Warning: Mention of depression, violence, self-harm, suicide and death.
Just a friendly reminder that there may be some triggering materials in this chapter.
The atmosphere was in its constant solemnness and the mood surrounding it lacked its mirth. It was as quiet as a repressed mime and the burden hung in the air like dead weight. With each day that passed, Troye felt it gets thicker and heavier, and he had to draw in long breaths just so he could fill his lungs to their capacity, or he feared they would collapse under the mounting heaviness.
Troye let out a sigh as he put away the untouched bowl of chicken broth in the sink. He placed the back of his hand over his closed eyes and the small reprieve threatened to pull him over to the land of sleep. He was exhausted, his body utterly spent and his mind tired from the constant fight to keep the optimism alive.
It has been too long. Too long till the he could smile without any worry again, too long till he could breathe freely again. He was trying hard to keep the fire alight. It was no torch, more like a flimsy fire from a tiny little match stick. But he will make do, he has to make do with what he got, he has to find a way out of this darkness. Oh, it was dark, so dark that sometimes he'd forgotten what light looks like.
And sometimes he wished that he hadn't said 'yes' when Oliver proposed to him six months ago.
Because six months ago, he was happy. Six months ago, he had a great life. He had wonderful friends, he was healthy, his career path was bright and he had a wonderful doting boyfriend who loves him for who he is. Life was treating him good and he was contently happy.
But then Oliver proposed.
He had proposed on the morning of his birthday and he cheekily tried to guilt Troye into saying 'yes' by making a grand gesture of how it would make it the best birthday present he would ever receive. Frankly, silly Oliver needn't do that, for Troye had every intention to say 'yes' even if Oliver had gifted him a dried twig instead of the gorgeous silver band in that black velvet box. Of course he had said 'yes', a million times over 'yes' and Oliver kisses him until he couldn't breathe. Then, he told Troye to wait for him because he had something special planned to commemorate the significance of that night.
And so, Troye waited. Giddily, he waited. Floating on air as Troye felt light as a feather, he waited. Feeling so lucky and blessed to have found love and trust again, he waited. The sun was replaced by the moon and he waited.
But unaware was Troye of the man who he loves being pushed into a dark alley just a few blocks away. Unaware was Troye of the man who is his fiancé being threatened with a hand knife to his throat. Unaware was Troye of the man who single-handedly thawed his cold heart and taught him to love again, was bleeding on the ground of the dirty back alley, the wounds on his wrists fresh and raw.
He waited, smiling from ear to ear, until the phone call that changed everything. It had robbed Troye of his utmost happiness in a split second moment. As the smile fell from his face, so did the tears. He let himself cry for a whole minute before he stopped and rushed to the hospital. And it all went downhill from there.
The police was saying to him, 'Don't worry, we'll do our best to catch the person responsible.' And the doctor was saying to him, 'Don't worry, we'll make sure he's comfortable.'. But no one actually said anything that could help him understand this nightmare. Why did this happen? How did it happen? Who pointed a knife at Oliver? Why did he have to hurt Oliver? How did the supposedly happiest day of his life took such a drastic turn for the worse?- All the questions he finds himself asking.
Then, he heard it. The desperate sound of sobbing from the man he loves, deranged and hysterical. "Oh God, no! Doctor, please! I beg you. You have to help me! My hands, I can't feel my hands!"
Troye's heart broke. His heart broke for the man he loves for he knew the worse had just became worst.
Never in his life imagined he'd see such a shell of a man whom Oliver used to be. Oliver was still Oliver, but at the same time, he wasn't. He was still as handsome but his eyes often lacking the sparkles when he smile. He was still as witty but his jokes often turns morbid. His laughter was still as soundly but there was no joy in it. But he was healthy, that's all that matters. Troye often caught himself thinking that but he knew it was the biggest lie he'd ever told himself.
Seeing the man he loves slowly fades away was starting to kill him. He didn't know what to do or how to act anymore whenever Oliver is concerned. "But why did he have to cut my wrists? I gave him everything, did everything he asked. Why, Troye? Can you tell me why?" Troye didn't have an answer. So, he looked in the eyes of the man he loves and said, "I don't know." And watched him weep as if his answer was a sentence of his eminent death.
The good days were rarer than not. He eats, bathes, talks and sometimes even sings but most of the time he would jolt awake screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night, clawing at the angry red welts on his wrists, wailing and drenched in sweat. Then, he would cry himself back to sleep and wake up the next morning like the night before hadn't happened. Troye tried to talk to him but he brushed it away like Troye was crazy.
And then one day, when Troye thought things were improving, Oliver shot his hopes down.
"Oh my god, Ollie! Stop it, what are you doing? You're gonna hurt yourself!" Troye said, his heart immediately scared for Oliver as he watched Oliver grabbing anything and everything within reach in his shaky hands and flung them to the wall. He was like a mad man triggered, hysterical and manic and one look into the equally manic eyes, Troye was beginning to wonder if he should be scared of Oliver too. But he didn't have time to assess that when Troye had to duck a piece of the broken vase that flew his way. And it squashed whatever doubts that were troubling Troye.
"Ollie, please! It's me, Troye. Stop, please, Ollie! You're scaring me!" Troye begged again but Oliver didn't listen, he didn't stop. He kept going at it; knocking off everything on their work table and trashing their paintings and kept screaming until his voice was raw. Troye just stood by the door, his fingers curled intensely on the doorframe and he watched as the painful meltdown unraveling right in front of him. He just stood because he didn't know what to do, and he cried because he didn't know how to make the pain go away, for himself but mostly for Oliver.
Then, as if he'd used up all of his energy, Oliver swayed in his steps and stopped his agonising outburst. He was out of breath, he sagged back and slid down the wall and sat brokenly on the floor amongst the sea of broken things around him. Defeatedly, he fixed his delirious gaze onto the ugly scars across his wrists, spiteful and mocking him of the life he'd lost in exchange of them. And in that hateful second, Oliver grabbed one of the broken piece of glass on the floor and made one last deep cut across the scars. Troye screamed.
Since that day, Oliver was entirely gone. He rarely eats, rarely sleeps and didn't talk at all. He was losing colours on his face, he was down to his skin and bones and Troye felt a painful tug in his chest whenever he look into Oliver's eyes. Only that they weren't Oliver's eyes.
Those eyes were ghostly, they were dull and always staring into nothingness. Ghostly and rimmed red at all times due to the constant tearing. It was just tearing. It wasn't the sobbing kind, nor the wailing kind and not even the yelling and howling kind; just droplets of tears, silently trickling down Oliver's sunken cheeks.
And Troye was exhausted, very much so. But he still cling on to the littlest of hope that they could pull through. Their friends told him he was a fool, but he didn't listen. Because he of all people, truly wanted his Oliver back. And he believed that given time, Oliver will come back. So much so, it almost made him go mad with denial when he came home one afternoon and saw the lifeless body of Oliver, hanging from the ceiling fan in their living room. The agony that he went through felt like death itself, having to witness the man he loves gave up on hope and ultimately gave up on life.
The funeral was simple, family and close friends only. After the rabbi recited his prayers, each one of the mourners took their turn to fill the grave, their face sympathetic and remorseful. They offered their condolences to Troye and Troye replied with a downcast nod, beside him a teary-eyed Edith sobbed, grief-stricken. Then, it was his turn to say goodbye.
He stepped close to the black casket, his hand rested on the smooth surface and he felt the coldness slowly neutralizing the heat on his palm. It was a moment of absolute silence as he said his final words to the man he loved, hoping he'd find his light on the other side. A handful of dirt sprinkled, a brush of lips across the silver band on his finger and he slid it out to rest it on the casket. At that moment, it felt final. Oliver was gone.
He retreated as the casket was lowered into the ground and a soft hand came from behind him to intertwine with his. She stood beside him like his pillar of strength as they watched Oliver being put to rest in peace. Her presence gifted him a small abatement that he didn't know he needed. It felt warm and comforting and Troye took a long breath as a sudden wave of emotion wrecked through him. His grip on her soft hand tighten and his body began to shake from the repressed emotions and tears.
The sweet scent of rose filled his senses as she rested her head on his shoulder. She always did that because she knew him well, she knew the gesture would ground him. Then her other hand came up and stroked his arm, because she knew him well, she knew the gesture would comfort him. "It's okay, Toki. You can cry. I'm here for you." She spoke with a hush, her voice soft and accepting. It was like Troye was waiting for her to say it, and with that, he cried.