Author's Note: So yeah, second story. This one will be a bit more emotionally raw than my first one. I got tired of reading abuse and suicide stories that are really off on a lot of things or just all the same. Roxas is abused and is this scared, defenseless boy who doesn't do anything about it! No. I am not going to make him like that. And I think that suicidal scenes should have some depth and explanation, not just physical description but also description as to what the character is feeling. So, enjoy, I think.
And you should try listening to Taylor Swift's Safe and Sound while reading this. I usually don't like, but I really like that song of hers and it goes along with this.
Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts to Square Enix and Disney.
I'm sorry… isn't that what you usually start a suicide note with? The first thought people are going to think is that I'm selfish. I think that I'm selfish. I don't think I am for making this decision. I spent a very long time thinking about this, thinking everything out, thinking about the pain I would cause, but… doing this won't cause anyone pain. Not even myself.
People will call me weak for giving up. I'm not weak. I am just going to a better place. Someone can only last so long in so much pain until it becomes too much. I'm not harming anything, just going somewhere else for a while. Nobody will miss me.
Did anyone enjoy me? Did my presence ever make someone happy? Has anyone ever liked me? Did anyone ever… want me?
To anyone who ever cared about me: I hate you. I hate you so much, even if I didn't even know you. If you cared about me I wouldn't be in this situation. If someone cared about me, they would have stopped me and I wouldn't be dead. If you cared about me, you would have saved me. I'm tired of waiting for someone to care about me.
It's my fault for believing people could care about each other. Humans don't have the capacity to care for each other. They only care about you if you can give them something. I remember when I thought that my dad cared about me. It was funny, he only acted like he cared about me. He only wanted me for chores and doing the things that he is too lazy to. My mom might have been the only person who even had the ability to care, I don't really know anymore. She does work hard to keep a roof over my head, so, that means she cared at one point. I'm sure the beatings she gives me are my fault.
Lazy, stupid, and selfish is what you call someone like me. I forgot to do her laundry—how selfish of me. She works hard for us and I forget to contribute these little things to her. I could help her, but I forget sometimes because I'm selfish and lazy and stupid and careless and reckless and mean—
That's why all of this is a favor to everyone. I burden everyone around me because of how terrible I am. I walk around and start fights, people must hate me. I always run everyone away with my problems and all of my complaining. I talk about myself too much. That's how I learned that nobody cares about you. You tell them that you're not okay—and they don't even try to help you. They don't try and comfort you. They tell you to suck it up. They call you selfish because you don't care about their problems and chose to talk about yours. Your little, tiny problems. Then you start realizing people don't care about you. They hate it when you talk about yourself, they like it when you talk about them. If you don't give them your attention, you're selfish. It's selfish to think people care about how you are.
I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine—that's the lie I've been telling for years. I'm not fine. I'm not okay. I'm scared and hurt and broken and sad and depressed. Or maybe I'm just a selfish teenager. My problems aren't real—I create them. All the beatings are my fault. All the overthinking is my fault. All the people who have walked away have walked away because of me. I caused all of this. It's all my fault.
So, it's okay not to be sad when you find this. I'm so happy, I don't have to hurt anyone anymore. I'm not going to be selfish anymore. I'm not going to hurt anymore. I guess you could say that I am done. I didn't have much going on for me anyways, my grades were terrible. I can't see a happy future for myself.
I'm really tired now, it's getting hard to see. The paper is getting too wet. I'll try and finish this quickly.
Hayner—We were best friends. We used to play with struggle bats in hopes that one day we could be Struggling against the big guys. I had a lot of fun fighting you, when we were friends. Sneaking out to eat ice cream on top of the tower was great, as well as just being around you. You were my favorite at the time, but don't tell anyone, okay? Seifer came along and everything turned to shit. You started pushing me to the side. I became your shoulder to cry on when he did something that made you upset. It got tiring, Hayner. I couldn't just keep caring about you when the favor wasn't returned, but now I don't blame you. You were a great person, so, I'm sorry for ruining our friendship with my problems. You keep entering Struggle tournaments and live out our your life dream, okay?
Pence—You were a good friend of mine as well. I really cared about you Pence, but, there was always this feeling you were just kind of there. We weren't connected. I'm sorry I never talked to you more. You were great friends with Hayner and Olette, but never me. You talked to them, but, you never really talked to me. You took them places, you gifted them with presents when you felt like it, you would let them cry on your shoulder… but never me.
Olette—I hope that you start going out with Pence. You guys obviously have a crush on each other. You were the obvious mother figure in our group, you know that? You looked after all of us, even though we were just stupid boys. I'm sorry for dragging you into a lot of trouble and—
I can't do this right now. Maybe you'll all find out the rest one day, but, I just need some rest. The pain is becoming too much. It hurts to write all of this. The voices are telling me to end it right now—drink water until I drown myself, slit my wrists, swallow all the pills in the cabinet, I just need to go. I've lost the fight, I guess.
A lonely blond sat in his room and bit his lip, failing to hold back trembling sobs. His heart and head hurt, everything hurt. He knew he was really tired. He wasn't sure if it was from the tears streaming down his cheeks or the things he's had to endure, but he was exhausted.
His name was Roxas. He wasn't always like this, it just kind of started. His family stopped caring about him, his friends stopped caring about him, he stopped caring about himself. He was worthless, stupid, lazy, and selfish; why should he care about himself?
Roxas began wiping furiously at his eyes, hard enough that they were becoming red and the back of his hands were only slicking more tears across his face. He just wanted it all to be over. The blond propped himself up for a moment, taking tentative steps towards his bed. He slowly laid down on it and bit into the edge of his pillow, beginning to cry harshly. His eyes were closed and pressed against his pillow. But he wouldn't allow himself to sleep. He just needed to let it all out for a minute.
The warmth of tear soaked fabric began pressing against his skin. He couldn't stop crying, he couldn't calm down. It took him too much effort just to hoist himself up and grab the note on his desk. He folded the paper carefully and calmly slid it into his pocket. He knew that his parents would find it if he didn't do so and discard it, but, if he put it in his pocket, the people who had to transport his dead body would find it and let the three people it's addressed to read it. They wouldn't miss his last words.
He padded across his carpet, avoiding much off the mess around the room, and stumbled into the bathroom. His dull blue eyes tried hard to avoid the mirror. He couldn't bear to see what a mess he looked. His eyes would be red and glassy, his face would be red and his skin would be clammy. He would look like a mess and failure. That wasn't the last way he wanted to see himself, at least not physically. He'd seen himself like that in his mind too long.
A bottle containing pills was perched on his counter. It was a blue counter, flames of dark grey shooting across the shiny surface. The orange of the pill bottle looked ugly against the counter. Roxas grabbed the pill bottle and slowly uncapped it. There was an array of different pills inside. Roxas had spent a while collecting any type of pills he could. There were big white pills, big clear pills, half white pills, small round pills, just so many. He felt as though he had enough tonight. This would all do.
He poured the pills into his palm, careful not to drop any. It was hard when he couldn't see that well out of his eyes and his hand was trembling so harshly. Roxas stared at them for a while. He began to imagine when it would be like to finally be dead. He imagined it would feel good. You couldn't care after you're dead, you can't. You can't feel pain either. This would feel okay.
He decided to stop thinking. Thinking would hurt him right now. He decided to just… do. So Roxas swallowed those pills. His throat stung from the mass that the bunch had. But he managed to swallow them all. He finally did it. Now all he had to do was wait.
Roxas flicked the switch to his bathroom light off and gently closed his door. His head was spinning, not from the pills, but from the thoughts trying to be thought. He wouldn't allow himself to comprehend them. Not yet. He slowly made his way to his bed and went to lie down. He was so very tired.
And Roxas thought. He crossed his hands over his chest and thought. He thought about his note, he thought about the reasons why he was doing this. He thought of solutions, but solutions were bad, solutions meant regretting this, and Roxas didn't want to regret this.
He started to feel a little light headed. It caused him a head ache. He also started to feel nauseous, so he turned onto his side in hopes to relieve some of the pain pooling in his stomach. His limbs began to tingle. It was all happening so fast once it'd started. Tears started to pour from his eyes faster than before. He felt so many different and unpleasant sensations. He thought this was the painless way out. Overdosing doesn't hurt. You're supposed to fall asleep.
Roxas vomited. He threw up on himself and his bed. Tears mingled with vomit and emotions mingled with tears and pain mingled with emotions and everything hurt. He cried to himself even when everything began fading. He made small noises that accompanied the tears and crying, hoping that this would end quicker.
The blue eyes fell closed, not that it mattered—everything was dark anyways. Roxas felt some happiness in all of it. He felt proud that it was the beginning of the end. He was going to be okay now. Everything and everyone was going to be okay. His death, it would mean the end to the hurt. This is what he wanted. This is what he'd hoped for.
Then it was over. Roxas felt nothing, thought nothing, no pain. He was just… detached. It was over.
Oh no you bitch you killed Roxas. If you didn't notice, he's a main character. You can't really have a story without a main character. Put two and two together and let's see how this goes.
I don't know if that was emotional for you, but I'm surprised I actually got emotional writing this. I hope I got the overdose right. I've actually overdosed before, all I did was vomit for about two hours straight and then sleep. IT IS NOT PAINLESS. So if you're ever thinking that overdosing is some cozy little trip to la-la land, you're wrong.