My fingers are numb, and my heart speeds; it's skipping closer and closer to what I fear will be the final beat of my life.
I never knew it hurt so much to die.
I don't even want to die now. Because, like a dead weight, it hits me: If I died, I can't see his face when he finally realizes that it's always been his damn fault!
I can't remember when it started to become different. I don't think that it was sudden; it was a very gradual change. I think that his personality started to slowly shift to a darker and deeper side of him that I could never even think of fathoming. He got used to me there, and he slid back into the patterns set into him by his personality. He stopped humoring me, and began to take my presence for granted.
That's when we started fighting. Oh, god it was horrible. We'd scream and I'd end up crying. I'd cry until I'd gag and my breath no longer came; I'd hyperventilate then and come so close to passing out that it scared me.
We were fighting every day, over stupid things. I'd say something just a bit out of line and he'd blow a fuse—then, later, I'd still be hurt and mad and I'd blow right back up.
But I was hurting! My chest tightened constantly, my throat constricted in place. I became so used to the black at the corner of my eyes that I forgot to notice the black that was creeping up in my heart.
He told me that he wanted to stop this, because he was becoming ill. He never noticed the bags under my eyes, how much paler I looked, or how I was constantly hunched because it hurt to hold my head high.
I was sick as well, the whole time. My heart… if it was not aching so much from the constant adrenaline and endorphins speeding through it, it was working overtime. Every time I saw the blonde hair, my chest would tighten, my stomach would lurch and become nauseous, and my heart would literally stop. I'd come so close to fainting.
This was making it worse. The ache in my body became sharper and more brutal as the illness spread to my mind. I began to think horrible things, my body would lag and I'd find myself sleeping when I shouldn't, and awake and crying when I should have been asleep.
Then my personality began to change. At this point, I knew that I had crossed the threshold of depression. My anger was uncontrollable, and I became obsessed with making him see my point of view.
It was at this point that I began IT.
I was messed up. I knew it; IT would help. I felt better as I watched my blood flow down my arm. It was only after I did IT that I would feel bad and the wounds I made began to hurt.
But I'd never tell. I'd fix this on my own. I didn't have any problems, it was a phase, and it'd pass soon enough….
I was wrong. He gave up on me. He told me that it was worthless to try and talk with me— said I had no reason anymore.
Me? I think I have plenty of reason. I'm not the one breaking promises left and right. I'm not the one who doesn't know how to apologize!!
I decided it'd be best if he just didn't have to see me anymore. It's not like he cared anyway…
I raise the knife to my arm and slowly trace down my artery, watching as the crimson liquid pours out under the point.
Lovely.
A sharp knock resounded against the wooden door.
Languidly, Shuichi stirred from his fetal position, heavily-lidded eyes looking bemusedly at the door. He didn't have the energy to even speak, so he laid his head back down onto the cool tile and watched his blood swirl down the drain he was laying next to.
"Hey! Open the damn door!"
Shuichi's breath left his dry-parted lips in a soft huff. Always with the curses, Yuki was.
He heard a snap and the door creaked open. He lifted his head slightly, and surveyed Yuki curiously. "Hi…" he rasped, his voice coming out breathy, as all his oxygen was going else-where at the moment.
Shuichi watched contentedly as Yuki's eyes widened.
"What the fuck have you done?!"
Shuichi laughed. It was soft at first, and then it became hysterical, tears pouring down the ashen cheeks. He began to shake, curling upon his injured arm, moaning softly in pain.
Yuki dropped to his knees, scooping the singer into his arms. "Why?" he hissed.
"To make you happy. So we'd stop fighting; I can't live without you," the pink-haired boy whimpered. "And you don't want me."
"You always misunderstand, dammit!"
Tears were pouring from Yuki's golden eyes, and Shuichi's heart broke even more than it was already breaking.
"What do you mean?"
Yuki swallowed heavily, thinking about calling 911, but he knew it'd cause more pain. Shuichi was going to die, and he could tell by the amount of blood pooled on the tiled floor.
"I was going to apologize to you today, you idiot! I made a dinner and…"
"Now you tell me," Shuichi moaned, his eyes dulling quickly. Tears began to flow heavily, and as the small teen cried his body convulsed heavily. He choked, his eyes sliding shut slowly.
"I love you, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry; I love you so much…" Yuki repeated it over and over, holding Shuichi close.
He was even still repeating it as they buried the boy's body.
A/N: Just something I felt like writing. I may do a Yuki POV, but only if it's asked for. I can't really identify with Yuki on things like this, because I'm always in Shuichi's position. :sighs: This wasn't hard to write, but it was hard to go back and edit, and I eventually gave up, because I started to cry when I realized that I was using my own words and my own actions. Any mistakes that I made, I am sorry for. I can't really goof off in this note, because suicide's a serious issue... I know this personally, because I almost stepped down that path. Don't do it. There ARE things to live for, even if you're blind to them... Geeeeh, I'm starting to cry again. Don't take the over-emotional writer too seriously...
Anyway, the next chapter of "Ricochet" should be put up within the next week and a half, and the next chapter of "I Wish on a Star" is being formulated as I type. For you guys who read my other stories in different fandoms, "Bloody Kisses" chapter 2 is half-way done, as well as the next chapter of "Desperation in Tune". Thank you.