Cancer - Chapter 6 - No More Tears

It had been atleast a month since Matthew's funeral. Life moved on for his family. Arthur had moved back in with Francis, feeling like he needed the extra emotional support, and Alfred developed a hobby to help keep his mind of his brother; photography.

It was a day like any other. It was autumn, and the trees were turning from green to all differents shades of reds, oranges, yellows, and browns. The grass was beginning to yellow and the cool, crisp autumn air pushed leaves along the ground. Alfred loved the sound of crunching leaves under his feet; Autumn was his favourite season.

He was returning home from his walk, which was now part of his daily routine. He loved the fall scenery, and had decided to take a few pictures before the colorful screne would be blanketed in white. He arrived at his home, and noticed that the flag was up on his mailbox. He opened the flap and reached in to find a small white envlope in the back of the tin box. It had no return address.

Alfred raised in eyebrow in confusion, but shrugged it off. He stepped into the house, his eyes still on his mail. He slipped off his sneakers and put his camera on the coffee table. He ran his fingers along the back of the envlope, trying to decide whether or not to open it. Curiosity got the best of his, and slip his fingers underneath the folds, and torn the envlope open, taking out the lined piece of paper on the inside.

He unfolded the paper to find the most beautiful handwriting he had ever seen. He only knew one person who could write this well, and it made tears well up in his eyes. he knew he would regret it, but he began reading the letter.

Dear Alfred,

I've written this letter a thousand times, but I just couldn't find the write words to say. I know that it would probably be easier just telling you in person, but I know how busy you are, and I didn't want to bother you. I'm not sure how to word this exactly, so I'll just say it. Alfred, six months ago, I was diagnosed with brain cancer and it was proclaimed terminal. I wish I had told you sooner, but deep down inside, I know that this is the best way to tell you. I wish we could of spent a little bit more time together before I... well, you know.

I love you so much, brother. I'll miss you.

Love,

Your dear brother, Matthew~

Wet tears dropped on to the lined paper, making the ink run. The tears ran down his face in steams, and he couldn't stop them from falling. How... how could he have been so selfish? How could he let himself get so busy that he neglected his own brother? He dropped his head into his hands, and sobbed. Alfred didn't want to admit it, but ever since he learned of Matthew's death, he had become an emotional train-wreak. He could barely tak the sadness. He missed his brother so much, and it was impossible to bring him back.

That last thought became too much for Alfred to bare. He couldn't take this anymore. He could no longer take the sadness, the pain, the empty feeling inside him. He wanted to end it all. He wanted to end his life.

He stormed into the kitchen, pulling open a drawer, and pulled out a knife. He let the cool blade slice his skin, letting it burrow deep. He did the same for his other wrist, and let the blood run free from his body. He slid to the floor, and closed his eyes, letting darkness take his vision, and letting death take his soul.

Beep... Beep...

What... what's that beeping noise? Where am I? Am I dead? What's going on?

Alfred jerked himself up, taking in gasps of air. He had no idea where he was or what was going on, and he was starting to panic. But soon calmed down when he saw Francis and Arthur next to his bed.

"Alfred, calm down. It's okay." Arthur's voice was so calm and assuring. It was strange, but not unwelcomed.

"Wh-what happened?" Alfred asked. The last thing he remember was cutting his wrists, and letting himself die on his kitchen floor.

"You... you tried to... commit suicide." It took all of his strenght not to cry, but Arthur managed to hold back his tears for now. "We came over to see how you were doing. We saw the door was unlocked and we sort of let ourselves in."

"We called out for you, but you never answered. Arthur went to go look in the kitchen and I looked upstairs. That's when I heard him scream, and I ran downstairs to see you on the floor, half dead in your own pool of blood." Small droplets began to form in the corner of Francis' eyes.

"We immeditially called 911 and the ambulence came and brought you here. Oh god, ha we not dropped by, you- you-" It was just too much. Arthur already lost one of his children, and the thought of losing another one was too much, and he broke down crying right next to Alfred's bed. Francis came around from the other side to comfort his wife, letting his own tears fall silently as the Englishmen dampened his shirt.

Seeing his mother cry was one thing, but making his mother cry was another. Alfred knew it was no use trying to hold back the waterworks and let the tears fall from his eyes down his cheek and along his jawline, letting them fall onto his hospital gown. Francis had noticed the American crying, and poked Arthur on the shoulder sofly. Said Englishmen brought his head up from Francis' chest to look back at his son, who was crying his eyes out. He looked rather pathetic, but then again, so did they.

They had already lost one son, and damnnit, they were not about to lose another.

With the help of anti-depressants and therapy, Alfred's mental health was improving tremendously. He had moved with with Arthur and Francis; the two were afraid he'd try and kill himself again if he stayed by himself. They had spent many nights holding Alfred as he cried. They took him and even went with him to his therapy sessions, and helped him cope with his depression. Alfred, at first, was uncomfortable with all the attention he was recieving from them, fearing he was too much of a bother to them, but Arthur and Francis quickly put that thought to rest.

A few weeks after he was released from the hospital, Alfred had had another breakdown, and tried to once again commit suicide. But, thankfully, Francis was there with him and stopped Alfred from swallowing the entire bottle of pills. Arthur and Francis hated the thought of Alfred being at home by himself, so one of them would always be home with him.

Francis knocked the pills out of the American's hand, making them drop in the floor, scattering everywhere. Alfred only stood there, but then slid to his knees with his head in his hands. The Frenchmen kneeled down and wrapped his arms around his son as he sobbed and cried into his shirt.

"I-'m so sorry..." Alfred choked out over and over again.

Francis kissed the top of his head, and ran his fingers through the American's soft hair. "Shh... it's okay. No more tears. No more tears."

And I just hope you know
That if you say
Goodbye today
I'd ask you to be true...

Inspired by "Cancer" by My Chemical Romance

I hate writing about cutting. Personally, I don't see how cutting can help people with pain when it causes more pain, but you know that's just me. This chapter was a little easier to write. I have depression and I take pills and go to therapy. I've never had a suicide attempt, though.

Damn, I'm updating the story like it's nobody's business. BD

Review? Kthanx bai. /shot