Jefferson closed the door to the public bathroom stall, twisting the knob to lock it. He sat on the toilet, bringing his knees to his chest  and hugging them tightly, he stared at  the door, tears starting to cloud his vision. The pressured feeling on his heart kept growing, and Thomas bit his sleeve to suppress the emotion filled streak. He held himself tighter, breaking into uncontrolled weeps.

I hate this, he thought. I hate myself!

Anything that could've helped him through the attack were unavailable. Any shoulders to cry on, anyone to vent to, everything.

It's not like I even matter, he couldn't help the thought. I could end it right here and everyone would be better. At the end of the day, no one cares about you. You're just useless and stupid. You drag them down Thomas. They might be sad at first, but in the long run, they don't have that one person they need to worry about fucking breaking at one wrong thing said. They won't need to worry about the little snowflake.

Jefferson's eyes screwed shut, his sobbing growing louder. He knew he'd never be anything more than this mess. And he sincerely hoped that his hyperventalating would at least cause him to pass out here in the public bathroom, maybe if he was lucky his head would fall in the toilet and he'd drowned, then at least it technically wouldn't be suicide and wouldn't hurt everyone else as much.

I need James, his mind was racing, but he could identify needs. Or Sally, Marquis, Alex, Dadington, someone!

Yet no one was there, and Thomas was frozen in place, paralyzed and left to his thoughts.