Simon wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. He wanted the looks of pity from Penny and Baz to stop. He wanted his magic back.
He wanted the image of the Mage lying on the ground, dead; to stop appearing every time he closed his eyes. He wanted his tail and wings gone, without any marks surgically removing them would bring. Baz knew that he was still horrified at what had happened, but he assumed that he was talking it out with his therapist; little did he know that he had stopped talking to that infernal woman months ago.
Penny was visiting America and wouldn't be back for another five days. Baz had talked about staying with him, but Simon had said that there was no need. That he didn't need Baz there, he was fine on his own.
Sometimes he really hated that he had gotten so good at lying.
It didn't really matter that Baz didn't live with him anyway; he was there constantly, on the couch watching crappy television. It was like Simon couldn't get rid of Baz. For a bit, with both Baz and Penny there for him, it was enough to keep the depression from soaking in too deep. But nothing last forever.
But the nightmares were still there. He knew that they all had them. But Baz didn't waking up screaming and crying and asking why. It still stung that the gates didn't open for him when he was visiting for the Leavers ball.
But why would they? He didn't matter anymore. He had failed to do what he was born to do, destroy the magical world.
He was curled up on the floor of the bathroom in fetal position; he had been trying to take a shower before the attack hit.
That's what he called them, attacks. Nobody else knew about these attacks, he was already a burden. Of course Baz would try to fix it all. He would tell him that it was all okay and that he loved him. But it would be better if he died. Baz just didn't see that yet.
He felt something hot and wet fall on his arm. He was crying. Then he stopped. It truly will be better if he died, wouldn't it? So he grabbed two pieces of paper and a pen and started writing. One for Baz, one for Penny.
He sealed the letters and wrote their names on them all nice and pretty and left them on the counter, hoping that Baz would find his before he found Simon.
Baz…
He still loved Baz, which was why he needed to leave. Baz could do so much better than a magician who never really was a magician, and couldn't even appreciate the love he was given properly. He wasn't the Chosen One.
He contemplated how he would go. Not jumping because that drew too much attention. He hated swallowing pills and he didn't have any rope. So it was planned. It was perfect timing too. Baz would be returning from a meeting with his family at Oxford tonight and wouldn't be here till late, and maybe not even till tomorrow.
Simon smiled, after tonight he would be free of pain, and his friends would no longer be burdened by him. He walked back into the bathroom. He took his time looking for the razors, remembering everything. He dug back into his mind, his earliest memory popping up in his mind.
He was a toddler, he guessed, no more than two or three, and was fighting for food. He had just recently moved from one home. At his previous home, everybody under the age of five got served first. At this one it seemed that was not the case. He was trying to slip between some of the older kids, but was failing miserably.
Simon almost laughed. His first memory was depressing; maybe the past predicts the future after all.
Then he remembered the first time he learned about magic. Being so scared. Then learning quickly that it was better not to think. Look where thinking had gotten him.
He remembered meeting Baz for the first time. How had he dealt with the pain of the spell?
It was ironic really, he thought as he grabbed the razors, that the very person that had snapped Baz out of his suicidal funk was about to commit suicide.
He slowly brought the blade to his wrist. He pressed the blade into his wrist; blood immediately sprang from the cut. He realized he was crying again. He pressed the blade even harder into his wrist, before moving to the other.
He must have been doing something right because his vision was starting to falter. Go figure, the one thing that he was doing right in his life was dying.
He hadn't realized how much the cuts would hurt. They stung, and it felt good. He would've tried just cutting if he thought that Baz wouldn't have found out straight away. Stupid vampire senses.
Baz would miss him and so would Penny, but they would realize that life was better without him. He fell of his butt, dizzy. He leaned his head on the cool glass of the shower. It reminded him of being in Baz's arms. Suddenly he wanted one last kiss from Baz, one more time that Penny threw a pillow at them for flirting so much. One more hug, one more "Snow" or "Simon" to come out of Baz's mouth. He wan-