XXX TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE AND CUTTING XXX

Callie

He feels cold in my arms. At least it's quiet now. No one is bothering us with stupid questions or telling us we need to leave the bathroom. I press my cheek to his hair and close my eyes with a sigh.

"You're okay," I murmur, softly stroking his shoulder with my free hand, "I won't let them touch you. You're safe now."

He doesn't speak.

"I should have been here," I whisper, voice becoming strained as tears well in my eyes, "You shouldn't have been alone for this. No one should. But I'm here now. And I won't leave you, okay? I'm right here."

Stef

"Please," I say for the millionth time, "Let us talk to her. She'll respond to us—"

"Ma'am, she hasn't responded to any one that has been in there thus far…" the officer tells us wearily.

"But she's our daughter," Lena argues, looking him dead in the eye, "We know her better than any person here. What's the harm in letting us try?"

The officer looks towards the house. The lights from police cars and ambulances illuminate it against the dark night sky. "The harm is that she's armed," he explains in an exasperated tone, "And I will not have any injuries or casualties on my clock that could easily be avoided. It's not safe."

"She won't hurt us," I tell him firmly, and I truly believe this, "She trusts us. Look, at this rate we'll be here until tomorrow morning. Please, just let us try."

The man sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. He looks at the house once more and seems to think it over. Lena is gripping my hand so tightly that I'm sure her nails will leave marks.

"Fine," he finally says, "But we're going to do things my way. Both of you need to wear vests. I'm sending someone in with you and there will be men stationed at the door. The second things get out of hand, we're coming in. Are we clear?"

"Copy that," I answer immediately, anxious to go inside already. He flags down some officers and they hand us two Kelvar vests. I help Lena put hers on before putting my own on. For me it's muscle memory, something I've been doing for years.

Once we're set, the officer hands me a walkie-talkie which I clip onto a belt loop.

"The first sign of trouble, you two come out," he instructs resolutely, "Daughter or not, we need to treat this the same way we would treat anyone else."

I grab Lena's hand, "Okay."

The officer looks up to the black sky, "God help me," he murmurs. He points to the house, "Go inside. Go."

I walk into the house first, followed by Lena and then a female officer whose last name is Rodriguez. I keep Lena behind me at all times as we go up the stairs. Like I said earlier, Callie won't hurt us, but I have an overwhelming need to protect my wife at all costs. When we reach the top of the stairs, I turn to Rodriguez.

"Wait here," I whisper, "I have my radio." Rodriguez nods and I take a deep breath before leading the way to the bathroom. I haven't been up here before, but it's easy to guess which room it is. It is the only room with light pouring out in the otherwise dark hallway. I walk cautiously and quietly. I can practically feel Lena's heart beating against my back. I pause just outside the bathroom door.

"Callie," I call quietly, "Callie, it's Mom. Mama is here, too. Can we come in?"

There's a beat of silence, "I told them to leave us alone," a hoarse whisper comes from the room.

I nod to myself, "I know, Love. They weren't listening to you. But Mama and I want to listen. We want to help you, both of you."

I hear a sob and my heart breaks, "It's too late!" I hear her cry, "You're too late!"

"It's not too late," I assure her desperately, "I know it feels like that but we can still make it right. He wouldn't want it to happen this way."

There is silence on Callie's end.

"Please, Sweetheart." Lena whispers imploringly, "Let us in."

Some time passes before we here a nearly silent, "Okay."

Lena presses her nose into the back of my neck and takes a shaky breath. I close my eyes for a moment to collect myself. I feel Lena's lips on my collarbone and my eyes flutter open. I push on the half-open door and peer inside.

God.

There she is, sitting on the bathroom floor. One hand is holding him close and the other is tightly gripping a blood-stained knife. There's blood on her hands, her cheek, his arms, the floor. There is no escaping from it.

"Hi sweetheart," I greet her softly with a smile, as if there isn't a pint of liquid life spilled across the floor, "Is it alright if we sit with you guys?"

Callie looks past me and jerkily nods her head. I sink to my knees. Lena sits as well, and suddenly we've become a campfire circle of death.

"What do you need us to do?" Lena asks quietly, desperate to help.

Callie rubs her cheek, wiping away a tear and in turn leaving a smear of blood in its wake, "Nobody was there for him," she whispers, "He was all alone. I can't leave him."

"Okay," I nod, "Alright."

Callie sniffles, "He is a person!" she yells, "He matters! He's not a fucking statistic. We promised we would be more than that." The last part is whispered despondently as she traces a finger down his face.

Lena's eyes flicker to him. She's taking in the same sight that I'm taking in: the blue-gray skin, the wide eyes that don't and will never see, the vacancy of spirit. It's startling, because he was just here. He was breathing and living like we are now and it's startling that he's suddenly gone. A memento mori, Lena would call it.

"Tell us about him?" I ask Callie gently, "We're right here, Love, and we're not going anywhere."

Callie's frame begins to shake from the force of her cries, "This should have never happened!"

"Tell us," I insist as Callie continues to cry. I cautiously reach my hand out until it covers the hand Callie has on his shoulder. I thread my fingers through hers and hold tight.

"Tell us about Cole."

Dark fic. I had this in my head more because I want to address various topics that I feel are important to discuss/raise awareness about. I'm not a doctor or anything of the sort, so I'm not in any position to offer advice.

IF YOU ARE IN CRISIS:

Call the toll-free National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255), available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. The service is available to anyone. All calls are confidential.