Last Resort

Lyrics by Papa Roach

Story by Obsessed

Cut my life into pieces
This is my last resort
Suffocation, no breathing
Don't give a fuck
If I cut my arm bleeding

Charlie stood in the shower. The house was empty, his dad gone on a cruise for singles. Amita wasn't there thanks to a huge blow up the two had earlier that morning. Don was working and he too was pissed at him for something else he'd done.

That on top of mounting paperwork at school, a consulting gig with the NSA which had inadvertently let a fugitive escape, and things were just spiraling more and more out of control. He sighed, exhausted mentally and physically. Maybe even a bit of spiritual exhaustion plagued him too. He'd never been to spiritual though so he didn't dwell on it.

He turned to grab the soap and accidentally jabbed his arm into a jagged metal bar in the bathroom he'd meant to fix two weeks ago but had never gotten around to. It pierced the skin and he felt the warmth of blood sliding down arm and hand. He looked down to see it flowing thick and crimson red down his forearm and it was dripping on the linoleum at his feet.

It should have hurt. He should have felt more than a little pressure but he didn't. In truth, it didn't hurt at all. His body, just like his soul, had become numb.


This is my last resort

Before he realized what he was doing he jabbed it farther into his arm causing a larger wound to appear.

Nothing.
Nada.

There was no pain. He did feel slightly better though. He knew it was his body releasing endorphins. This was why so many teens became cutters, to feel the 'high' they gave a person. They'd make a person feel better.

They were what made sex pleasurable and made other people, while exercising, feel more upbeat afterwards even if they were a bit exhausted.

Still, there should have been something, some feeling, some sensation whether pleasurable or painful. Never before had he been a masochist but for the first time he was. He was inflicting painful, bleeding injuries to himself that should have sent up mental alarms.

His brain didn't respond. He was too far gone. He was numb to the world.


Cut my life into pieces
I've reached my last resort
Suffocation, no breathing
Don't give a fuck
If I cut my arm bleeding
Do you even care
If I die bleeding?

That's when it clicked in his brain. Would everything just go away if he just took his life? Would anyone even care if he died? Could he even do it?

He'd already proven to himself he could self-inflict pain but how about going all of the way? He didn't know. That should have scared him. He should have been shivering at the idea of taking his life. Truth was, he was fine with it. Dying held no fear for him. In fact, it seemed almost too tempting.


Would it be wrong
Would it be right
If I took my life tonight
Chances are that I might
Mutilation out of sight
And I'm contemplating suicide

He pulled his arm away from the jagged metal bar and watched the blood flow freely down his arm, the metal no longer blocking the flow. He knew with the amount of bleeding he'd just caused could cause death but chances were Don or Amita would stop by before that happened.

Charlie would be safe and alive. They'd see the truth of what he'd done to himself and he'd have failed to get rid of his problems.

No, if he did this he'd do it right. There would be no way they'd get to him in time.


Cause I'm losing my sight,
Losing my mind,
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine
Losing my sight,
Losing my mind,
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine

Still, for some reason he stepped out of the shower. Then he slid on his boxers and a pair of pants. He wrapped his arm with a towel, well aware of the fact that wouldn't stop the bleeding but he didn't have the stuff upstairs to take care of it.

There was a box of his mom's sewing stuff in the basement that should help.


I never realized
I was spread too thin
Till it was too late
And I was empty within
Hungry feeding on chaos and living in sin
Downward spiral, where do I begin
It all started when I lost my mother
No love for myself
And no love for another
Searching to find a love upon a higher level
Finding nothing but questions and devils

As he went downstairs he could see the blood flowing quickly through the thin towel. On the main floor he noticed the house was completely silent. Not a noise, not a peep. Usually he could hear his dad walking around making some noise or another. His brother would come over and his voice would echo through the house. Amita's music would play as she worked in the conservatory. When his dad was home the TV was ALWAYS on, no matter what was playing on it.

Maybe that's why the electric bill was always so high. He shook his head. His eyes glanced at the table where last nights FBI consulting work had been – work he'd given them and Don had gotten pissed off about. In the garage he had his NSA work he was still trying to figure out.

He wasn't going to stop till he learned what had gone wrong. He looked at his hand, the blood seeping through. Part of him was beginning to question dying just yet.


Cause I'm losing my sight
Losing my mind,
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine
Losing my sight,
Losing my mind,
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine

If he died now Don would remain angry at him; they'd lived so much of their lives angry at each other. He couldn't let the last thing they'd ever done be have a stupid argument. Amita, sure, she'd get over him quick enough. They could find someone else to fill his spot at CalSci but did he want someone else taking his place.

Would his EGO let him give his spot to another professor? Hell no. Would he die without figuring out where he went wrong?

No way.


Nothing's alright
Nothing is fine
I'm running and I'm crying
I'm crying
I'm crying
I'm crying
I'm crying
I can't go on living this way

In his opinion life was shit but he couldn't help but keeping fighting. Nothing in his life was going right but what was new. That was how he'd been for years now, since college.


Cut my life into pieces
This is my last resort
Suffocation, no breathing
Don't give a fuck
If I cut my arm bleeding
Would it be wrong
Would it be right?
If I took my life tonight
Chances are that I might.
Mutilation out of sight.
And I'm contemplating suicide.

He glanced back at his arm, surprised to see how much blood there really was. It was dripping down his arm and pooling next to his bare feet.


Cause I'm losing my sight
Losing my mind,
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine
Losing my sight
Losing my mind
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine

Charlie moved and his mind swam from blood loss. His vision was fogging up. He forced himself to the table and grabbed his phone. Then he walked to the basement, quickly finding his mom's sewing kit Charlie wasn't sure why they kept.

As far as he knew, no one in the family knew how to sew… well, except for basic stitches that he'd been forced to learn in family consumer science, AKA Home-Economics.


Nothing's alright
Nothing is fine

He began sewing his arm but it was too late. He collapsed to the ground. He tried to pull himself back to his feet but he fell once more.


I'm running and I'm crying

His fingers dialed his brother's number automatically. There was no thought about what he was doing. Blood got on the numbers.

"Don Eppes," his brother said and Charlie felt the pain in his arm begin to sting as he bumped it on the knee he bent. "Hello?"

"Don, I think I'm bleeding to death," Charlie said bluntly. He didn't have time enough to beat around the bush and be gentle. "I caught my arm on the jagged bar in the bathroom and I can't get it to stop bleeding."

"Where are you, right now?" Don asked. Charlie heard the fear in his brother's voice and the chair sliding backwards, hitting something as he did. There was also shuffling papers and car keys. "Buddy, talk to me. Where in the house are you?"


I can't go on living this way

"Sorry, Base… basement," Charlie muttered, growing very tired.

"Buddy, I need you to talk to me," Don stated bluntly. "Talk about anything and everything. I just need you to hold on."

"The argument earlier," Charlie murmured, blinking back exhaustion.

"Forget it, Charlie. That doesn't matter," Don stated hurriedly. Then Charlie heard a car and driving sounds.

"Sorry about it," Charlie muttered. "Tell… Tell Amita I love her."

"No," Don yelled but Charlie's eyes closed and he gave into blackness. Charlie didn't want to die. He'd been foolish before. He didn't know if he'd ever wake up again. He didn't know if he'd end up buried near his mother.

It was all too late now.


Can't go on
Living this way
Nothing's all...right!