"We should just stay friends."
The words cut through his chest. It suddenly got hard to breathe. It felt as if someone had put a huge weight on his heart and pushed down. His breathing came in pained gasps.
"W-Why?" He managed to get out. His throat was too tight. His chest kept hurting. And despite how strong he was believed to be, he couldn't keep it in anymore, as tears streamed down his face, his glasses fogging up.
"It isn't working. I'm... I'm not happy with you." The Brit replied. Alfred couldn't take it anymore. A sob raked through his body, and he shook violently. The tears wouldn't stop now.
"I-I'm s-sorry..." He practically whispered, wincing at how pitiful and hopeless he sounded. Even if it was accurate.
"God, just... I'll call you later. Actually, I probably won't. Goodbye." Was the angry reply he received.
"P-please! Don't go!" He cried out, not caring how pitiful he sounded. He had so many questions...
But it didn't matter. "...Goodbye Alfred." The Brit replied before he hung up the phone.
He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. All he could do was sit there on his bed and cry. He loved Arthur. He truly did. And this wasn't their first time being together. No, this was their third. And their last.
He had loved him for months. He only wanted to make the Brit happy. He tried everything he could. But... It wasn't enough. And now... It really was over.
Weeks had passed. Everyone had noticed the changes in the usually cheery American. He had become quiet, and rarely spoke. When he did, it was a whisper. He had stopped eating. Everything he tried to eat wouldn't stay down. It hurt too much. When watching something, his stomach and chest would clench as he remembered some far-off memory connected to it, smiling at the sweet images flashing through his mind before tears began to run down his face, and he'd run to the closest empty room, not wanting anyone to see him cry.
It became obvious to anyone that saw him that he was crying himself to sleep. His parents could hear sobbing every night, until he started playing loud music to try to cover it up. His eyes soon became constantly red and puffy, the repeating pattern giving his eyes hell. Sometimes he wouldn't even sleep, so there were now dark circles forming under his already worn eyes. But it was a relentless pattern. The crying would not stop. Every night, his mind went through all the good times and the bad times he had had with Arthur, and every time it would send him into turmoil.
The cutting was a surprise. He had already had problems with bodily harm, but he had promised Arthur he would no longer cut himself. The scars from before will still there, but they became to fade as time passed, finally given the time they needed to heal. But now, Arthur wasn't there. His soul reason for trying his hardest was gone. Arthur was just a friend now. And he was more alone now than ever. He couldn't take it.
It started with one cut, small, on his wrist. Nothing compared to how he used to cover his forearm with literally about 50 cuts each time. But still, it started small. Soon, it escalated, and before he knew it, both of his arms were covered. Some cuts were shallow, already just a thin pink line, others were deep, still bleeding. But it wasn't enough. He soon moved to his legs, each cut a varying length and depth. He was now forced to wear pants and long-sleeved shirts in the middle of summer,and everyone knew it had started again.
Everyone tried to comfort him and talk to him, but it was to no avail. He just didn't care anymore. He always kept music playing loudly, not being able to stand any of the things going on in his own mind.
Everything just became too much. He couldn't stand it. He was losing weight, and could barely move around anymore. The shine that had been in his eyes was completely gone. He was just an empty shell of himself, and everyone, including himself, knew it. And it was just too much now.
He pulled out a piece out paper from a notebook near him. Then, grabbing a pen, he began to write. He messed up a few times, crumpled papers surrounding his bed, but he was finally satisfied with his writing. He them reached into his nightstand, blindly grabbing into the small drawer until he found what he was looking for. And for the first time in weeks, he smiled.
He slowly got up, having to grab onto anything he could to walk out of his room, having grown so weak that he could barely support his decreasing weight, and managed to make it to the bathroom down the hall before collapsing against the wall. But, he slowly got up, determined. He made his way to the bath and shower, starting up the water.
It felt nice to clean up, the water hitting his aching muscles helping him relax. He sighed, running his fingers through his now shampooed and conditioned hair, rinsing it once more before turning off the water. He stepped out, water dripping off his clean body. He quickly dried off before tying the towel around his waist and walking to his room again, finding it easier now. He changed into his old regular outfit of a T-shirt and basketball shorts before he walked to the kitchen, his father watching him from the living room, wide-eyed. His mother looked at him before running over and hugging him.
"Ah! Mom, C'mon!" He chuckled dryly as his mother kissed the top of his head.
"Shush. Now was there something you wanted?" She spoke, moving away to smile at her son. She began to grin as he shrugged, then said, "Can I have a cheeseburger? And fries? And some Mac N' Cheese? With a milkshake? And some chicken strips? And ice-cream with cookies?"
He was hungry, so he listed off all his favorite foods. He was slightly surprised when his mother nodded quickly to everything, tearing up. She was happy that he was eating.
It took a while, but he ate every delicious bite, sighing contentedly as he stood from his chair, collecting his dishes and washing them off before placing them into the dishwasher. He then kissed his mother's cheek, and smiled once more.
"I'm going to go sleep now. I love you guys." He announced before he turned, and walked slowly to his room. His mother and father watched him, confused as he shut his door.
"... Sweetie, he's been sleeping all day... Why is he...?" His mother looked at her husband, worry reflected in her eyes. Her husband stood up, and slowly began to walk down the hall. His mother stayed right behind him, cell phone in hand. Everything was quiet, besides the faint sounds of the television in the living room.
... Alfred didn't have his music on.
He always had his music on. Even when he wasn't in the room.
Call it a hunch, call it mother's intuition, call it whatever you want, but his mother let out a sob before running to his door, throwing it open. She then screamed, and ran to hold the lifeless body of her son, knowing it was too late, but still trying to stop the blood pouring from the large cut on his throat, the knife he had gotten as a gift a few years ago lying next to his limp hand.
His father was already on the phone, yelling at the 911 operator. His mother was crying hard, slowly taking off her son's blood-spattered glasses to softly close his eyes. He looked so peaceful, so calm. He even had a faint smile playing at his lips. If blood wasn't covering his face and chest, you could say that he was finally getting the rest he needed. And in a cruel way ...he was.
The police and an ambulance arrived a few minutes later. They took his body from his mother's shaking grasp, placing him on a gurney. His mother's mind went numb as everything happened around her, and more peopled came in and took pictures, asked questions, and looked around. One investigator walked over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She looked up, being met with a sad smile.
"I... Found this. It appears to be a note your son left for everyone." The investigator said, handing her a piece of notebook paper. She instantly recognized her son's shaky, almost unreadable handwriting. The tears came faster now as she took the paper, and began to read.
"Hey. Mom, Dad, I love you guys. I'm sorry to do this to you, but... I just can't keep going. I'm sorry. Please, tell all my friends I loved 'em. So... Tell Matthew, Kiku, Tony, Heracles, Ivan, Francis, Feliks, and even Toni. And tell them I'm sorry. And they can have my stuff.
And... Please... Tell Arthur... Tell him I love him.
... That's it, I guess. Well, goodbye forever.
I love you guys.
I'm finally going to go to sleep.
Al."