WARNING: This story contains suicide, and mentions of slash (guy/guy love). If you do not like it, please don't read. I don't really want to hear how disgusting you think it is, and if you do read it, and think it's disgusting, deal. It's your own fault for reading.
Also, this story takes place way before the end of the series, so there are things that aren't true at the end, that are still true in this story.
Without further ado, I give you my newest (and actually finished) fanfiction.
Just Let Me
Our relationship had always been a secret, not because we thought that we wouldn't be accepted, but more because we felt like it should be. So we were used to being alone, and we were always alone… Together.
I guess that's why we were together, because we were alone and I guess that's why we were a secret. He had lost his mother, and his father was never there. I had lost my brother to 'them', and I could never tell my family about my life anymore.
We were together, and that night we were alone. His father was working late, so I came over to spend the night. It was just like every other night. He was cracking jokes at or about me, and I'd either laugh, or retaliate back.
I never thought that he would be one to do that. He was always in a good mood. Sure, he'd complain a lot, but I only ever saw him upset when he was thinking about his mom, so I guess I took it for granted.
He only ever slept with one pillow when he was alone, so I always had to grab the one from the closet in the hall. That was my pillow. It had always been my pillow, ever since we were just friends. It was always in the same spot, above the towels, but below the board games on the third shelf. It still lives there.
When we were just friends, I used to sleep on the floor, well not exactly sleep. We'd stay up all night, and play video games, or talk about school, and girls, and other things normal boys would talk about. It was different when we were together. Now... Then I slept on his bed with him, and we'd spend our time doing… Other activities… And normally, we'd fall asleep… Together.
The bathroom was on the way back to his room, so I stopped on the way, knowing that I wouldn't make it out of his bed for the rest of the night. He always insisted on that. I dropped my pillow outside the door, and walked in. I passed by the mirror, and looked at my face. There was just a little bit of stubble on my cheek, and I grinned to myself, thinking of what he would say if I ever grew a beard. He always complained about when my cheeks were rough.
I find it almost funny how my mind was on everything else in the world, except what he was doing in his bedroom. I was a fool to think that he was waiting there patiently for me to return. I was a fool to think that he was fine. I was a fool to think that everything was perfect.
I opened the door to the bathroom. Picking up my pillow, I headed back to his room. I passed by all the familiar surroundings. Everything had a memory behind it. Everything had a memory of us.
I stopped in front of his door, trying to think of something witty to say, because I thought that he would crack a joke about me taking forever to grab my pillow. I guess that I was wrong. Very wrong.
It's not like my assumption was far-fetched. On a normal day he would've said something sarcastic, and I would've laughed, and try to retaliate. The banter was normal. It kept things light hearted, and that was the way he liked it. It was how he lived…
I don't know why it took me forever to open the door. Maybe my subconscious knew what I would find. Either way, I wish I didn't open the door, or rather I wish I could've opened it, and everything would've been the same. That our nightly routine of jokes, junk food, and… Other things would've never stopped.
I opened his door, and screamed, I think… There was a pair of scissors on the floor, stained ruby red and glistening evilly in the light. They were the same scissors that I had used countless times for everything from opening something, to finishing late projects for school.
He was facing away from me, his hands in front of him, but I could hear his sobbing. I didn't move, I couldn't move, but the floor raced out from under me. All of a sudden I was right next to him, and I could see the damage that was done.
I guess it's not all that surprising, what happened. His mom, who was 'dead' turned out to be our greatest enemy, and leading what we were fighting against. His dad was never home, and still was heart broken over his 'dead' wife. It took a toll on his mind, and I was one of the only people who knew it. And then he had us to worry about.
I couldn't speak as I turned him to face me. I didn't know what to say. As I looked up at me, he whispered five words, each of them shooting through my heart like nothing I ever heard before. It stopped my heart completely, but I listened. I had to.
I couldn't do anything else, so I pulled him as close as I could get, knowing that this was the last time I'd be able to. My head was buried in his hair, and I cried. I could feel as tears and blood soaked into the shirt that my mom had gotten me three Christmas's ago. It dripped onto the beige carpet, and joined the stain from the scissors. The stain would never come out.
His dad had never walked in on us, even when he was home early. He always expected us to be doing the same thing we've done since we were just friends, so I don't know what made him check that day. But he did, and by then his son was long gone.
After that, everything became a blur. Days, weeks, months, years, they didn't matter. I wasn't alive. I never will be again, because every day, every single waking, and sleeping moment, those five words have kept me from being alive. Those last five words that my Marco had said to me… To anyone…
"Jake, just let me die"