A/N: You have no idea how long I've wanted to do a Tourniquet fic. Finally, finally, I got inspiration! But of course, it came during my...eh...incarceration. xP So I had to wait for...I forget when it struck, but at least a month, until I could actually DO SOMETHING about it. And THEN I had to think of a character to use! And then – and then! – I had to figure out how to actually put my idea into a story! But I finally got it! So here it is at last! lol That was a lot of exclamation points...but they were necessary. :P
Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider. Cause, you know, slavery is bad and all. xD I also don't own the song Tourniquet by Evanescence. It rox, though. ^&^
Benjamin Daniels gripped the sides of the sink in his hotel bathroom, hanging on as though his life depended on it. It didn't – not yet, anyway – but in time it just might. Gasping for breath, tears tracking their way down his face, head bowed and almost touching the mirror, he unwillingly relived the nightmare that had catapulted from his bed into the glaring light of the bathroom.
It was more a memory than a thing of fantasy, though twisted by his subconscious. His latest mission from MI6, the one that had cause him to take a forced "vacation," as it was called. The faces of the dying men and women kept flashing before his eyes, contorted with pain and red with blood. They cried, too, he remembered, though their tears were stained pink with their lifeblood as it poured out of their hemorrhaging brains. He didn't know what, if anything, those poor people had done to deserve such a brutal death, but he did know that he couldn't live with their tormented screams in his mind forever.
He abruptly released the sink and shakily, yet purposefully, strode over to his one suitcase. Rummaging in the front pocket with a trembling hand, he pulled out his knife. A switchblade, small, but sharp. The last time it was used had been just last week, on the day...
No. No, he wasn't going down that road again. If he did, he would never come back, ever. And he needed to be present for this.
He stood in front of the mirror again, pale already, but determined. He paused as he raised his arms – was he certain? Because this, he knew, would be forever. No more sunny days or winter nights or evenings in between. He closed his eyes...
And made the cuts. Because as he saw it, all those sunny days he could have had would be forever tainted by the horrors he had seen. Not just on his last mission, but on all the ones before and all that would come after.
As his vision swam, the strangest thought entered his mind. A song, one he had only heard once or twice in passing. He couldn't think of the name, but he remembered it because it was about what happened after...well...this.
I tried
To kill the pain
But only brought more
(So much more)
That was a good point, he thought. The mental anguish was still there, but the physical pain...that was almost enough to drown it out. The slices on his arms stung and throbbed in time with his gradually slowing pulse, and he almost second-thought his decision.
Almost.
I lay dying
And I'm pouring
Crimson regret
And betrayal
Dying? Check. That was the point, after all. Regret? Oh, yes. Racing through his emptying veins was a torrent of regret. Betrayal? Well, that was what led to the gas being released and the people...those poor, innocent people...dying...so horribly...But it was more than that. He felt betrayed by a world that would give him happiness and light as a child, and then shove him under Alan Blunt to be used and tortured. And for what? His country? The world? Whatever the point was, he didn't see it. He hadn't for a long time, though he only realized it now.
I'm dying
Praying
Bleeding
And screaming
Am I too lost
To be saved?
Am I too lost?
For so long he had been screaming to a world that wouldn't listen. "Why?" he would yell at the top of his lungs, and yet no one heard him. Or if they did, they didn't deign to answer. But that bit, "Am I too lost to be saved"...that led his thoughts in a direction they hadn't taken in a long, long time.
My God
My tourniquet
Return to me salvation
My God
My tourniquet
Return to me salvation
Oh, he had grown up in church. For a while he even believed. When he entered training at Brecon Beacons, he was one of the only Christians there. But then he saw what people were like, what they would do. He saw madmen and sadists, terrorists and mass murderers. And he wondered what sort of God could sit back and watch while those sorts of people ran free.
Do you
Remember me?
Lost for so long
He was on the floor now, he realized dimly. Funny, he didn't even notice his slide down, so wrapped up was he in his final thoughts. Of course, the blood loss probably had something to do with that as well.
What would happen when he died? Would there be a light? A voice? Or just blackness and silence? And, he found himself thinking with surprise, would God remember him?
Assuming, of course, there was a God, he told himself. But deep down, he knew. He remembered what he had been told when he was a boy, about how God didn't want people to suffer, but gave us free will in our choices.
Will you be
On the other side
Or will you forget me?
There was that same question again. Had God forgotten him in all those years? Surely, one person running away wasn't so uncommon. But still...it would be sort of rude. Ben had given all those years to God, and if He just forgot, well...that wouldn't be sort of rude, it would be extremely rude. He'd better remember, Ben thought.
I'm dying
Praying
Bleeding
And screaming
Am I too lost
To be saved?
Am I too lost?
God, he thought – prayed – he wasn't really sure, and he didn't care. For the longest time, I didn't believe. I just...stopped. I guess, maybe, in a way, I forgot You. And yeah, I know. Rude of me. But I just didn't see You in the world anymore. I mean, all those people, all the terrible things they did...and I had to stop them. Not the most joyful of works, if I might say so.
My God
My tourniquet
Return to me salvation
My God
My tourniquet
Return to me salvation
Yeah, definitely forgot You. Sorry about that. But it was just too hard to remember sometimes that there were good people in the world – I mean, You know the sort of people I was put up against. And I figured that if there weren't that many really good people, if most people were psychopathic mass murderers waiting to happen, then what sort of God would You be? If You even existed?
Return to me salvation
Ben tried to sigh, then realized he couldn't. His lungs just wouldn't expand. He was getting weaker...but he had one more thing to say.
I just didn't get why You would let so much evil run amok in this world.
I want to die!
Did he? He wasn't so sure anymore. If God truly was out there – and Ben was pretty sure He was – then wasn't there something worth living for? Then again, on the other hand, Ben wanted answers. And if the only way to get them was by dying...well, then so be it.
My God
My tourniquet
Return to me salvation
My God
My tourniquet
Return to me salvation
What she said, he thought/prayed as the last repetition of the chorus played in his head. He needed God, needed Him to be his tourniquet. He needed saving from death, physical and spiritual. He needed, he needed...to breathe, he realized suddenly. He drew in a heavy breath with mild panic that quickly subsided into that shadowy realm where thoughts go when one loses blood.
My wounds
Cry for the grave
My soul cries
For deliverance
Will I be
Denied
Christ?
Tourniquet
My suicide
His wounds would never scar, because scar tissue is made in a living body. His soul had about cried itself out, in sorrow and in desperation. Now all there was left to do was lie there and wonder: Would he end up in heaven? Or was it too late for him? Was hell truly waiting for him?
As the last verse of the song left his head and he realized its truth, he was scared. Truly scared. He wanted to get up and stop the bleeding, but he was too weak. His vision was completely black, and he heard a dull pounding in his ears that was slowly fading. His heartbeat. He only realized he was hearing a sort of rushing sound after it stopped. His breathing. He stayed semiconscious for another second, before fading into death.
Alex stood beside Fox's grave, long after the service had ended. Thinking. He wondered if Fox had been a Christian when he died. He couldn't remember his teammate ever mentioning anything that would indicate as such, but he felt a sort of inexplicable peace saying that Fox was alright. That he really was in a better place.
Alex turned away with a small smile on his face. He would be joining Fox someday, but not by his own hand.
Not anymore.
A/N: Please let it be said that I am most definitely NOT saying that suicide is an option. But I do think that it's an all-too-prevalent issue in society today. I believe that Jesus is willing to forgive us all no matter what, and that He will even forgive people who commit suicide – if they ask before they die.
If you don't understand the "Not anymore" part, go back and read the rest of my redemption stories. They are, in order, "Please, God," "Born Again," and "Here I Am Again." I guess the last one doesn't really matter in terms of understanding the "not anymore" part, but I'd still like you to read it. xD
Please review! I know, it took me FOREVER to get this up, but like I said, it took me FOREVER to figure out how to do this. :}