Inspired by the song Jeremy by Pearl Jam.

Sometimes, I wonder what people would think if I were to die.

It's not like I have many friends. Gregory, Craig, Kyle, Kenny...That's it. And my parents? Hah, don't make me laugh. Mère and Papa wouldn't give a shit. Mère would probably put on a show of fake tears while Papa pretended to comfort her, and then after everyone left they would move back to Paris and go on with their lives as normal. Because they didn't care.

I watched as I drew the knife skillfully across my wrist, relishing in the pain and the sight of blood. I even went as far as to lick the knife after I was done making a cut. That, of course, resulted in cutting my tongue several times, but that just added to the thrill. I wondered if I was some sort of sadist.

Again, I wondered how many people would care if I died. If I killed myself, right then and there, who would care? Craig would flip my body off, Kyle would be disappointed, and Kenny would be wondering if he would be able to see me in Hell next time he died. I wondered what Gregory would do...

Mère came into the room, swaying a little. "Christophe, what are you doeeng? Why do you 'ave zat knife een your 'and? Eef you break anyzeeng, I weel keel you! Tu es un enfant stupide. Je tu déteste. Tu es un déshonneur à mon famille!" She hit me on the back of my head with her wine bottle. She was drunk. Of course.

"Je ne casserai rien, Mère. J'ai seulement eu besoin de lui pendant une minute." I replied, wincing as my head swam.

"Tu améliores pas, tu peut de morceau de merde! Je ne sais pas même pourquoi je tu ai gardé. Tu as ruiné ma vie!"

"Je sais. Je suis désolé, Mère." I hang my head in submission, hoping that she would leave. She was the second thing that I feared the most, the first being dogs.

But of course, we can't all get what we want, now can we?

After she finally left, I was lying on my side, cuts and soon-to-be bruises covering my malnourished form. When was the last time I had had a proper meal? Ah, back at Gregory's house a couple months ago. His mother was a good cook...

My dull hazel eyes found the knife, still stained with my blood, sitting just a few feet away. I leaned on my arm, wincing, and reached over, grabbing it with a heavy hand. It would be easy, right? I just cut deep enough, then everything would get fuzzy, and then nothing. Peaceful, right?

I was going to find out. I gripped the knife, and jabbed my wrist, making it deep. The pain from that mixed with the pain in the rest of my body, but I ignored it. I dragged the knife deliberately down my entire arm, not letting up until I reached the joint. When I realized that I wouldn't be able to grip the knife with that hand, I used my mouth instead. And then I waited, not bothering to watch the blood gush out of my arms in streams.

I heard the door slam open (who knew you could make doors slam when they open too?) and a pause. I hope it wasn't Mère. I definitely wouldn't have a peaceful death then.

"Christophe?" It was so quiet, I barely heard it.

Opening my eyes, I was met with horrified grey orbs that I recognized as Gregory's. Hm. Caught in the act. Guess I'm in trouble.

"'Ello."

"Wha-what are you doing? What the hell are you doing?"

I answered his question with a slurred question of my own. "What are you doeeng 'ere?"

"You're mother was drunk, so I came up here..."

I smiled. "Always ze worried one, aren't you? Maybe you won't 'ave to worry anymore."

Gregory bit his lip and transferred my body to his lap. I suspect he didn't say anything for fear of crying. Gregory did not cry. He was fifteen, and fifteen-year-old boys did not cry. I wondered how long he could keep that up after I finally died.

My small smile never left my lips, even as I began seeing larger black spots. His lap was actually very comfortable.

"Je t'aime beaucoup, Gregory. Ne pas oublier."

"I love you too, love." He said, running his fingers through my hair softly. His face was so serene and sad. It was heartbreaking, really. "I'll see you in hell." He said softly, a single crystalline tear sliding down his face. His soft, sad smile was the last thing I saw before my vision went black.

The words I had been about to say hung in the air even after I was gone.

"Not any time soon, beetch."

I LOVE MIZUNI-NO-NEKO! She wrote the ending (after "Je t'aime beaucoup, Gregory. Ne pas oublier.")
Anyway, yeah, this was inspired by the song Jeremy by Pearl Jam. It's a good song. :D

Basic translations for non-French-speaking people like me:

You are a stupid child. I hate you. You are a disgrace to my family!

I promise I will not break anything, Mother. I only needed it for one minute.

You better not, you little piece of shit! I do not even know why I kept you. You have ruined my life!

I know. I am sorry, Mother.

I love you very much, Gregory. Do not forget.