Empty By: Reminiscent
Chapter One: We Start with Suicide
Another mess up. What was wrong with him? He wished he was able to kick himself in the balls. He hated himself. He furiously raked a hand through his bleach-blonde hair, fisting at the back of his head. His arms rested on his desk, ruffling the sad attempts at his homework. He barely registered in his brain that his pencil had fallen to the floor. His forehead suddenly connected harshly with his desk.
He wanted to apologize to him now. But how? He wouldn't speak to him. Not anymore, at least. Every plan he'd made up in his head to go talk to him became more and more ridiculous as time passed. Turning his head to look at his calendar, he calculated how long it had been since he'd last acknowledged him. The days and long hours added up to a month. An entire month without him. Could he hang himself now?
His eye caught on a small stub of a picture stuck to the corkboard above his desk that his mother had insisted he put up. The ache in his chest intensified, and the ball in his throat grew. He swore he'd thrown that picture away, he swore he had. Just like that damn Ouija board his dad had ordered to be tossed into the garbage because it was going to 'drag us all down into the fiery pits of hell where no light of salvation will shine upon our sinful faces to guide us back to the Almighty Lord.' Stupidly, his brother had responded smartly after their father's quote.
"So in other words, we'd go up my butt?" Idiot had gotten smacked for that one. A fond memory. Damn digression, he reminded himself, as he continued to stare at the stub. He was in it, of course, with an arm around another boy's waist, holding him tightly against the person's body…a body he had become all too familiar with. One that was toned, yet lean, and skin so fair it made white printing paper green with jealousy, all complimented by hair colored a near blinding shade of red. The other boy in the picture seemed to be looking off into the distance, a look of utter content represented on his face by a goofy grin. His eyes were the color, and he could think of nothing else to describe it right then, of either absinthe or Heinekin bottles. The green ones. Grass wasn't green enough to compare, not even close.
He closed his eyes, but the photo was still there, even behind his eyelids. The memory of that day was there, too. The two of them had been at an ice cream parlor, and he could still taste the sweetness of the cold treat on his tongue. That day had been perfection.
Flash back (ooh, how exciting!)
"Hey, what do you want?" His breath hitched as those green eyes fell onto his face. "I'll get you anything. My treat." A real treat was heading back to his house and locking all the door, closing all the windows, and shutting all the blinds to that they'd have plenty of privacy to…
"Sea salt ice cream." Oh God, did his voice just squeak? "Just that." One red eyebrow was raised at the simple and rather cheap order.
"Are you sure that's all you want?" No. Of course not.
"Yeah."
"All right…" He'd brought his camera, and it clunked on the metal porch table as he set it down. If he were to look through its contents at that moment, he'd find it chock full of photos of him and—
"I've got the order. One sea salt ice cream for you."
"And what's that?" He pointed at the monstrosity sitting on the other side of the table.
"Just a sundae."
"How come I doubt that?"
"Don't doubt the sundae! It is merely camouflaged by chocolate, marshmallows, banana slices, whipped cream, caramel, sprinkles, gummi bears and worms, Reese's Pieces, and two extra scoops of pecans. What's it to you?"
"I want to gag just looking at it."
"It's not my fault I have a more exotic and selective taste than you do…with your sea salt ice cream." He looked down at the blue substance that was starting to melt off the stick and onto his hand.
"If that's so, then what am I doing here with you?" Emerald met sapphire in a heated gaze. Emerald turned away to look at the person sitting behind them.
"Hey, mind taking our picture for us?" Blood rushed to his cheeks, coloring them a pretty pink. He shyly turned his head down.
"Don't—"
"Come here." He was pulled out of his seat and pressed against his companion, who was none too shamed of how they looked together. "Hold on to me, 'kay?"
"'kay." Tentatively, he wrapped his arms around the waist of his best friend, and then the flash went off. He hadn't noticed that a butterfly had caught the other's attention just as the photo had been taken. Pale fingers pushed his chin up as he met absinthe eyes again.
"Don't think that you're anything short of amazing, let alone exotic. I love you." A kiss was pressed to his cheek. "Roxas."
He opened his eyes again, the picture in his line of sight once more. He missed him so much he wanted to die. He'd made the noose twice, and pressed the blade to his wrist countless times. But he had no courage to carry it out. Plus he'd never see him again. Because he'd be dead. Der. The thought was dramatic enough, for an angsting teenager, but the result was forever.
Still, he could see no other way to end the hurting he felt every time he would look at him, and see the lost face over and over. He always looked lost, like he didn't know him. Maybe he'd forgotten about him already. Could eight months be erased in the time span of one? In their case, probably, especially after what he'd done.
He barely registered in his brain the feeling of cold steel against his wrist. This time around, though, he wasn't even thinking.
You can't really be afraid of something you don't think about. Hopefully the dark would be more comforting that it was when he was five, he decided, as black took hold of his vision.
A/N: Oh my God, so fucking eeemooooo...reviews, please, and you win a cookie!