It was a suicide note.
It was always a suicide note. Just sitting there, waiting for me to pick it up, unfold it and read it. It sat on my table across from my bed in this dark, cramped room. With the window wide open and the moonlight pouring in, despite the room being so dark. The brisk winds burst in at random times, blowing the note but never succeeding in moving it fully.
I sat on the bed, my knees to my chest, my arms wrapped around my legs, and my eyes never wavering from the note.
I knew it was your suicide note. I knew what it would say. That you were sorry. That you never meant for it to happen. That pure instincts took over you. That you never meant to hurt me in any way, and that it had to end this way.
It ended for you, not for me, though.
It's been five days since I moved, knowing that you would never come back to me, knowing that I should just move along and forget that this was all my fault, but I just couldn't. I felt as though I were overreacting, horrified of a piece of paper, but my limbs wouldn't work. Only my eyes, which blinked every couple seconds.
It hurt my throat now, just to breath, because I have not drunken anything since I came in here to find the note. The note that you left to me, rather than to anyone else. Though I already knew that I had been too late the moment I stepped one step into this room. Into this dreaded room...
And now you're gone. Not like I can do anything about it.
The suicide note was winning in this challenge. A challenge that merely said, 'Open me, I dare you. Open me before you starve to death'. Though, already, I was losing, because I now felt too weak to stand, let alone walk over to the table where the note was.
When the door finally opened, I half expected to see you standing there, angry eyes locked on me as you scolded me about not leaving my room to go to the bathroom, to eat, to drink, to even let someone know that I'm alive. I would rather be the one dead in this demented relationship of our's, though I already knew it.
When the door opened, and I looked over to the male who gazed at me with a curious, yet furious gaze... I knew that sooner or later I would burst into tears. The tears I had not even shed yet.
My eyes were so dry from not having slept... my throat burned, my heart ached, and my head...
The male at the door, with skin as pale as light and eyes slightly darker just stared at me for a second, his lips shut though his eyes speaking every word he wanted to say, before his gaze flickered over to your last note to me.
Already, I could witness the recognition in the male's eyes when he saw the note, and his hand went 'white-knuckled' as you used to call it, around the doorknob.
He knew you are going to commit suicide, hadn't he? And he had watched you as you wrote that note, and yet he had not even stopped you.
His eyes were trained on me, now, the black jacket he wore reminding me oddly of you. With the black sleeves that trailed down to your fingers, that wrapped tightly around your thin, bony arms, with the way the jacket practically billowed behind you, even if it only reached a little bit below your waist-line. The way the jacket's hood was never fixed, looking so stupid yet so amazingly-humorous at the same time. Not only the jacket, even... just everything about him reminded me of you.
His white jeans that were obviously skinny-jeans, and his black sneakers. With blonde, blonde hair on top of his head that was pulled back into a ponytail, yet with hair falling from the sides.
It was a suicide note that left me like this.
"How long have you-?" started the male whom I knew to be named Len asked me. I was always jealous of Len's name; his name was just so... beautiful sounding.
"Five days," I croaked, not realizing how quiet my voice had been until I realized that I hadn't even heard my own voice.
"Rin..." he whispered, taking a few steps into the dark room. "Rin... please..."
I shook my head, fresh new tears pooling in my eyes, before streaming down my cheeks. "No, no, Len..." I breathed.
I love you, Gakupo. Why did you leave me like this?
