ComING UNDonE
Chapter 01
Suicide Attempt
Back home, off the run
Singing songs that make you slit your wrists
It isn't that much fun
Staring down a loaded gun
So I won't stop dying
Won't stop lying
If you want I'll keep on crying
Did you get what you deserve?
Is this what you always want me for?
-- My Chemical Romance, "Cemetery Drive"
It was raining outside. The endless calm of rain drops committing suicide again and again on the roof of that small, uncomfortable apartment was remarkably comforting. Ethan lied there, staring at the ceiling, thoughts coming in and out of his brain like hungry customers at a drive-thru window. Thoughts about love. Thoughts about depression. Thoughts about suicide.
Life is strange, he figured, recalling all of the sorrow he had to endure throughout the years. Family problems, past relationships, and conflicts at school had all merged together in a disgustingly tragic quilt that couldn't keep anyone warm. It was frozen solid, much like his bitter heart.
Glancing at his alarm clock, Ethan noticed that it was well past two o'clock in the morning. He had school later that day. Most people would panic at the thought of getting less than five hours of sleep. But Ethan wasn't most people. He had spent most of his life not getting enough sleep. He was accustomed to it.
Flashes of lightning sparkled outside the window, illuminating the small bedroom temporarily. Rainstorms gave different people different feelings. Some were scared. Others found them to be romantic. But people like Ethan were reminded of how much the past hurts. Pain never heals the way it is supposed to. There are certain incidents that leave wounds so deep that they will never be repaired. It is definitely a hard pill to swallow. It had taken Ethan a while to accept it, but he finally managed to do so. He had been living in sadness for a long time now. He floated along, aimlessly, in his sea of sorrow.
He found himself wondering what was the point in going on with so much hurt. After all, no one wants to live if they have nothing to live for. Life is merely a game that everyone loses in the end.
The rain was still pouring outside. A clap of thunder here and there sounded throughout the room, but Ethan never moved a muscle. He lied there, perfectly still, staring at the ceiling, counting his past regrets like an insomniac counts sheep.
Love. Depression. Suicide. The three went hand in hand, he guessed, since they seemed to interact with each other so perfectly in his joke of a life.
Being the butt of countless jokes was ordinary for an outcast teenager like himself, but there were times in which a line should have been drawn. But no one every drew any lines for Ethan. He had been bombarded with countless verbal weapons that hit him harder than an iron fist. And the saddest part was that it didn't end at the school campus. When he came home, he often found himself being subjected to the exact same treatment.
His heart hurt so much on the inside. Loneliness was a serial killer aiming to make Ethan his next victim. Nonetheless, the sadness was easy to deal with if there was no one there to care.
Letting out a heavy sigh, he turned over in his bed. He hugged his pillow to his chest, closing his eyes. He spent so many nights like this, wishing he had someone to hold. Wishing he had someone to love him for who he was and not what he was. With those painful thoughts ripe in his mind, Ethan drifted off to an uneasy sleep he wished he would never wake up from.
"I had a really nice time tonight," Ethan admitted, smiling at the blonde girl sitting in the passenger seat.
"I'm glad one of us did," she muttered, looking out the window.
A look of concern spread out across Ethan's facial features like wildfire spreads through a forest. His grip on the steering wheel loosened. Although his mouth was wide open, words wouldn't come out. He simply didn't know what to say. The two sat there in silence for a few moments, parked on the side of the street. It was a beautiful night out. The girl finally turned, looking at him with her bright blue eyes. She was gorgeous. No one could ever deny that. But behind the face of an angel hid the intentions of a devil.
"I'm sorry," Ethan finally managed. "What did I do wrong?"
"If you don't know, then there's no point in telling you. Why do you even bother, anyway?"
"I don't understand."
"Then I don't have anything left to say to you."
"You've got to be joking," Ethan mumbled, exasperated.
"Do I look like I'm joking?" the girl inquired, her face as serious as ever.
"We went out for a movie. I took you to your favorite restaurant. Tonight was great. We were talking, laughing, kissing..."
"Kissing. And it always ends there, doesn't it? It's not like I'm a fucking nun or something. I've been around the block before."
"You're pissed at me because I don't get hot and heavy with you," Ethan realized, a stupified look apparent upon his youthful features. "That is like, the most retarded thing I've ever heard."
"Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Some boys just can't be men."
"Go to hell."
"Go fuck yourself," the girl spat, getting out of the car. "Oh, never mind. Why don't you let your crazy mom do that for you?"
And with that, the blonde girl slammed the door. Ethan sat there for a few moments, watching as she stormed across her front lawn. He let out a soft sigh, blinking at the tears that formed in his eyes. An intense feeling of shame had taken over, therefore ripping his world into ribbons.
Why don't you let your CRAZY MOM do that for you?
Why DON'T YOU let your CRAZY MOM do that FOR YOU?
WHY DON'T YOU LET YOUR CRAZY MOM DO THAT FOR YOU?
Ethan woke up crying. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, soaking his pillow. His shoulders bobbed up and down. Bad dreams like this hit too close to home. And everything started crashing in on him at once. It was like a travesty of a massive interstate automobile accident, with each emotion symbolizing a different emotion.
"Why don't you let your crazy mom do that for you?" Ethan asked between the sobs. "Why don't you..."
He couldn't finish the sentence. He just couldn't do it. He was crying even harder now. It was an uncontrollable process that had gotten out of hand. He felt worse than he ever had in quite some time. Reaching over for his night stand, he pulled a handgun out of the drawer. After stealing the weapon from his mother, which was originally intended to be used only for protection, Ethan had kept it hidden there for times like this. For times when he stopped caring. For times when nothing mattered anymore.
Ethan rolled out of bed with the grace of a skateboarder who had just wiped out. Stumbling to his feet, he somehow managed to make it over to the mirror. He stared at his reflection with a look of disgust. He was a scrawny boy, standing at an average height. With shaggy black hair that nearly fell to his shoulders, a lip ring on the right side of his bottom lip, and a pale complexion, he thought he was hideous. Although others would beg to differ, he had no self-esteem. It couldn't be helped.
His head was throbbing. An awful sick feeling washed over him, making him weak in the knees. Negative thoughts swirled inside of his head like a hurricane, lashing out at his senses. This is what giving up feels like.
"Do I have any regrets?" Ethan asked himself, thinking hard for a few moments. "...No."
He gave himself a final glance, staring into his own eyes behind a veil of tears. Holding the gun up to the side of his head, his bottom lip trembled a little bit. A million emotions pierced him like arrows fired from the bows of angels. Sadness. Anger. Loss. Blinking away at the tears, he closed his eyes shut. It took a lot of effort for his hand to stop shaking so much.
"I'm sorry," he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.
He felt sick to his stomach. But there was no going back now. This was the end of the line for him. Ethan pulled the trigger. Then everything went black.