because that's just, you know, what I do and tonight I didn't because…I don't even know but he got hurt and it's my fault and he was brought to the fucking hospital and they won't let me see him so I was at home and there was nothing I could do and I thought I was strong enough but there's so much blood and I can't breathe and my hands won't stop shaking and the tears won't fucking stop and—

I don't remember calling Scott but I guess I did. "Stiles? Hey, are you okay man? Mom texted me about your dad and I went to check on him and they said he was stable but they won't let me in and you're not here so—"

I let out the shaky breath I didn't realize I was holding. "Scott is he okay? My-my dad, is he okay?"

"I think so. Mom says he lost a lot of blood but they stopped the bleeding and he was out of surgery when I left so I'm sure he's gonna be okay. I'm grabbing us takeout and then I'm coming over to yours."

Suddenly I was crying again and it was loud and ugly and straight into the phone.

"Now, Scott. Come now."

"What? Why? Is everything—"

"I fucked up." I sobbed. "Scott I fucked up so bad. It hurts and it won't stop and it's different this time because I—Scott please, I fucked up. Please, it hurts, fuck it hurts. Not like last time, it's not… it's different and it won't stop."

"Shit Stiles. Okay. Okay I'm coming now. Both? Or just one?"

"One. M-My right." I hissed in pain as my right wrist twinged in pain, the sting of the blade still fresh on my skin.

"Grab a rag from the kitchen and press down. Hard. You need to slow the bleeding. Stiles can you do that for me?"

"Yes." I whispered. My head felt heavy and my vision was cloudy. "Hurry—"

"I know. I'm almost there. Just hold on. Do you want to stay on the line until I get there?"

"No, no it's fine." I gasped as the stinging in my wrist intensified. "Please. Please just hurry."

Scott said something back but I couldn't hear him over the sound of my own pulse in my ears, pounding.

I sat down on the kitchen floor against the oven and counted the minutes until Scott would come and save me from…me, I guess. The rag had turned a noticeable red between my fingers, the blood still flowing steadily and without signs of stopping.

At 6 minutes and 38 seconds Scott found me on the floor. At 7 minutes and 22 seconds he replaced the dishrag with gauze and tape and more gauze and more tap and told me to keep it raised above my head. At 13 minutes and 49 seconds he dialed 9-1-1 and asked for an ambulance.

At 15 minutes and 7 seconds time stopped. There was no sound expect for our breathing. There was nothing but Scott, and me who were both covered in blood. My blood. We sat beside each other on the kitchen floor, which was also covered in blood. My blood. The sight of it made me want to throw up but I couldn't find the strength to get to the bathroom.

"Scott," I groaned. "Bucket. 'M gonna be sick—"

"Fuck, uh, yeah." He jumped up and grabbed an old plastic bucket that Mom used to use for homemade soup.

It didn't smell like homemade soup when I was done with it.

"Sorry." I said quietly.

"It's cool, you actually managed to get it all in the bucket." Scott quipped.

"We both know I'm not talking about the vomit."

"Look, Stiles—"

"I'm sorry Scott. I'm sorry I can't keep my shit together and I'm sorry for losing my shit and I'm sorry for making you come over and clean my shit up. I should be able to—and I want to be able to…but I can't. And I'm sorry. I'm really, really, fucking sorry."

"Hey, no, Stiles—" Scott wrapped one arm around me and pulled me closer, his other hand still keeping pressure on my wrist. "Look I love you man. You're my best friend, but more than that you're my family. And family means that your shit, your mess, is my shit, my mess. Don't ever feel bad about needing some help. It doesn't mean you've lost, or that you're weak or a burden. The only thing you are is brave."

I could hear the sirens and the ambulance coming down my street. Scott shifted his body and hoisted me up by my waist. I didn't trust my legs to hold me and at this point I couldn't feel my toes so I clung to Scott like he was the only thing that was keeping me alive, which right now wasn't very far from the truth.

Two EMTs came through my front door, both shouting to their colleagues back at the truck. One spoke into the walkie-talkie on her shoulder.

"White male, late teens, about 6 foot. Vertical laceration on right wrist, self-inflicted. It's deep, definitely needs stitches. He's lost a lot of blood, but it's hard to tell how much. Arrival at Beacon Hills Memorial in about 12 minutes."

Apparently my cut was more significant than I thought.

They carried me away in a stretcher, but to me it felt like floating. Scott appeared in my field of vision, smiling but crying. I tried to reach out for him but my arms felt like lead weights at my sides.

"Scott—"

"I'm here buddy. Their gonna take you to the hospital now. You're gonna be okay… the—their gonna take good care of you." He sniffed and wiped his eyes in the crook of his elbow.

"Ride with me? In the back, i-if they let you… will you?"

"Yeah. Yeah of course I will."

I felt myself being lifted into the ambulance, and had I not been a step away from bleeding out I would've been psyched about all the cool shit back there.

I didn't see Scott sit down next to me, but I vaguely felt his hand in mine so I knew he was there with me. The EMT placed an oxygen mask over my mouth and nose and told me to breath, which was dumb because lady, I'm already breathing.

After a minute or two I started to feel tired. They kept telling me to stay awake, to "stay with them" but a nap sounded really good right about now.

I let my eyes slip shut, oblivious to the chaos that ensued seconds after.

But hey, it was the best sleep I'd had in weeks.