notes: deals with suicidal thoughts, attempted suicide & mentions of previous suicide attempts and child abuse.
please, if it makes you feel uncomfortable, don't read. if you do, don't flame me because i have warned you beforehand.
(good for nothing uptight bitch.)
Maybe it was right what everyone called her behind her back. Maybe she was uptight and absolutely shit at her job.
Just look at her! It was her fault Susan Harrington was dead. It was her fault that Mr Gordan was going to spend the rest of his life in prison for killing the bastard that had killed his grandson.
If only she had done her job properly, she wouldn't be in this shit now.
She's alone in an empty flat. No boyfriend. (she's philophobic.)
No family. (they can't stand the fucking sight of her.) and no friends, (she doesn't do those either.)
She's surrounded by empty vodka bottles from days ago. You see it's so much easier to drink herself stupid, numb all those feelings and pass out drunk on the floor somewhere.
She doesn't think of the consequences. Why the fuck would she? She lives for today, for this moment and not tomorrow. Tomorrow's another day that shit's thrown at her.
Another day those thoughts of suicide reappear and she tries hard to let them go.
(Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.)
"Yeah, keep telling yourself that!" She tells herself because she knows she doesn't even believe it. Suicide is suicide regardless of it been a permanent solution to a tempory problem.
So that's what she plans. A hundred pills and a bottle full of vodka.
(Until a certain bastard called Michael came round.)
"You've reached the phone of Roisin Connor, please leave a message after the tone."
Michael Walker sighed as he put the phone down and put it back in his pocket. It was Friday, two days after their difficult court case and he knew Roisin wasn't herself.
He knew she blamed herself but it wasn't her fault. She wasn't solely to blame, they should have all done something to prevent Susan Harrington's disappearance, kidnapping and eventual death.
For some reason, he had a feeling not everything was right with Roisin. She behaved and come across as a bitch but truthfully, deep down she wasn't. She was vunerable.
Taking his keys of the kitchen worktop, he left his bedsit and locked the door behind him. Reaching the car park, he unlocked the car and got inside before putting the keys in the ignition. Taking out his phone, he decided to ring her one more time.
Flicking through his contacts, he reached her name and pressed the call button. Holding the phone to his ear, he listened to it ring and hoped she would answer this time.
"You've reached the phone of—"
Disconnecting the call, Michael whispered, "For fucks sake Roisin!" He threw his phone down on the seat beside him, turned on the engine and drove out of the car park.
It seemed to take twice as long to reach her house then it normally did. But it might have been because he was really worried about her. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe she wanted to be left alone or perhaps, she'd left her mobile at home.
But there was a voice in the back of his head saying, (she's doing something stupid, you know she is.)
As she disconnected the second phone call, she wished he'd fuck off and leave her alone.
She looked at the sleeping pills in the bright orange container and popped open the lid. She poured out a handful and stared at the little white pills before placing them in her mouth and swallowing them down with vodka.
She decided not to leave a note. Her parents were dead, she didn't have a partner, or children or friends; so leaving a suicide note seemed pointless. She took a few more pills and was about to finish her handful when the doorbell rang.
She put the remaining pills on the table, followed by the empty bottle of tablets and the vodka bottle. Standing up, she wondered who it was at the door and walked towards it.
She didn't have to wait long before an all too familiar voice called from behind the door, "I know your in there Roisin!"
"Fuck off Mike!"
"Open the door!"
She refused and he wondered why she had to be a stubborn bitch. He told her that if she didn't open the door, he'd kick it down so she thought it was less hassle just to do it. She fumbled with the keys in the door and opened it slightly.
"Why don't you just fuck off and leave me alone?" She said and turned around to walk back to the settee. He followed her into the house and she went to move the tablets on the table but he saw.
With a look of horror on his face, he walked towards her and took the bottle out of her grasp.
"How many have you taken?"
"Not enough." Came the reply.
He knelt in front of her, his hands on her knees. She refused to make eye contact, every time he told her to look at him, she told him she couldn't.
"How many have you taken?" He asked again.
"Close the door on your way out." She answered ignoring his question.
"Roisin! Talk to me!"
She stared at him for a brief second, "Now you want to talk? Well fuck you because I don't!"
He stood up and began to pace up and down the room. He needed to find out how many she had taken and whether it required a hospital visit or not. He really didn't want an argument with her, he hadn't gone round for that.
She stood up and went to walk away when a hand on her arm stopped her. She turned around and made eye contact with him.
"Get off!" She told him only he ignored her this time and pulled her towards him.
"Do I need to stick my fingers down your throat?" He said. She just looked at him and couldn't believe he had told her that. Was it really serious? Did he really give a fuck that she had taken too many tablets?
"Fuck you, you cunt!" With her free hand, she slapped him hard across the face but he simply grabbed her wrists and pinned her against the wall, "What's it going to be?"
She'd been in the bathroom for ages, too long for his liking. He banged on the door and when he heard nothing, not even a simple fuck off, he knew something wasn't right and kicked the door down.
What he saw made his heart shatter.
Roisin was lying on her back, more pale than usual and an empty bottle of tablets lay beside her. He knelt down beside her and pressed two fingers to her neck and hoped she was still breathing.
Sighing with relief when he felt a pulse against his fingers, he stood back up and called an ambulance.
The Doctor told him she was stable but it could've been a lot worse.
He hated to think what could've happened if he hadn't got there in time. He didn't know how he'd cope without her. He might be an arrogant bastard but Roisin Connor was the best thing that ever happened to him.
He sat by her beside just watching her sleep. She looked like an angel, so pale and beautiful. He held her hand in his and hoped she'd wake up soon. He wanted to talk, he wanted to ask why she did it.
Could he have done anything different?
Could he have been a better friend?
She stirred after so gently, a strand of blonde hair falling in her face. She opened her eyes but once blinded by the bright lights, closed them again. She opened them a couple of minutes later and blinked several times, getting used to the light.
Realising that someone was holding her hand, she snatched her hand away and looked at Mike, noticing he looked hurt.
"How are you?" He said and he realised it was probably the most ridiculious question to ask but he couldn't think of anything better to break the ice. She just sighed, made eye contact with him and replied, "I've been better."
"Hmm." He replied and stared back at her. They didn't speak, let the silence grow between them until Roisin broke the silence,
"I'm sorry." She whispered, "I guess I owe you an explaination."
And he didn't verbally reply. Instead, he nodded his head and took her hand back in his.
"I wasn't planning to top myself." She told him, "I just—I wanted to sleep."
He nodded but he didn't believe it. From where he was stood, it looked like she was planning suicide. She'd taken enough to knock out an elephant, let alone to sleep. He knew she was just saying that for a cover story.
"You've done it before haven't you?"
Even he was shocked at his own question. She looked at him, holding his gaze and snatched her hand away from him. She didn't say anything, she let the question sink in and eventually she nodded.
"Twice." She lied. Truthfully, she had attempted suicide more than that but only two were serious enough to go to hospital. Both times she was sent to a psychiatrist and told to talk about her problems. What a load of shit that was.
"My father died. I was twenty-three, finally thought I was free of that bastard and the shit he put me through. Thought I'd actually be able to tell someone so I did." She laughed angrily, "I told my useless, shit, alcoholic mother that my father used to rape me and you know what?"
She bit her lower lip, realising that she had already said too much but decided to continue, "That fucking useless tramp, told me it was my own fault. I shouldn't have been a flirt and led my father on! I was fucking seven and every time she was a shit wife, I! Me, I was the one who fucking suffered."
"So you attempted suicide?"
"Yeah, so fucking tragic isn't it?" She answered.
"Roisin, I wish you would speak to me!"
"Oh don't pretend you actually give a fuck I know you don't. All you ever care about is yourself!"
"Don't start on me!" He replied back, stood up and began to walk up and down, "I care about you Roisin." It was the truth. He had always cared about her, fallen in love with her ever since she started on that investigation with the hand in the river.
She knew he was lying, "No you don't." She whispered as she brought her knees to her chest. Nobody cared about Roisin Connor. All she ever was to men was a sex toy, an object with no feelings whatsoever. She was damaged, that's why nobody touched her and when they did, it was only to abuse her.
"I do. Roisin, I—" He stopped suddenly. If he told her he loved her, it could have the opposite effect.
She looked up, their eyes connecting for a minute or two and he was about to say he loved her when his phone rang. With a soft smile, he apologised and left the room to answer the call. When he returned five minutes later, she was waiting for him.
"What did you want to say?" She asked.
"When?" He asked, "Oh. Before?" He hesitated and shook his head, "Nothing."
She nodded slowly and lay down on the bed. She complained she was feeling sleepy so he offered to leave her and that he'd be back in a couple of hours. As she closed her eyes, he slowly walked over to her and kissed the top of her head.
Leaning against the door, he sighed.
It was a difficult situation. What if he said he loved her and it backfired? What if she didn't love him and it ruined the relationship that had spent years making stronger? What if she attempted suicide again but this time died? Could he really risk losing her?
He settled on one. He weighed up the pros and cons and decided that tomorrow was the day.
Tomorrow was the day Michael Walker confessed his love to Roisin Connor.
But until then, he had to get back to work.
a/n: if you like it enough to favourite, please review.
meaning of philophobia — the fear of falling in love. (: