Title: Summer Suicide
Author: Maddy W. A.k.a. depressionisanillusion
Summary: One-shot. Implied Freddy?Summer. When he left her, she had nothing to live for. So why bother living anymore? (Kind of what I wish I could do now...)
A/N - Just an idea I got from when I cut myself . . . I decided to write about it instead of doing it to myself. Now isn't that a great idea????
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The pain felt good. She let it wash over her, let it seep through her veins so that all she was, all she would ever be, was pain. She let it overcome her, let herself be lost within it, and it felt good. She loved the pain. She loved seeing the blood trickle slowly, slowly, down her arm and into the water, where it would refract, explode, become a murky cloud of red among the clear, clean water. She loved to use Q-tips to take the blood off, loved to put hydrogen peroxide into the cuts, a better version of 'salt in a wound.' She loved to make the cuts sting and bleed more profusely. She loved to cut her legs, her arms, anywhere that she could hide it, a few places that she couldn't.
Her friends had noticed, of course. They had seen her every day, seen the bandages and blood. Yet they had never told her to stop, never commented. Why not? Because they didn't care. She told herself that many times. They didn't care, they didn't care, he didn't care . . . .
For at the heart of the matter, at the heart of every matter, is a boy. Oh how she had loved him and how she hated him now. She wasn't good enough for him. It wasn't good enough that she had told him everything, had opened her heart to him. In the end, it hadn't mattered. Because she was prettier, she was more willing to have a good time. And in the end, he had left.
And though she told herself it didn't matter, that it was just a crush and that she would get over it, it wasn't true. It did matter, it wasn't just a crush, and she would never, ever get over it. Ever.
As he had screamed at her to leave him alone, to get out of his life, she had gone, and now she left the pain more harshly than before. She deserved this pain, she was the one who messed it all up. It was all her fault, the blame could always, no matter how deep, be placed on her. And she took it, every day, as he told her he loved her and then went to meet another girl. Oh, how blind she had been! How could she not have realised that a boy like him could never have been satisfied with a girl like her for long? While she wanted stability, he longed for the unexpected. While she wanted a schedule, he wanted to go out on a whim, whenever he pleased. They were destined to be apart.
So she gave herself the pain, hoping that finally, finally she may be able to leave, finally she would stop messing up his life and everyone else's life. Finally. But still, she could not bear to take her own life. She loved the pain, yes, had loved it for many years now, but she could not bring herself to make the deep cut, along her vein, that would end this misery that she used to call a life. She couldn't do it.
She tried, oh yes, how she tried. Day after day, week after week, hoping she would lose enough blood, that she could make her hand slip, that she could just die. But, in a fit of self-preservation built into the human mind, she could not. She had asked her best friend to do it, asked her worst enemy to do it. Both said no. Her friend, because she could not bear to life without her. Her enemy, because he wanted to see her suffer. So in the end, even the pain meant nothing.
But she loved it, and she nurtured it and cared for it, and made it grow. She took as much care of the pain as she had the hatred, when he had first let her go. When he had told her that she wasn't good enough, and had walked away, not looking back to see her tear-stained face. Not looking back to see her cut again. It was true though: she wasn't good enough. She didn't deserve to live.
And yet, she lacked the emotional strength to pull the razor across the carefully sculpted line of her vein.
But why not? Why not? When she had nothing to live for, why not? She pulled it across before she could physically stop herself. Oh, and the pain was good. And the blood was beautiful as if poured from her, as she dragged the razor along again.
It was turning out to be a good day after all.
- - - -
He shouldn't have left her. That was all he could think about, all he had ever thought about since he had walked out of that door, leaving her there. As he remembered, he thought of her. It was no use. He would have to try and apologise. Again.
As he made his way to her house, unexplainable terror gripped him. He went quickly to his best friend's house, told him and his girlfriend to come along.
He wasn't alone when he saw her.
And as he ran to her, screaming her name, he was lost. She had done this to herself. And it had been his fault.
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She didn't hear him as he screamed her name, didn't feel him shake her, didn't feel his teardrops fall on her as he held her in his arms. She felt nothing, she was nothing, and the pain was over, finally, finally, it was over.
She had finally gotten away.
- - - -
Her funeral was subdued, as he stood over her grave the tears fell. How could he have let her go? How could they have failed to notice what she had been doing to herself? What he had caused her to do.
As her coffin was lowered into the grave he reached into his pocket. It was there, it's smooth surface beckoning him to use it, use it and see her again. He pulled it out and put it to his head.
"Freddy, no!" Katie, the poor girl, staring at him, held back by Zack, who was mouthing Freddy, no.
"You see this coffin?" he yelled into the stunned silence. "You know the girl in it? I killed her. I left her and caused her to do this to herself. I loved her, but I was too blind, too blind to see it. And now she's gone. Because of me. I need to make it up to her."
And he pulled the trigger.
- - - -
They were together.
Even as they left their two best friends, Zack and Katie, sobbing hysterically, to be sent to counselling and shrinks, and eventually to kill themselves as well, they were together.
That's all she had intended with her suicide.
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A/N - Oh how I wish I could do that to myself . . . . Sad eh? Oh well . . . . .
Lots of love,
Maddy