Crimson blood is flowing from my arm to the white tiles beneath my feet, spotting and staining the floor. I can feel the vomit in the back of my throat, threatening to spill all over the floor. I feel dizzy with emotions and the rapid loss of blood. What a life I've lived? I think, my legs deciding that my body weight is too much as the collapse underneath me. I spent most of it hiding from the fact that, I'm in love with him and now, I can't get rid of the horrid thoughts that I might be gay. I can't be gay. I can't. Those feelings though, they don't lie. They make my stomach churn but my heart flutter. I love him so much, yet I hate him even more. I can't stand conflicting emotions. I close my eyes and lean my head against the wall behind my back, lowering the blade to my skin again. I'm slicing through tattooed flesh and the cool of the blade mixed with the heat of my skin feels good. I look down at my arms now, marred with cuts and gashes. My stomach lurches violently and I turn and retch into the toilet.
It's not a good feeling. It's the feeling of my guts getting ripped out, and knawed at. My body is numb as I watch the blood cascade down my arm, settling in pools on the tiles and staining my acid wash jeans. How could my body do this to me? It's betraying my mind, my soul. I'm following my heart though. Oh and it felt so nice when he hugged me, held me for that brief second in his arms, but it's wrong. It's gross. I'd be hated. Shunned. Jeff Hardy, the queer. Worse, he'd never talk to me again. He'd never hug me. I don't think I could take it. I need him. I need him to live, to breath, to function. For a brief second I think I hear him. Calling my name. It's just my imagination. Matt had always said that I had an overactive one.
Another moment passes and I think I hear it again as my vision starts to darken. As I slip slowly into the darkness where I will await the torturing fires in the pit of hell, I see him. His face. That mixture of hazel blues that show so much concern. His arms embrace me, and there's that feeling again. The feeling of self-loathing, and yet I feel nothing but love for him.
"Jeff, please," he whispers. "Please don't die," that was all I heard before I slipped further inti the darkness that had consumed my mind many years ago. And I thought it was the end...
A bright, blinding white light awakens me. I blink rapidly, my eyes adjusting slightly. The room is white and smells like sanitized hospital shit. I blanch, hospitals. How I loathe them. It reminds me of when my mom died. The horrible feeling that invades my body every time I step into a hospital today is back. I feel like retching but I hurt to much to move so I swallow it back down and peer around the blank room. It's boring all except the three figures in the room other than myself. Chris and Matt are sitting over in the chairs by the wall, Matt's head on Chris's shoulder and Chris's head on Matt's. It's sweet, really, but neither of them are gay. It still makes me smile though, which brings my attention to the last form.
A chair pulled up by my side, one hand holding mine, his eyes closed in blissful slumber. The man of my wet dreams and nightmares. Kenneth Anderson. I sigh inwardly and stroke my thumb over his knuckles, hearing him sigh in his sleep. Had he really been that worried, about me? He's supposed to hate me. I gave him a concussion, and he actually cares. He gives a damn about me. A trashy shell of what I used to be. If Matt hadn't dragged me out of the darkness months ago, I'd probably would have been here earlier, or would have selling my ass on the street. I smile over at Ken as he snuggles closer to my hand, it's so childish the way he acts some times.
"You're awake," I look up from where I was staring down at the beach blonde beside me and into the worried eyes of a very concerned Amy Dumas.
"Hey Amez"
"Jeff," her voice is stern, her arms are crossed over her chest and she's leaning against the door in a very Matt-like pose. "Why the hell did you want to take your own life?" I feel like a child, being scolded by his mom when Amy gets onto me. She's usually a partier, but when it comes to me, she's a mother hen. Of course I shrug, and avoid her 'tell me the fucking truth' stare.
"I don't like who I've become," I reply, not noticing that Ken had started to stir.
"That is total BS Jeff," Amy says, eyeing me. I sigh.
"It's true, Amy... I became what I vowed not to be... I'm gay, I'm a tramp, I like Kenny-boy here, and I'm a druggie... People like me, don't deserve a life to live if they're gonna ruin it like I have" There. It's out in the open. I've come to terms with those feelings. Amy frowns. It's a deep calculating frown, one that means she's deep in thought or trying not to cry.
"You're not a tramp," a husky voice mutters, I'm surprised and so is Amy as we turn our attention to Ken who's staring at me, those hazel blues trained on mine. "You're not a druggie either," Amy smiles softly, watching as Ken hesitantly life his hand and stroke my face tenderly. "You're perfect... So what if your gay, so what if you love me..." I gulp softly. "and Jesus Christ, if I had known, I would have saved you this trouble" he mutters, leaning in and pressing his lips to mine sweetly, before pulling away. "'cos I've been waiting forever to hear those words escape your lips... I love you too, Jeff" I smile, and he hugs me.
"Aww!" Amy coos, smiling over at us and I roll my eyes but in all reality, I didn't give a shit. He loves me and I love him. Amy then turns her gaze to Chris and Matt, whom were both still asleep. "How can they sleep through such a beautiful moment?" she mutters, shaking her head in disapproval. Ken and I chuckle softly, then share one last kiss before wrapping ourselves in each others embrace.