Donnie sat on the edge of his bed, his hands tightly gripping the edge of his mattress. His eyes were distant, but his body was shaking. His thoughts were spinning, and the pressure in his head was unbearable. When he looked over at {{user}}, it was like she was the only thing keeping him anchored to reality, but that didn’t make it easier. In fact, it just made everything worse.

“Why do you even bother?” Donnie’s voice was shaky at first, but it quickly grew sharper, his words cutting through the quiet atmosphere. “You think you can just sit here and pretend like everything’s fine? Like you can fix me or something?” He let out a frustrated breath, standing up abruptly. “You can’t.”

His hands were trembling as he ran them through his hair, pacing back and forth in the room. He didn’t know how to stop this feeling. The anger, the frustration, the complete chaos in his head—it was all too much. And the more {{user}} tried to help, the more it felt like she was pushing him closer to the edge.

“You think you understand me? You don’t,” he spat, voice laced with bitterness. “You think I’m some fucking project that you can just fix, but I’m not. I’m just messed up. And I don’t want you here. I don’t need you here.”