Marcel opened the front door and entered the house with a gut-wrenching pang in his gut, because today was different from other days. Today was different because Kyle wouldn't be there to jump up and kiss him the moment he walked in. He wouldn't be there to play him the songs that he and Cole had come up with that day. Kyle wouldn't be there to try and sweet-talk him into letting Cole stay just a bit longer, and when that didn't work, argue. He wouldn't be there to tell him that the best two seconds of his day was when his keys were in the door. Today was different because his baby wouldn't be home.
Marcel tried not to remember all the bad times before that immigration car had hit his ex-but-soon-to-be-current boyfriend. He tried not to think that they had been slowly and painfully drifting apart. They had a good thing going when they first met, love at first sight. He had Cole/April to blame for this, coming between them… tearing them apart. When he entered that immigration car he assumed that was it. But then he heard Kyle yelling his name, moving in front of the car, hitting the hood, then the ground. He sank down against the wall by the door, hugging his knees. He stared at the bare sofa, and cried.
"So what did immigration say?" Sarah asked.
"They said that they would call me in for another trial in two weeks time, and make their final decision then," Marcel stated indifferently, no emotion in his voice.
"Well… At least you have some time," Sarah said quietly.
"Yes, at the very least," he didn't meet Sarah's eyes. He looked dazed and had a far off look. In two weeks he would be back in court, waiting to hear whether he would be going back to France or not.
"Marcel, are you ok?" Sarah asked, knowing the answer but asking anyway. He didn't respond right away, and then shook his head.
"No, I'm not okay, how can I be?" he subconsciously shook his head. "Kyle is-" he couldn't bring himself to say it. That little four-letter word: dead. Kyle was dead. It tore him up just thinking it, and saying it aloud would only confirm it. He didn't want that.
"I know that you're devastated and angry and upset and I am too, but right now you have to push that from your mind," Sarah tried. "We need to think up a defense against immigration," she said. Marcel sighed heavily.
"I can't not think about it!" he exclaimed, leaning against the wall and running his hands through his blonde hair. "It was six hours ago that he got hit by that car, and only four hours ago that he was officially pronounced-" there was that pesky word again… He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears that would most likely come anyway.
"I think I'll come back tomorrow…" Sarah whispered. Marcel said nothing. He wasn't sad to see her go. He shuffled to his bedroom and sat on his bed. Memories flashed past his eyes one by one. First meeting Kyle at that gay bar, the moment Kyle proposed, their nights together, every kiss, touch… Tears leaked through his closed eyes.
The two weeks flew by, and before he knew it, Marcel was on his way to court to hear immigrations decision. Was he going back to France, or was he staying in his newly empty apartment?
He walked up the numerous stairs to the courthouse with a blank face, but screaming inside. He pushed through the double doors and took his seat, dreading what might come.
When he left, Sarah was waiting for him. He still had a blank face.
"What happened?" she asked eagerly.
"I'm flying back to France in three days," Marcel replied in a barely audible voice. He heaved a sigh and put his hands on his head. "This is it, I suppose." He said nothing more, but got back in his car and headed home. He wasn't dreading going back to France. It didn't matter; there was nothing left for him here anyway. Kyle was gone, the only thing that kept him there in the first place. He entered the kitchen and leaned against the counter. Kyle was gone, his true love, his reason for living. His reason for living… If Kyle was gone there was no reason to live. Looking to his left, he saw the silverware container.
With the knife blade positioned over his left wrist, Marcel let the memories flood back. It didn't matter; they were merely memories. He would be with Kyle again soon enough. He placed the cool blade on his skin and took a deep breath. He quickly dragged the sharp blade across his wrist, not slitting, but slicing his wrist open. He sharply inhaled but made no sound. He knew he must have hit a vein or artery because blood gushed, running down his hand cascading from his fingers.
He sat in his kitchen chair ignoring the stabbing pain. He could feel the blood draining from his face. He figured it was a matter of minutes before he would be reunited with his love-at-first-sight. Kyle's face drifted to the front of Marcel's mind and he closed his eyes. A single tear fell down his face as the numbness overtook him.
He gladly fell into darkness, taking Death's hand so he could be led back to Kyle, his one and only, his true love, his reason for life. Things were right again as the two lovers rejoiced in death, darkness, and love.