Tears slipped down his cheeks, he couldn't remember a time when this wasn't everything, pain so constant like his stomach was full of rats. The pain never ceasing, always there, free to roam around his head, his heart, his entire body.
Lisa was gone, his Lisa, the one true love of his life.
His tears had become so constant, never letting up not even for an instant. His body refusing to go into shut down, refusing to let him sleep, to do anything other than to grieve over the death of his beloved. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her, her smiling face, the face he was never going to see again. The unbearable pain breaking his heart each time.
How was he supposed to work, even look in the eye, the people responsible for murdering the love of his life. The amount of times he had tried to end it, the fucked up mess he was forced to live through. He couldn't do it, he just didn't have the strength to put that gun to his head and pull the trigger. He couldn't bear to know what they would think of him if he did do it.
Why was it always him, always the person the shit had to happen to. He screamed and in time his screams turned into laboured sobs. His hands clutching at his chest, a vain attempt to keep his breaking heart in one piece.
How could they ever under stand the pain they had caused him?
How could Jack under stand how much Lisa had meant to him, how much he'd loved her?
When had Jack ever even loved anyone?
His hands ran through his hair tugging hard, a meaningless attempt to ease the pain that invaded him, burning through his head. The scars on the back of his wrists were starting to heal now. Criss-cross cuts littering his wrists, his pale skin dyed red. Tales of his pain etched out on his skin, always there to remind him now much pain he held deep inside him, the pain he was only now releasing.
His tears still ran down his cheeks, an endless flow from his eyes to his chin before falling silently to the floor. The hatred for himself was so constant now, always there making him sick to his stomach.
His hand groped across the kitchen table, picking up the knife that lay there. His grip tightened on the blade cutting into his skin drawing more blood to add to that he had already shed. Fresh wounds and old ones opened, his blood flowing out onto the stark white carpet. The amber liquid staining his skin red once again. He screamed again digging the knife into his cheek, the blood dripping down his neck onto his already blood stained shirt. He threw the knife down his sobs becoming louder and harder.
Why was it him?
The one who always had to hurt this way. He always had to take the shit no one else wanted to. He couldn't care now, whether it was the pain clouding all rational thought or maybe he finally had the strength to do it but he knew he had to end it. He didn't know how or when but he would.
He picked the knife up again digging it into his lower arm carving Lisa's name into his skin, his last tribute to her. The tears still flowed down his cheeks as morning broke through his flat. The sunlight shining against him, his blood matted hair, the scars and cuts littering his face and arms, his now amber coloured shirt and his pain ridden deep set stormy blue eyes lashed with tears. They wouldn't miss him, they wouldn't notice he was gone, he knew they wouldn't care, why would they? The curtains were drawn shielding him from the outside world. Saving himself from the niggling pain of the worlds eyes.
He toyed with the knife again, the blade slicing through pale flesh awash with colour. Dark red running over inches of skin, seeping into the fabric of his shirt, the white material slowly turning red. Deep cuts were starting to become more prominent on his skin. More reminders to those who would find him what he had done to himself. Minutes passed and the knife stayed firm in his hand, digging in deeper and deeper.
The pain was almost unbearable, he refuses to cry out, to let himself feel the pain. Lisa had been through so much worse, the pain of being converted, half converted. The unimaginable pain he had put her through, just to try and get her back for himself he had never, not once ever asked Lisa what she had wanted.
It came to a point when he couldn't stop himself, he screamed and threw the knife away from him, his blood pooling on the table. Thick amber liquid seeping into the wood of the kitchen table. He screamed again cradling his hand to his chest, the pain insufferable. Tears roll down his cheeks mingling with his blood.
How could it be any worse than this?
It was then that his vision started to fade. The room becoming dimmer and dimmer, noises louder than they ever had been before. The overwhelming smell of the iron in his blood. The tears continued to fall, even when his strength deteriorated and his body started to slump forwards. His hand fell to his side blood pooling just below, the carpet hadn't the capability to hold any more.
He sobbed one last time, his lips forming his one last word, 'Lisa' , and then the darkness consumed him and Ianto Jones finally had his wish. His breathing stopped and the pain ceased. The last thing that had passed Ianto's mind as he died was Lisa, the woman he had lived for, the woman he had dedicated his life to, the one person he could always count on. He died the love still ever so present in his heart, the pain dimmed and hardly there, all sadness abolished from his head and heart.
It took 3 hours for Ianto Jones to be found. Jack Harkness was the first to see Ianto Jones in his flat, body slumped forwards, room awash with blood. For the first time Jack Harkness cried over the death of one of his colleagues. His fingers running through Ianto's blood matted hair. The hardest part was telling the rest of the team and his family that their well loved colleague, their son, their brother, their friend had committed suicide. Life had thrown a lot at Jack Harkness and this had reminded him how shit things could be.
On the 3rd of December 2006 Ianto Jones took his own life to forever be with the love of his life.