Author: pandora1017
Rating: R
Comments: Eh, this is my first attempt at angst, nothing at all like my other stories. I apologize in advance in case it sucks. The ladies at work today were talking about death, I started thinking about deaths close to me... *shrugs* Then Christian muse took the idea and ran with it. I know most people [myself included] usually have Edge being older than Christian, but I'm going to flip that temporarily as it makes things easier on me. *shuts eyes nervously, but peeks with one* Don't hate it... please? Oh, blame also needs to be set on my discovery of Christian's old entrance video from the first SmackDown game for Play Station. Seeing him look so pretty in those stupid poet shirts inspires even me to make him write angst...
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Really. Want to see my checking account balance?
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Christian noticed lots of things. It was amazing how isolation enhanced your senses. He noticed the azure color of the clear sky at three in the afternoon and how the burning sun made his skin tighten as he slowly tanned. Not a cloud in the sky. He could hear the obnoxious chattering of birds. He had always loved birds, Christian remembered. That made Christian hate them more.
Funny thing was, he couldn't remember anything at all about the drive to the cemetary. This was the first time in a week and a half that he could remember thinking at all...
But now things were crystal clear. Christian felt like he was living for the first time in a years. He drank in the richness of being able to feel and experience life. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply once more, ignoring the fact that the air filling his lungs was the harsh, sterile air of a cemetary.
Wait, there was something more.
Christian opened his eyes in search for the origin of the gentle scent of heliotrope that seemed to float over the dry cemetary air. He found the purple flowered plant freshly planted on a nearby grave and callously ripped a full blossom from it. He ran his fingertips over the tiny flowers lightly and inhaled the soft fragrance once more before returning his focus to his reason for being in this uncaring place. He squinted in the sunlight and scanned the empty yard.
It didn't take long to find what he was looking for.
He crossed blindly across rows of headstones, taking no notice of the hallowed ground he was walking on, and stopped at a fresh pile of dirt. The death had been so sudden, there wasn't time to prepare anything. The headstone wouldn't even be ready for almost another week. But Christian knew this was the pile he was looking for. Instead of solemnly standing next to the freshly tilled ground, he tromped right on top of it, ignoring how the moist dirt was ruining his expensive Florsheim shoes.
"I don't think you're down there," he started, harshly, glaring at the ground. His tone changed following a sigh and he set the heliotrope on the dirt. "I know you don't like heliotrope. You'd prefer roses, I'm sure. Even after you can't enjoy them, you would want the most expensive flowers I could get, wouldn't you?"
He swallowed down rising emotions. "Well, fuck you. I like heliotrope."
Christian stood silently for a full minute, watching the ground. Then, "Look what you fucking make me do. I'm talking to a fucking pile of dirt. You're not down there. You can't be down there."
Unsure if he'd done it on purpose or if his legs had simply given out on him, Christian suddenly found himself kneeling on the pile of dirt. "I didn't go to the wake. Not because I didn't want to see you. I did. But I couldn't go. I couldn't do anything. Hell, I didn't go to the fucking funeral. I've been sitting on the floor in the middle of my goddamned living room for a fucking week and a half. I haven't eaten. I haven't slept. I haven't done shit. I can't do anything. I can't bring myself to do anything."
Christian sighed again, smashing his fist into the dirt. "So I have no proof. The only reason I should believe that you're under this pile of dirt is because that they told me that you are. That's not enough for me. You're not down there. It's another fucking prank, isn't it, you asshole? Well, it's not fucking funny!"
Christian distractedly picked up a handful of dirt and slowly let it fall back out of his hand. "I haven't picked up my phone or answered my door since that day I kicked Jericho out for telling me that death bullshit!"
Christian suddenly jumped up again and looked around the cemetary, slightly paranoid. "Where the fuck are you, Edge? 'Cause I know you're not under this fucking dirt!"
With that, Christian collapsed once again, kneeling on the ground. "Mom's pissed at me. Her prick of an eldest son didn't even bother showing up at her baby boy's funeral because he was jealous of a fucking trophy."
Christian sighed.
"At least, that's what she says in her phone messages... before breaking down into tears and begging me to call her. I can't call her. If she tells me that you... you... it means that you are down there," Christian's voice began to shake until he composed himself and started yelling again. "And you're not! You are not fucking under this shit! You can't be!"
Finally, the tears started falling. Christian let himself cry, tears rolling messily down his face, not bothering to stop them.
"You never got revenge," Christian whispered, then suddenly reverted to yelling again, slamming his hand on the ground. "You can't be down there because you never got your revenge! It can't be over! You were supposed to get back at me, just like when we were little! I attack you, you attack me! I hit you - it was your turn! You weren't supposed to leave me like that! You were supposed to fight back, then we forgive each other and start again...
"Did you want me to apologize?" Christian asked suddenly, harshly. "That's not part of the game. You've never apologized to me, I've never apologized to you. Why start now? Of all the fucking times to change the rules.
"Well, I still won't apologize. You just have to come exact your revenge. Come on!" Christian once again got to his feet, yelling animatedly at the sky. Still no sign of Edge. "It was supposed to be understood that we still loved each other! I can't hate you! You're my little brother, you fucker!"
"I brought this," Christian muttered, pulling a straight razor from his jeans pocket. "I didn't think I had the balls to use it. Of course, I also thought you understood that I was just playing. I've been known to be wrong."
Christian examined the blade momentarily and sighed. "Who am I supposed to play with? I don't have anyone to play with anymore. You quit. I guess I'll just have to quit, too."
Biting his lip, Christian tilted his hand up to the sky and slid the blade across his arm. It hurt like hell, was his first thought. But the blood loss was too fast for him to keep his wits around him.
You silly bastard. Look at you.
Although everything was quickly fading to black, there was one ray of bright white light. Christian looked up and saw his brother, smirking at him.
"I'm sorry, Edge, so sorry," Christian mumbled almost incoherently.
Here you are, yelling at no one about how you won't apologize to me, so instead you choose to slice yourself up, bleed on my nice new grave, and when you finally become delusional, you bring me? So I can tell you what a moron you are for doing this?
"I'm sorry, Edge, I'm sorry."
This is the last thing Mom needs, you know.
"Edge..."
Well, at least you get to see me one last time. Edge knelt down next to his brother and set a hand on his face. The connection sent an electricity through Christian's body, emanating from where Edge touched him. Christian closed his eyes and lost track of everything but that hand. I don't forgive you, Christian. I forgave you a long time ago.
Christian took a painful last breath and exhaled with repetition.
"I'm sorry, Edge."