Disclaimer: See previous chapters, blah blah blah…
A/N: Omikoshbigosh! Cool new website layout (sorta…). Hey, it added a little excitement to my life (sad I know).
Well, just in case the last chapter wasn't depressing enough, here's something a little more intense. Enjoy.
This chapter is dedicated to SweetNevermore, a great friend who has never failed to review any of my stories. Thank you for all the support! It really means a lot to me.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Poison
It was a slow-working poison.
The white sheets turned dark with sweat around her twisted form. She writhed and spasmed while the pale flesh of her thighs bulged around the brown leather straps. There was a sharp crack and a single chocolate eye looked down on a finger that hung at an unnatural angle.
He shivered. The others twisted madly around one another, knuckles white as bone and palms decorated with bloody crescents and gorges. It was silent except for the sharp hiccups and the rapid irregular beat of the machine by the bed.
His hand trembled by her arm.
He looked at the veins threaded through that delicate arm. He watched the muscle beneath them clench and twitch.
There was a faint mewling cry and suddenly he realized his hand was shaking too hard to be of any use. Tears flowed from the corners of her unfocused eyes and were lost somewhere in the dark hairline. A few puddled comfortably in the curves of her ears and the crook of her neck. Her mouth hung open in a desperate search for air, and at times the lips moved as if to speak. But there were no words. Just small hiccups and gasps that tore at his heart.
"Damnit Victor. Do it already."
Slow paralysis, nausea, painful muscle spasms, swelling of the brain, loss of bowel and bladder control…
The tip of the needle caught the light, and he stared down at the object in his hand, his eyes lost in the nothingness that was the sharp point of that needle. All the while, the machine next to him cried out in frenzied beeps. He started to wonder if that was his own heart.
Maybe he was the one dying…
Her chest trembled violently with quick pants that stretched the leather bands tight over her soft shape. He looked at the face again, and was struck with the fascination of her bloodless lips and knotted forehead. Her wide eyes were focused on something he couldn't see...
God maybe. Something holier than the wretched figure sitting uselessly by her side.
It was like she knew he couldn't do it. Something in her tormented face told him she knew that the end of her suffering wouldn't come from him. He knew it and hated it as the needle scraped uselessly against the crook of her elbow.
Numbly he stared at her veins and imagined what would happen. The needle would slide easily into her clammy skin, practically painlessly, and it would enter the vein. Then he would press down the syringe in one smooth motion, ejecting the liquid into her blood where it would be swept away into her body. It would float along with the push and pull of her pulse and within seconds it would be sucked into her frantic heart. Then…
CRACK
The deadly tube slipped from his hand and hit the floor. A long cold noise pierced the air. He wiped away the wet spots on his cheek knowing full well they weren't tears and looked up at his friend.
He remembered last night with flawless clarity. Watching the two of them talking on one of the video monitors he had for security reasons. She had been lying on the white bed, pale and serious while he looked on with a face of worry and motherly protection. And then she slipped him something with pleading eyes.
"If we don't find the antidote…"
"Don't talk like that."
"Please Garfield."
"I won't do it."
"Gar..."
"I won't do it. Don't ask me to do it."
He had left screaming those words.
The finger was still clenched tightly on the metal loop. The face behind it was impassive as ever. Nobody shouted or cried or even gasped. It was only that continuous monotone. The leather straps no longer creaked and strained against bruising flesh, and those eyes had found whatever they had been searching for.
Under his chair lay the syringe. Unused and worthless. He stared at the man standing over the limp figure and was silently thankful.
The man moved, as if suddenly remembering something. He raised his arm, pressed the cold barrel against his smooth green temple, and tightened his finger slowly on the trigger all in one smooth movement.
No hesitation in his face, or in that finger. It curled against the metal beautifully.
Click.
He didn't blink or flinch. He just stood there; his emerald eyes glazed over with a different type of death.
Click.
It became a toy in his hand.
Click.
A pointless sound blending with the one-note melody of the monitor.
Click.
The gun clattered on the floor and Gar gave a hollow laugh.
"Damnit Rae," he cursed tonelessly, "You knew us too well."
----------------------------------------------------------------
A/N- I am not suicidal. I am not depressed. Suicide is bad. I am not supporting it in any way. And now that I've covered that, I'd just like to say I have no idea where this came from. The idea just popped into my head and I really felt like writing about it, but I think that it could have been done better. I'm just such a lazy git and didn't feel like doing much revising…
I'm sure you understand what Beast Boy means by that last statement. There is a story behind the whole thing that I thought up, but decided that going through the explanation of what was going on would ruin it. And I figured you guys have an imagination, so feel free to use it. As always, if you have questions feel free to ask.
And you opinion on anything (grammar included…wince…) is appreciated.
Tata!
-BN
