Windy: Welcome into the mind of Windy Wickander!
Emil: ...Your mind is a weird and scary place. Why do you force it on me?
Windy: Because... because it kind of works for you? If you stopped being so much like me then I wouldn't have to write you like this!
Emil: I'm not like you. That was a mean thing to say!
Windy: ...I'm sorry? But can we get on with the story now?
Emil: Sure, whatever floats your boat.
Windy: I'm pretty sure that'd be water...
Summary: It's the crews' last day in Iceland, and while preparing to meet up with the others Emil lets his emotions get the best of him.
Warnings: Self-harm, suicide, character death.
Genre: Oh, I know this one this time! Angst. ALL THE ANGST! I'm so happy! \o/
You're rich, you don't have anything to be sad about.
Emil leaned his back against the wall and pulled a hand through his hair.
You're pretty, you can't be sad.
Blood coloured his hair, trickled down over his face, over his shoulders and mixed with the water.
There's no reason for you to be sad, your parents love you.
Emil watched as the bloodied water disappeared through the drain, looked at the bleeding wound on his arm. If there was no reason for him to be sad, why did he keep feeling like this? He clenched his hand around the blade, sank down on the floor and let the shower hide his tears.
You're always so happy.
I'm rich and pretty, why shouldn't I be happy?
But he wasn't. A fake smile, a superficial attitude and friends that didn't stick around. Family that was never at home. Loneliness. Pain to mask it, to make the hurt go away. And now he had to return to it. He stared at the knife, at the water that ran over the blade.
You don't have anything to be sad about.
It was true. His life was good. His family loved him. Probably. They were just so busy with their own lives. Emil didn't blame them. Of course they had to be, it was their lives after all. He just... If only they had more time for him.
I'm not important. It's alright. I understand that.
The blade glistened in the low light in the bathroom. He should get done soon, otherwise they might start to wonder where he was. Tomorrow they'd be returning home and they had so much planned for their last day in Iceland. Emil tried forcing a smile, but it disappeared again. His grip around the blade tightened.
There's no reason for you to be sad.
There really wasn't. He got to hang out with a lot of cool people, just returned from the adventure of the century. He survived the Silent World. He should be happy. The blade cut his other arm. It was painless. Emil watched as fresh blood covered old scars, watched it mix with the water and flow down over his leg into the drain. He couldn't remember when it started, how it started. It wasn't important any longer. He pulled his bloody hand over his eyes, got blood in his face, but the shower quickly washed it off. He leaned his head against the wall.
I need to get up. Dry off. Put on clothes.
His grip around the knife tightened.
Meet with the others.
The knife cut over his skin again.
Smile. I have to smile.
Tears ran down his cheek and he leaned forward again, let the now cold water wash them away, hide them.
There's no reason for me to cry.
Part of him hoped someone would come, would see that he wasn't happy, hoped that they would tell him it's okay to be sad, it's okay to feel hopeless. Because it was okay. Feelings are natural, pretty, normal. It was okay to have them.
You're not sad, you just crave attention.
Emil hid his face in his hands, felt the knife rub against his hair, his temple. He shouldn't cry. Pretty boys who are loved by their parents and comes from a rich family are not allowed to cry. Their lives are perfect. His life was perfect. He...
Smile for mommy.
He smiled, pushed everything away, but his stomach still hurt, his heart was still in pain. It pushed back and his smile cracked, the knife slashed his cheek. It stung, he clenched his teeth as the blood ran from his cheek, over his neck, over his chest. He wouldn't be able to hide that one for the others, wouldn't be able to explain it. It was their last day and he was already destroying it. How did it go so wrong so early in the day? He couldn't explain it. He just wanted it all to go away. The pain, the sadness he shouldn't feel. He wanted it gone.
I can't be sad. My life is perfect. I can't be sad.
The knife clattered to the floor and Emil rested his head against the wall. The ceiling was blurry through the tears that filled his eyes, he could barely make out the cracks in the colour that covered it.
It's just like me. Cracking. Can't even pretend to be unbroken any longer.
He let out a sigh, his hands fell to the floor. Maybe the others wouldn't care if he didn't show up. Why would they anyway? He hadn't really been a valueable member of the team, had he? He closed his eyes as memories of the jokes Mikkel had pulled on him danced across his mind. The memories of his first encounter with Tuuri and Lalli, with Reynir.
You stupid, ham-fisted Swede.
Stupid... Indeed, smart he wasn't. If he was smart he would stop being sad all the time. He would realize just how good his life was, that he was the most fortunate person in Sweden. He would... His hand gripped the knife again, his fingers slid along the edge of it.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Even Lalli called him stupid. Tuuri had said he didn't mean it like that, but... Lalli wasn't wrong. He really was stupid. Mikkel also thought so. Maybe even Tuuri did. Reynir... He had no idea what Reynir thought about him.
I hit him though... I hit him and he was just panicking and I hit him. I should have...
Emil didn't know what he should have done, but anything else would have been better than what he did.
This is why my friends never stick around. I'm a terrible person. I keep feeling sad and sorry for myself even though I should just be happy because everything is fine, I'm fine life's perfect. I should just...
Emil paused, his breathing got quicker and he leaned forward.
No, no, no. I thought I had gotten away. I thought I was free. Why now? Why...
His grip around the blade hardened, he looked at the blood disappearing through the drain. If only he could disappear as easily. If only. He stared at the blade, at the sharp edge. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to, he wanted to live, he wanted...
Friends. I just want someone I can call a friend.
He drew a shaky breath, his eyes teared up again.
Lalli...
He pulled his knees to his chest, hugged his legs.
I'm sorry...
The knife cut into his leg, but he barely felt it. His calf got bloody, but was quickly rinsed by the water.
I'm sorry I'm such a terrible friend. I tried but... I can't, I just can't. I don't know how to.
His body shook and he hugged himself tighter, before letting go of his legs again. He leaned back once more, let his arms and legs go limp and looked at the cracked ceiling again. He couldn't go on like this, he had to solve it somehow, had to become happy. Like he was supposed to be.
Smile for daddy.
Emil forced a smile, forced a smile, forced a smile. It faltered instantly. He tried again. It disappeared. He tried once more, once more, once... His grip around the knife hardened and it cut into his left arm. Cut into his right arm. He didn't want to die. Blood gushed out the wounds, mixed with the water, disappeared down the drain. His feet started tingling, his heart beat faster and his head was getting lighter. It felt peaceful, relieving. He closed his eyes, let his body drop to the floor. There was a light scratching at the door, he heard Lalli's voice and then he blacked out.
A/N: Those of you observant enough probably notice that the quote from Sigrun is wrong. I'm ashamed to admit that I misremembered it when I wrote the story. Uhm... I mean... I totally remembered how it went, it was just Emil that misremembered it. Yupp...
