Disclaimer: I do not own "Newsies" or any of the genius associated to them. Disney owns them, no infringement intended. I am not making money from this in any way, I claim no rights to the characters mentioned from the movie, but I do claim the plot and the ideas surrounding this story. Don't steal, don't sue, and I'm sure we will all be grand friends.

A/N: This chapter deals heavily with the issue of suicide. I don't take this lightly and if you think that this subject matter will be triggering to you I advise you not to read it. If you are contemplating suicide or know someone who is - please seek help.With that said - here we go with the last chapter... deep breath

Warning: PG-13 (suicide, language)

Chapter 10

he'd always been infatuated with penetration
invasive – just like him
she couldn't love the death out of him
his succubus nature made it difficult
he says: "everything fades"
he was dead (wrong)

Forked tongue wag in accusation and he knows what they are saying without even hearing a single word. He knows that he's not supposed to be there but he's never been good at doing what he is supposed to do. He has a way of attracting all shades of death (except his own) and he knows what those enraged eyes are saying to him: "you sucked the life out of her."

There are no bright colors in his hair today – just a stoic black to match the lines around his bloodshot blue eyes. The only color he showcases today are those ruby red sneakers which have somehow found his feet(as tacky as it is). Those lips stay the same mocking twisted black glitter he keeps as a trademark. There was no one there who would recognize it, however. None of those friends (is that what they are?) would be caught dead in a church (or maybe dead was the only way that they would be there).

There is barbed wire in his eyes (keeping him guarded) and cracks in his smile (you can see the scar through them). He hadn't been the one to walk away, but now he wished that he was (he'd rather have apathy than this agony and guilt instead of grief). He knows it is his fault. It isn't supposed to affect him like this (he isn't supposed to care).

The envelope she'd left with his name on it is left unopened on the bedroom floor under the pink&purple lights. He doesn't need to open it. He knows what it will say (even if he doesn't want to understand it). Her love for him was/is completely unreasonable (her death is almost as unreasonable as her love).

There are pictures of saints on the walls and Jesus hanging on the cross. They all seemed to be staring at him and he is just crazy enough to believe that they actually are and that they knowall of the things he did to Girl Explicit (those forked tongues must have told them). Boy Anachronism can feel his sin crawling over his skin in attempts to hide (but that is no use). All of their eyes are saying the same thing about him and calling him a name that isn't his own but could be:

Judas - the betrayer.

In terror Boy Anachronism runs out the door and onto the streets of Brooklyn. Ruby red runs without missing a beat away from the angry pointed fingers and accusing eyes from both the saints and sinners (anyone is holier than he). Back to the apartment (he hasn't been there since the day she walked out one week ago) the Boy Anachronism frantically gathers all of the markers he can find. Some of them are dry from his habits, but others are ready for his purpose. Pulling off the caps with his teeth he writes on the walls with large sloppy letters.

"I'm sorry." He mutters under his breath and he means it. "I'm sorry." The repetition is necessary even if none of those saints are there to hear him now.

He is fumbling with the pens (he must have a dozen) and remembers the feel of the felt tip tracing down his spine. He hadn't left. She had. It is supposed to be better this way.

Boy Anachronism wastes (away) pen after pen with his messages. With handwriting as slanted and childish as ever he scrawls 7even numbers that won't reach anyone anymore on every single wall. All of these walls have never been touched with the markers (he's stealing their virginity) since he's always had other uses for the ink (except for the one where Girl Explicit had left her parting phrase). Underneath the digital phone address he leaves a message for the world to see but for only him to understand.


The smell of the ink is intoxicating. He used to crave it, but now it makes him sick and his stomach lurches. Nothing can save him now – not even a trip away to a city as real as he is. He'd already looked for her there in Oz but he never found her (she really was gone). Pen after pen meets with its fate as he manically scribes on any and every surface he can find. He'd never managed to let her know while she was here, (even though he'd fucked her against most of these walls - he hadn't known until she was gone) but he is never going to leave any doubt when it all comes full circle.


Again and again he writes until he has returns to the wall where she'd left her text (he'd copied the text onto his body and googled it so he would know what it meant).


The sadness will last forever. He may have been the type to deal in absolutes (black&white was easier than gray), but forever was too long even for him (it was longer than 'never' in his mind). He goes to their bedroom and stares at the envelope with the letter she'd written him. There is no way that he will open it and read the content. He has no want to know to read her sugar-sweet I love yous because he's always known that. He already knows that it was his fault (it was always all about him) that she is gone and how she would say that it isn't (comfort often comes in the form of lies). What he hadn't know was that he reciprocated in his own strange way. Even his love was backwards (he confused it with hate).

There is a box on the nightstand by their (now only his) bed and he opens it. Inside there are several shiney toys (his jewelry, saftey-pins, and razor blades). He reaches for a tool which will help him find his hidden treasure (this time he won't make a mistake). Tap – tap – tap – he's ready to go home. If Icarus can fall – so can Boy Anachronism.

He'd been wrong (about her and a few other things) and he knows it now but he would die before he admitted it (and he's going to proove that point). The world he'd invented to protect himself had destroyed him (and her). He will never be able to scrub the residue of her love off of his over marked skin. She said that he had left a scar inside of her, but she has left a scar of her own. The stains left by others could not compare to the blemish she'd left on his inkstained heart.

"I think I love you, Sarah Jacobs." He whispers to no one in particular (ironic that the first time he said her name would be his last words).

He went like this: Hissing breath, manic laughter, choking sobs, and then - silence.

By the time they find him it is too late. He'd burned up falling through the atmosphere. The brilliant red surrounding him on the bathroom floor was proof of the fire which had consumed him. There aren't any letters. No one would care enough to read them (after all - she was the only one who really cared).

The most brilliant stars fade, memories fade, pain, hate, hurt, fear, guilt, depression, apathy, & agony all fade (even if you have a taste for them – they require constant renewal and fuel). Love, however, never really fades (even if you want it to).

Vincent van Gogh shot himself in the chest in a field of flowers then died two days later. Virginia Wolfe walked into the river with rocks in her pockets. Icarus made a crash landing. Boy Anachronism clicked the heels of his razor blade slippers together & went home.

Nothing really mattered after that.

A/N: Oh boy. It's done. Take it as you will. Thank you all for you faithful reading, but thank you especially to the following: stress, xoborogirlxo, Purple Rhapsody, and -'0'EmeraldEyes'0'- for reading and reviewing most (if not all) of my chapters and giving me such lovely feedbacks. Thanks to stress, xoborogrlox, midnight1899, Purple Rhapsody, and -'0'EmeraldEyes'0'- for reviewing the previous chapter.

As you can probably tell - there will not be a sequel to this piece as I killed both of the main characters. I would, however, love to try another piece in this style in the future. There are several other things, however, which need my attention first (cough-lovingbrooklyn-cough).

Wow. It's over. Ugh. That makes me almost more sad than the content.