Smite Us For Our Iniquities
"There was purification in punishment. Not 'Forgive us our sins,' but 'Smite us for our iniquities' should be the prayer of a man to a most just God."
– Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
Suicide is never anybody's fault but your own. A last resort solution when the hurt outweighs every coping mechanism. At risk life-takers usually cannot cope with the pain to see past anything else. There's always another way. There will always be resources, support, love if you just ask.
After all, there are over a dozen prevention hotlines whose sole purpose is to talk you off the ledge. There's always another way out.
That was Logan's philosophy all along. A man of reason and logic, Logan Mitchell has always thought of suicide as one of the most selfish acts. But standing before his bathroom mirror, before his hallow reflection staring back at him, he sees no other way. The torment of living, of being simply, himself, has eaten away at everything he's known.
He hates himself. He hates everything he sees. He hates those eyes that have not glimmered in years. He hates those lips that have forgotten how to curve in the other direction. Most of all he hates what's inside.
He hates that he's gay.
It's a self-realization that consumes him. He cannot escape the truth. He cannot deny it.
There's a knock at the door, "Logan? Come on, you'll be late for school."
He examines the razor between his fingers. Another day of contemplation that offers no relief. The razor is hidden back underneath half empty pill bottles in the medicine cabinet. He rubs at his eyes and takes a deep breath, preparing himself for another day of hell.
"Watch it fag." He is shoved against a locker on the way to first period. The crushing blow digs at an already formed bruise. Several football players laugh amid his pain.
He hears a familiar sneer approach.
"Is he crying?" James chuckles "Dude, forget him, let's go."
His tormenters disappear down the hallway.
Logan rushes to the bathroom to control his breathing willing himself not to cry.
He's five minutes late to English when the teacher is droning on about Dorian Gray. He takes his seat in the front row and hears snickers from the same guys in the back.
He loses himself in the text in his hand chapters of ahead of the class when he hears Ms. Collins announce the assignment: a five page of analysis of the novel to be done in pairs. Logan inwardly groans and avoids looking around the room. She lists off assigned pairs and Logan prays by some miracle to be left alone to complete the assignment.
"Logan, you'll be paired with James." He hears instead. He glances back in the corner of his eyes.
James looks none too pleased while his friends are giggling besides him.
Logan is packing up his things at the end of class when James and his friends approach.
"I bet the cocksucker is hard just thinking about spending time with you, James." The guys tease as they leave Logan alone with him.
"Look, I can do the project alone if you want." Logan mumbles, "It's no problem."
"I can't trust you to not tell on me. Come by the tree house after hockey practice today." James is fidgeting where he stands like he's uncomfortable to be alone with Logan.
"It's really okay. I won't tell." Logan offers.
"Fuckin queer," James spits, "Stop arguing with me. Hockey should be over by six. You remember where the tree house is?"
It's been a few years but Logan did spend most of his life in James' tree house. Despite James' current disdain towards him, Logan doesn't think he will ever forget the tree house or the memories there.
"Yeah, I do."
"Sneak in the back, I don't want my parents to think I'm hanging out with you."
"Okay." Logan agrees, although he knows James' parents. They were practically his second parents at one point. He knows they wouldn't mind and the only person who cared was James.
He's climbing up the tree house a quarter after six. James is nowhere in sight. The tree house is everything he remembers. It was a project James and his dad worked on when they were both seven, a massive tree house in the Diamond back yard. When they were friends Logan used to spend every afternoon here. Back when no one knew he was gay, he remembers.
There's a small twin size bed in the corner. Back when they both fit they spent entire summers sleeping out in this tree house. Logan is sure James will kill him if he brings it up. The beanbag chairs are where he remembers them. He remembers two boys with a stack of comics between them losing track of the days.
All that is far in the past. A memory so distant Logan is certain the boy he knew no longer exists.
He leans against the windowsill, careful not to do anything that might upset James before he arrives. At six forty-five he hears James climb up.
James eyes him but says nothing, plopping down on the beanbag chair.
"Are we doing this or what?"
"Yeah, uh," Logan fidgets.
"Sit down, Logan." James demands.
Logan complies. He pulls out a notebook from his backpack.
"So I was thinking, uh, we could, we could probably talk about the themes of um, of aesthetician."
"Okay, I don't even know what that word means."
"It's a devotion to and pursuit of beauty."
"Meaning?"
"Looks matter most." Logan explains, "Above all else."
James glares at him.
"It's uh, well there's a strong sense of aesthetician and duplicity in Dorian Gray. He's basically leading a double life. He wants everyone to see him as this beautiful creature but deep down he's just a criminal. A rotten being."
At that, James looks away. He looks uneasy.
"Maybe we should talk about the obvious instead. Ms. Collins said Oscar Wilde was a homo. Clearly his sexuality had a lot to do with the novel." James reasons.
Logan imagines the further ridicule from his classmates over the irony.
"Um, we probably shouldn't." He pleads.
"Do you think there's a metaphor? Maybe Wilde was expressing how hard it is to be a homosexual in Dorian Gray. He's hiding behind his vanity because it can't be easy right." James asks, something in his eyes that Logan cannot place, "Maybe Wilde was portraying his shame."
"Wilde was quite open about his sexuality, James." Logan countered, "He was imprisoned for it."
James found no reply. Casting a downward glance at the novel in his lap.
"Um, I guess we can also discuss responsibility." Logan offers, "When Sibyl commits suicide, Dorian Gray avoids the blame by viewing it as art. Likewise, with Basil's murder Dorian Gray blames the knife rather than himself. He doesn't really see himself for who he really is. What do you think?"
"But that's because of society's influence right? Isn't that a theme? Ms. Collins mentioned it. Influence turned Dorian Gray into this monster, didn't it? I mean, Wilde depicts influence as immoral, especially within Dorian Gray. He wasn't really true to himself. He couldn't…" James trailed.
Logan no longer knew what they were talking about.
"Um, yeah, I guess. Still doesn't make it right though, does it?" he didn't know what came over him, he just knew he had to be brave, "End of the day it doesn't matter what influenced Dorian Gray. He's still a piece of shit, isn't he?"
"Fuck you, Logan."
Logan kept quiet. He wishes he could take back what he just said.
"You know what, fuck you." James continued, "You think you know everything. You don't know shit."
"I, uh, I think I'll just go," Logan began to pack his things.
"No, sit down." James yells, "Why didn't you tell me damn it?"
"What?" Logan flusters.
"I was your best friend, god damn it. At least I thought I was. And you couldn't even tell me you were gay. I had to find out by finding out like the rest of the school with your tongue down Kendall fucking Knight's throat."
Logan flinches at the name. He remembers the day in the locker room all too clearly. He had been fooling around with the handsome blonde for some time. Need over took them after hockey practice in eight grade when Kendall pinned him to the lockers. James and the rest of the team discovered them. In the end Kendall was sent away and Logan quit the hockey team. James never looked at him the same. No one did.
"Would it have changed anything?" Logan mumbles, "You'd still hate me."
"Yeah, you're fucking right." James yells, "I fucking hate you. God I hate you so much."
And although the years of torment has told Logan as much hearing the words from James himself hurt more than any physical pain ever had.
"I wish I never knew you." James throws his books across the room nearly hitting Logan's head.
Logan runs. He runs away as fast as his feet will take him. He's sobbing, gasping, choking spit. Doubling over in agonized grunts when he reaches his house.
The doors fly open and his mother is quickly approaching him.
"Logan? Honey, Logan, what's the matter?"
He pushes past her and runs to the bathroom, grabs the razor and locks the door behind him.
"Logan? Honey, please, Logan, what happened? Logan, open the door." His mother shouts.
He turns on the faucet and falls to the ground, cutting line after line down his wrist.
He flinches at the pain and closes his eyes, praying that it will all end quickly.
"Logan, please," his mother begs, near hysterics, "Logan, I love you. Just open the door, honey, please."
He knows it is selfish. He knows he is rash. He knows his family still loves him.
But it does not matter how many people love you if you are intent on hating yourself.
The door swings open before his eyes close on their own accord.
A deafening scream is the last thing he hears.
When he wakes he knows he has failed. Worst than anything, he wishes the earth would open up and swallow him whole.
There are bandages on his arm, a blanket over him on the hospital bed.
His mother is beside him with a constant stream of tears down her face. His father is leaning against the wall with a solemn look.
No one says anything and Logan pulls the covers above his head, rolling over to cocoon himself.
There's a sense of irony in trying to end a life and waking up to hate yourself even more.
He hears the doctor come in. His parents are discussing forms of therapy, types of anti-depressants, formulating a game plan to save a life that doesn't want to be saved.
His parents leave sometime before midnight. Logan has still not emerged from underneath his blanket. He drifts asleep. In the middle of the night he is awaken by fingertips trailing his arm.
He opens his eyes to find James sitting on the edge of his bed, bloodshot eyes, gently running his hands down Logan's bandaged wound adding insult to injury.
Logan pulls away, "What are you doing?"
James doesn't reply but Logan hears him choke back a sob.
"Sorry I didn't succeed." Logan croaks.
James is freely sobbing now, head in his hands. Logan holds his breath not knowing what to do. He hates James. Hates James as much as he hates himself. Hates that one person can make him feel this way.
James' lips are on his. Pressing hard like nothing Logan has ever felt. He feels James' tears on his face, his hand around his neck.
James buries his head in the crook of Logan's neck never having stopped sobbing.
"I love you." He confesses, "You're so fucking stupid, Logan."
Logan is shocked still. His throbbing hands lay limply at his sides.
His heart is going crazy. He suspects James might be fooling him but the way in which James is clinging onto him tells him otherwise. Slowly he wraps his arms around the taller boy, beginning to cry himself.
James lies on the bed next to him. They hold each other with no more spoken words. The tears subside and the pounding of their hearts drown out all other sounds.
James leans in to capture his lips and Logan feels like home. He feels like summer sun and rainy afternoons. He feels like comic books and childhood memories. He feels like himself for the first time in years.
With James' head in the crook of his neck, his arms around his waist, his breath on his skin, Logan feels like maybe everything will be all right.
When he wakes, James is gone.
If it were not for his scent still lingering in the hospital pillow Logan would have thought it was all a dream.
And the agony in the pit of his stomach returns.
He's released from the hospital by the afternoon, unresponsive to every question his parents and doctors pose.
He hides out in his room while his parents keep an eyeful watch. He convinces himself he should not expect James to stop by. But hope trumps all reason.
Three days past before his parents approach him together.
"We want to talk to you about school." His dad starts.
"You don't have to go if you don't want to," His mother offers, "Homeschool is an option. We can find somewhere else."
All he can think of is James. He needs to see him.
"No, I am going back." He says. He gets out of bed for the first time in days and prepares himself for school. The razors he has hidden are all gone from the bathroom. He snatches his father's Valium and throws it into his backpack. He sees his reflection and for the first time he doesn't feel so bad. A mantra repeats in his mind, James loves him.
James loves him. If only he can talk to the confusing, stubborn, perfect boy.
When he arrives his mother reaches across the car and pulls him into a tight hug like she's afraid to let him go.
"Love you," she says.
"Love you too." he replies.
He sees James enter the building and chases after him.
Before he makes it to James he is pushed against the lockers.
"Try harder, next time queer." A jock sneers, "Cut downward, not across."
Logan pulls at the helm of his long sleeves.
"I can borrow you my shotgun if you need," another one adds.
Logan can spot James from over their shoulders. James is looking at him expressionless. He sees an unfamiliar girl on James' arms.
He's about to make his way over before he is shoved back.
"Fuck you," he shouts.
"What did you say?"
Logan feels a punch to his stomach. He's hunched over when he feels a blow to his head. He's on the ground and the beating does not stop. He loses count of how many hands are on him before he's coughing blood. He's dizzy with pain.
The pounding stops when he hears teachers dragging away his attackers. A couple teachers help him up. His eyes find James from across the hall. James looks at him quickly before turning his attention away. A crowd has gathered around him but he has never felt more alone.
He shrugs off the arms of those around him and stalks out of the building, ignoring their calls.
There was no sadness. Only clarity.
He walks until he reaches the gates to James' yard. He lets himself in and stalks towards the tree house. Once he reaches the top he throws his backpack on the ground and digs for the bottle.
This is the only option left for Logan.
He kicks off his shoes and shrugs off his shirt. Knowing James will find him gives him a hint of satisfaction. He knows it is selfish but guilt escapes him. He wonders how pathetic it is to end ones life to spite someone else. Logan can't bring himself to care.
He knows James will be okay. Like a modern day Dorian Gray James is consumed by vanity. James will consider himself blameless. He will believe Logan to be a victim of fate and circumstance. This will be nothing but an inconvenience to the pretty boy's afternoon.
Logan hates him just as vehemently as he loves him. James is a part of everything Logan remembers about happiness. James is the closest thing Logan can compare to hell.
Of everything James has ever done - the betrayal of friendship, the years of torment - lying about loving him is the one Logan cannot forgive.
Logan stumbles around the room taking in years of memories. He picks up the picture frame made of Popsicle sticks on their old toy chest.
Two younger boys smile back at him. If James still kept the picture he must have not had anyone up here in years. No one wants to be seen with Logan.
Logan is so tired and broken. He lifts the basketball covers to the old twin size bed in the corner and sits down. He empties the entire bottle into his hands and shoves them into his mouth. It's dry and hard to swallow but he manages. He lies back and pulls the covers over himself.
He pulls the phone from his pocket. He's not even sure if it's the same number but he sends a text to James anyways.
Meet me at the tree house.
Logan has never been this tragic in his entire life.
He wills himself to sleep. He expects to be long dead before James arrives, possibly some time after hockey practice, if he arrives at all.
"Logan, what did you do?" the scream causes him to open his eyes.
James must have left school early, Logan thinks.
Logan's face is contorted with a mix of pleasure and pain.
James bends down beside him, large hands holding him up, lifeless and hopeless, and all he wants to do is cry.
"Logan," He whimpers, "what did you do?"
Logan breathes with as much strength as he can muster, his eyes threatening to close at any minute. "It's pretty obvious."
Logan hurts him more than he'll never know, and more than he'll find out.
"How many did you take?" James asks bluntly, holding the empty bottle between them.
Logan shrugs, because he knows it pisses James off. He'll just take what he can get now.
James doesn't panic this time, doesn't cry and doesn't shout.
James reaches for his phone and he feels Logan's hand on his wrist, "Don't."
"Logan," James breathes.
"Just," Logan manages, "Just hold me, please?"
James sets his phone down and does as he's asked.
James watches Logan's chest. Every small movement felt like James' last breath.
He sets Logan back down and moves to retrieve the handgun beneath his bed. The tree house has been James' refuge for the past few years. A dark place where no one can possibly understand how he feels. Not even Logan - especially not Logan.
He lies down next to Logan, his father's stolen handgun firmly held in his hands. He's contemplated this moment many times. He knows this is it.
Logan is the best thing and the worst thing that's ever happened to him. If Logan ends his life, he'll end James' too.
AN: So instead of working on the two lengthy work in progress or the Harvestfest prompt over on LJ, I decided to listen to the most depressing playlist known to man and write this instead. Considering a companion piece for more back-story from James' perspective, thoughts?