"I can't do this anymore"
Those words kept ringing in his head, haunting his every thought. He couldn't forget them, no matter how hard he tried.
"I don't love you anymore"
Those were the words that broke his heart; that started this descent into a dark depression.
"I'm in love with someone else"
"W-Who?"
"...You're older brother"
And those, those were the words that made him shatter into tiny pieces, much too small to fix yet large enough to hurt. And damn, it hurt. His lover had left him for his brother, how would that not hurt? Damn Gilbert, stealing everything that was close to him.
No longer could he hide the tears he cried every night, they were just too persistent. No matter how hard he tried to keep his mask in place, he just couldn't. The mask was finally slipping. Every day, he'd come home to find his brother and him kissing in front of the television, or eating pasta in the kitchen. Every single day, he'd have to rush to his room so they didn't see the river he just couldn't hold back.
Couldn't his brother see what he was doing to him? Couldn't he see how he was falling apart, piece by piece, shard by shard? If he could, then he turned a blind eye to the pain of his younger brother.
He stood by the open window in his bedroom, looking out at the snow covered landscape. In one hand he held a knife, and in the other was his iron cross. Slowly, he pulled up his sleeve to reveal a pale, scarred arm. He pressed the knife to his arm and and carved yet another line.
One for the memories that haunted his dreams.
Two for the words that never left his mind.
Three for days he saw them together.
Four for the tears that never went away.
Five for the heart, broken beyond repair.
Six for dark depression he drowned in.
Eight for the hope to die.
He held his arm out the window and let his blood fall like red rain and paint the snow a scarlet hue. He moved to his desk and pulled out a pen before quickly scribbled a note. He'd had enough of this life. Every time he closed his eyes he'd see him. And every time he closed his eyes, things would be back to the way things were before. Before he crumbled. He couldn't stand the excruciating pain he felt any longer.
He dug the knife deep into his own throat. The last thing he felt, before his world faded to black, was sense of peace. It was finally over. All that was left of him in the waking world was a bloody knife, a broken body, an iron cross, and a note. A note that read:
"This is where I lie, broken inside"