Notes: Fuck it, I'm just starting a collection of my angst fics involving Jayden and Ethan because that seems to be all I write anymore like holy shit. (I'm sorry, this game just makes writing angst way too easy.) So, yeah. uh. Suicide trigger warning
He's angry at himself.
Angry is an understatement
He hates himself - loathes himself. He'd off himself right fucking now if it wasn't for them.
He'd already called Madison. She'd been panicked, but he assured her he was fine. He was leaving, he said. He couldn't stay here anymore and he had to leave. He told her not to try to contact him anymore and that he'd miss her. Not a minute after he hung up did he start crying. He tried to hold back the sobs, really, he did. But he couldn't. He couldn't stop the tears from falling.
God, would he miss her face and her voice and just - he'd miss Madison.
Then, there was the matter of calling Jayden.
"Ethan, what's wrong?" He didn't even have to say anything, just the fact that the man was calling him through his cell tipped Jayden off enough.
He couldn't hide it, he didn't even try to hide the sob that ripped through his throat.
"I can't - I can't do it anymore, Norman."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean-" he took in a deep breath, every one hurting him more and more "- I mean Shaun's dead. I couldn't save him. I don't-" he rubbed the tears away with the back of his sleeve; it didn't change anything as they continued to pour from his eyes. "I don't deserve to-"
"Don't do this, Ethan."
"I have to. I let Shaun die. I might as well have killed him."
"But you didn't. It wasn't you, Ethan." He sounded frantic, terrified even.
"I don't deserve to live." He didn't. What kind of sick, cruel bastard like him deserves to? Shaun - he practically killed him. As far as he was concerned, he did. He was below worthless.
He deserved to die.
He picked up the pistol, weighing it in his hand. His left hand, holding the phone, shook slightly. His right, gripping the gun, was stock still.
Click.
"Ethan, don't."
"I have to."
And now, Ethan could hear the footsteps. Thuds on the pavement that seemed distant through the phone. Jayden was running, but what was the point?
"No you don't." Ethan opened his mouth to argue, but Norman continued. "Why did you call me? So you could make me listen, helpless as you shoot yourself in your fucking motel room? Just put the fucking gun down, Ethan. Please."
Ethan's hand shakes, if only for a moment. No. He can't.
"I called to say thank you. To say goodbye."
"Thank you? For what?"
"For trying - for looking for Shaun. For believing I was innocent."
"You are innocent. Ethan, don't do this, Shaun wouldn't want you to have-"
Fuck, that struck a fucking chord. Ethan was still shaking.
"Ethan, we've been through too much already. You've been through Hell and back and-"
"And I'm still there. I'm going to stay there." He could hear the pounding of footsteps through the line. Jayden was still running, of course he'd sounded out of breath a moment ago, but Ethan still had no idea how close Jayden was. It didn't matter.
And then there was the pounding on the door. Jayden would've kicked it in, had he the strength. He didn't, and all he could do was yell Ethan's name, as his fist slammed into the door, once, twice, three, four times, he'd lost count.
"I'm sorry, Jayden," Ethan said, as Jayden continued to pound on the door.
Jayden practically screamed, "Ethan!" As the gunshot pierced the silence.
"Fuck," he cried, pounding the door again.
As Ethan's lifeless body slowly slid to the floor, so that his right arm was trapped between his body and the tiles, Jayden slid down the door, back pressed to the wood, hands covering his face.
He couldn't do it.
He couldn't make it on time.
original prompt: Imagine person B of your OTP rushing to Person A's house to stop them from committing suicide. But when person B gets there, it's too late.