A/N: Complete angst. Please tell me how it comes across, so I know whether it's worth doing again.
Disclaimer: I disclaim.
I can't meet my eye in the mirror; or in the reflective guild-plated detritus crammed all around me. This is supposed to be my home, but none of this belongs to me – I don't want it. When I was a child, I used to close my eyes and pretend I lived in a little cottage far away from this filth and wasted grandeur, with a family who loved me.
The fantasy that carried me through all those years has slipped through my fingers, because you don't love me, do you? I try to convince myself you don't know how your presence and your voice make my heart race and my head spin: how you set all my senses alight. But you must know, because I've tried so many times to call out to you. And you've never so much as said my name. "Sir"? What is that? That's not a name, it's not a person; it's a denial of a person.
Can you truly know what pain I live in, aching for a second every day to spend with you? For twenty years, I have never thought of anything but my love for you – the need to feel your skin on mine corrodes my every waking thought until I'm an inarticulate idiot. I avoid all human contact in hopeless fidelity to you, turning down lover after lover and endless chances at happiness.
I'm thirty-five, Ted. I feel my age, in my swollen joints and my lonely heart.
That's why I have to end it. I've lain here on my bed drinking for days and nights and you haven't come to see me – nor has anyone else. I clearly repulse you all, you ingrates. If you had only given me one chance, I could have been like you. I could have been your friend. I could have loved you for the rest of your life.
I shall die free. In my last imagined moments, I shall make love to you in a time and place where you love me. At last my body will clash against yours and I will feel like a man.
I hope you know that I did this for you, Ted. My only love. Will you see me drained of my life's blood in a violent red sea? Will you love me better for leaving you?
I'll use the knife my father cut me with all those years ago. Do you remember the scars you saw and were too indolent to ask me about?
Oh darling. I don't mean to hurt you. I have to leave.
The veins are open, my life weeps away. I begin to feel warm, as I conjure your soft, loving weight upon me; imagine I hear your voice adoring me. It feels so real. Perhaps you could love me... I don't know, my mind is swimming in the descent. I have to know! I try to pull myself away from the bed, but I realise, as though for the first time, that I am minutes away from death. Soon I shall be nothing more than a pile of mangled atoms and I'll never see you again.
Oh Ted, please forgive me! There's nothing I can do but lie here crying.
I can feel the darkness.
"Oh dear God," said one man.
"Oh Jesus Christ!" said the other. "Mr Mayhew? Mr Mayhew? I never thought he'd really do it, why the hell did we never see the signs?!"
"That poor man. That fucking stupid child, why would he do this to himself? Why did he do it?"
"You know how he was, Ted, he was mad as a hatter."
"He was sick, he could have been helped! Oh my poor little boy! I've known him since he was born, you know."
"Don't cry, Ted. The ambulance is here."
"What the fuck good will that do him? He's gone. My God, what a waste, why did it have to happen?!"
"You need to calm down, there's no helping him now. Come on, don't get hysterical."
"Don't get fucking hysterical, a young man has lost his life!"
"Wait! Ted, look! He's waking up!"