Peter lifted the lit cigarette to his lips, inhaling the smoke. "those can kill you." People would say to him. "That's why I do it." He would think. [they would never know that, though].
He smiled, looking out at the town below him. Hemlock Grove looked so... normal from up there. It was funny that way. Normal till it's too late to turn back.
Peter liked it there. It was full of so many freaks, he fit right in. The people weren't exactly kind, but they all had secrets, too. They all knew what it was like. He liked that idea.
He rubbed the cigarette against the metal railing, putting it out, and then tossing it over the edge, watching it fall until you couldn't even see it anymore. Till it was gone.
That's what he really wanted, to just fall until he was out of sight. Till he was a nothing, invisible, at peace. Fall until he was gone, too.
Peter never used to think like that. It used to be, if Peter Rumancek was in danger, then he would fight. He would do anything to stay alive. [they all knew that]. But he'd been craving death for so long, itching for it like it was a cigarette, and he had a lighter in his hand.
It'll be quick. It'll be easy. You can do it. one part of him thought, ushering him to the edge. It'll hurt. You'll regret it. Another whispered. He didn't mind the idea of hurting, though.
He climbed over the metal railing, placing his feet back on the metal. There was maybe a yard left to walk on before it was over. Just a few steps.
Think of Roman.
That made Peter stop. He would hurt. Roman would suffer. Peter would never want to make Roman suffer.
But yes, he did.
That was another side of him, one still feeling broken because he knew Roman would never really care about him. Although, to be fair, Roman would never care about anyone. It was in his blood.
That side wanted Roman to feel it. Wanted Roman to find him on the concrete, drop to his knees, and crumble. "Peter?" he would ask quietly, looking at him. "Peter." He would say again, shaking his limp shoulders tightly. "Peter? No! Peter. Please, please Peter. Get up!" he would beg, SCREAM, trying to get him to move. Peter, of course, wouldn't. Corpses rarely did, after all.
That side of him scared Peter sometimes, but right then, he liked it. He grabbed his phone out of his jacket and dialed a number he knew all too well.
"This is Roman." The familiar voice said. Peter's debated hanging up. He didn't want to, but he did.
"Hello? Who is this?" he asked. Peter smiled. Of course Roman wouldn't know the number, it was a new phone. Wouldn't do much good, though. The screen would probably crack during the fall.
"The factory. Meet me outside, on the concrete. in front of the tower. We need to talk." Peter said, pressing the End Call button, then placing it gently on the flat railing. Might as well keep it safe, someone might need it.
Peter sat down on the grating, lighting another cigarette as he waited for Roman to show. Why, he wasn't sure.
Yes he was. He wanted Roman to hurt as much as he had hurt Peter.
It was stupid, Peter knew that. Killing himself over a schoolgirl crush? No way. But it wasn't just that. Peter had always been alone, and then, he'd had Roman. Someone he knew, he could laugh with. Someone he grew to love. Then he became someone Peter craved [like a cigarette. Like death]. Peter always wanted to talk to him, to touch him. To kiss him. But that would never happen. Roman would never even know. If he ever found out, he'd think Peter was disgusting. [even more than he already did.]
Peter heard a ringing from the cell phone, then looked over and grabbed it.
"Hello?" he asked into it, then taking another drag from the cigarette.
"Peter, where are you?" Roman asked. He sounded scared, panicked.
"I'm at the factory. Just like you." Peter replied, his voice almost dazed. It was so close, he could taste it coming to an end. He would have his closure, his life would end, and then maybe Roman would care. Maybe.
"Wh- oh fuck. Peter, please tell me that isn't you up there." Roman begged. Peter looked down below him, then saw Roman standing there, phone in hand. He looked so small from where Peter was, it was almost funny.
Peter waved.
"Shit, Peter, get down from there!" Roman shouted, not even using the phone. Peter could hear him fine without it, anyway. They were so close. Peter smiled.
"No." He whispered into the phone, standing up.
"Peter, please!" Roman begged over the phone. Peter could hear the desperation in his voice. He liked it. He loved it.
He wanted to tell Roman that it was okay, that he would never really do it. He also wanted to tell him that no, it wouldn't be. That when he jumped off that ledge, he would be thinking about how sweet the oblivion would taste. How he wouldn't have to worry about Roman hurting him anymore.
How he would escape it all.
"I need to say it." Peter said into the phone, finally feeling SOMETHING that day that didn't make him want to scream. He found it in the way Roman begged him to be okay, the way he looked so scared all the way below him. It was pure, terrifying love.
"What the fuck are you talking about, Peter?" Roman asked, the same fear and heartbreak in his voice.
"I love you."
The words hung in the air like the smoke snaking around him. Peter could hear Roman trying to find the words to say. He didn't know what to say back.
"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry." Peter said, then hung up. It rang again, seconds later, but Peter ignored it, tossing the phone of the ledge instead, making sure it wouldn't hit Roman. He didn't want him to hurt that way. Only emotionally. Just like Peter.
He took the last step forward, so his toes were hanging off the edge, and he was practically gone.
"I love you, okay?" Peter screamed. He knew Roman could hear him. "I fucking love you!"
He spread his arms out and leaned forward, feeling the air rush around him as he fell. The cigarette dropped from his hands, falling along with him.
That was it. He felt the pavement beneath him, and it all slipping away. He felt happiness. Then he felt Roman's hand wrap around his own, and a pair of lips kiss his head, along with tears landing on his cheek-someone elses.
"I love you too, Peter."
The feeling hit him like a ton of bricks- the one he knew would come. Regret. He wished he could take it back, that he would be okay, that he and Roman could be happy, but it was too late.
Then it was all gone, and replaced by something much worse.
It was dark, and dangerous, and lonely. Like the cigarette. Like death.