Disclaimer: If you're still reading these disclaimer things, maybe you
ought to find a hobby. I don't own anything except what's mine, and
anything that you can sue me over is here because someone else put it
there. I'm sure the title isn't original, because it sounds too cool to be.
If you've used it before, so sorry, I didn't steal it, I made it up. GTMA
and all that crap.
Warning: For those of you that haven't read the last chapter... YES, he IS killing himself. Please note that the feelings reflected on in this fiction in no way reflect the true feelings of the wonderful and creative author, who is, while single, actually rather content at the moment. Also note that while Colt is modeled after me slightly, he is NOT me, and nothing related in this story has ever occurred to me or anyone I know. Furthermore, if you're still reading this, I heartily recommend therapy. Have a nice day.
Chapter 3: Crimson Drops of Rain
Four o'clock. Perfect. Zeke wouldn't be home for another hour or two, and he wouldn't think to check the bathroom for at least a half an hour. I tried to think rationally, sorting out what should be done before I freed myself, but between the growing ache in my chest and the pounding of my heart, I having difficulty concentrating.
A note. I would have to write a note. Oh. Wait. Before the note, I would have to call work. Call in sick, cause there was no way I was going to work tomorrow. Gritting my teeth with a resolve I hadn't felt since the 911 call that put Dan in jail, I dialed the number I had scrawled in my address book. It rang three times before someone picked up.
"Thanks for calling Starbucks, this is Bryant. What can I do for you?"
"Bryant? It's Colt. I was calling to let you know that I won't be able to come in tomorrow. I'll be... indisposed." I was dropping hints. I guess I wanted him to stop me. To tell me that everything was going to be OK. Someone HAD to understand.
"I'll tell Cheryl for you, bro. D'ya need me to cover it for ya?" He wasn't biting.
"Yeah. In fact, you can take the rest of my shifts for next week too. I won't be using them."
"Awesome, bro.! Thanks!" Shit. He wasn't asking questions. So much for my last cry for help, huh?
"Yeah, whatever." I was trying not to cry, and I think he noticed. Even HE couldn't be that dense.
"Are you OK, Colt?" Ah! Concern! Now, all I had to do was say no, tell him I was thinking of ending it. Come on, Colt. Save yourself. Please.
"Everything's fine." I was openly crying now. The tears ran down, leaving trails in the dirt that covered my cheeks. "Everything's just peachy."
God, I missed Lance. And maybe Alex, too. I had done such a good job of pretending everything was fine, that my life hadn't ended two years ago, that I began to believe it. It hurt to see how weak I really was. It hurt, and it made me angry. ~How could he leave me? How could he desert me like that?~ I didn't know if I meant Alex, or Lance, and it didn't matter. I couldn't stop sobbing. ~I wonder what Bryant must think over there,~ I thought randomly.
"Colt? Are you still there?" He was truly concerned now, I think. I don't know.
"I wish it had been different. I wish it had been me. I'm nothing without him, nothing."
"Cheryl? Colt's freaking out on the phone!" Bryant shouted. I ignored him.
"I should have been the one who died that night. I was the one who had smashed the guitar." Dan's guitar. His life. God, had it really been two years? "He was the better of us." I was blubbering now. The guilt washed over me, tears, anger, and hatred mixing themselves in my chest.
"Colt. Where are you?" It was Amy. "Are you home? Stay there. Don't move, OK? Bryant, keep talking to him."
"Hey, Colt. Tell you a story?" Grasping at straws.
"It's time. Tell someone you love them, Bryant. Tell them." I slowly lowered the receiver to the cradle, cutting off his last shouted "Colt". I had to hurry. No time for a well written note. It was ironic, I had gotten the attention I wanted, and now I was fleeing it. My resolve had won out after all, I guess. Or had I just wanted the challenge of it? I scrawled a note on a legal pad and left it on my mom's bed: Mom- Went to live with Lance. See you in forty years or so. Love Colt. I sighed. It wasn't Shakespeare, but it would have to do. Grabbing the largest kitchen knife I could find, I dashed to the bathroom, and started the water. Hot water. I had heard that the pain is dulled by hot water.
I stripped, and sank into the tub, ignoring the protest my skin illicite. I looked at the gleaming knife in my hands, then at my wrists. ~Down, not across.~ a voice in my head informed me. ~You get more veins that way.~ Numbly, I pressed the knife against my flesh, and, squeezing my eyes against the pain, sliced. The pain that lanced across my arm wasn't as bad as I expected.
I listened. Silence. Nothing but the beating of my own heart. It wasn't pounding anymore. I knew I had done the right thing. I had rectified the mistake Lance made. I was going home. The other wrist was easier. I sank back in the tub, and watched the blood well up. I had the knife in my hands, in case I needed to make another cut.
I don't know how much time passed. It may have been an hour, it may have been five minutes. Eventually the water was overflowing from the tub, and I began to fade.
Dimly, as if from afar, I heard a thud, and Amy was there, holding my naked form in her arms. The blood stained water splashed her jeans and stained her blouse, but she ignored it. "Colt, oh, Colt, you idiot. What did you do? Why?" I looked at her, into her burning blue eyes. ~Contacts. She wears contacts~ I fought to return. To tell her it was OK, that everything would be alright now. But consciousness eluded my grasp, and I faded into the darkness. And then, nothing.
Warning: For those of you that haven't read the last chapter... YES, he IS killing himself. Please note that the feelings reflected on in this fiction in no way reflect the true feelings of the wonderful and creative author, who is, while single, actually rather content at the moment. Also note that while Colt is modeled after me slightly, he is NOT me, and nothing related in this story has ever occurred to me or anyone I know. Furthermore, if you're still reading this, I heartily recommend therapy. Have a nice day.
Chapter 3: Crimson Drops of Rain
Four o'clock. Perfect. Zeke wouldn't be home for another hour or two, and he wouldn't think to check the bathroom for at least a half an hour. I tried to think rationally, sorting out what should be done before I freed myself, but between the growing ache in my chest and the pounding of my heart, I having difficulty concentrating.
A note. I would have to write a note. Oh. Wait. Before the note, I would have to call work. Call in sick, cause there was no way I was going to work tomorrow. Gritting my teeth with a resolve I hadn't felt since the 911 call that put Dan in jail, I dialed the number I had scrawled in my address book. It rang three times before someone picked up.
"Thanks for calling Starbucks, this is Bryant. What can I do for you?"
"Bryant? It's Colt. I was calling to let you know that I won't be able to come in tomorrow. I'll be... indisposed." I was dropping hints. I guess I wanted him to stop me. To tell me that everything was going to be OK. Someone HAD to understand.
"I'll tell Cheryl for you, bro. D'ya need me to cover it for ya?" He wasn't biting.
"Yeah. In fact, you can take the rest of my shifts for next week too. I won't be using them."
"Awesome, bro.! Thanks!" Shit. He wasn't asking questions. So much for my last cry for help, huh?
"Yeah, whatever." I was trying not to cry, and I think he noticed. Even HE couldn't be that dense.
"Are you OK, Colt?" Ah! Concern! Now, all I had to do was say no, tell him I was thinking of ending it. Come on, Colt. Save yourself. Please.
"Everything's fine." I was openly crying now. The tears ran down, leaving trails in the dirt that covered my cheeks. "Everything's just peachy."
God, I missed Lance. And maybe Alex, too. I had done such a good job of pretending everything was fine, that my life hadn't ended two years ago, that I began to believe it. It hurt to see how weak I really was. It hurt, and it made me angry. ~How could he leave me? How could he desert me like that?~ I didn't know if I meant Alex, or Lance, and it didn't matter. I couldn't stop sobbing. ~I wonder what Bryant must think over there,~ I thought randomly.
"Colt? Are you still there?" He was truly concerned now, I think. I don't know.
"I wish it had been different. I wish it had been me. I'm nothing without him, nothing."
"Cheryl? Colt's freaking out on the phone!" Bryant shouted. I ignored him.
"I should have been the one who died that night. I was the one who had smashed the guitar." Dan's guitar. His life. God, had it really been two years? "He was the better of us." I was blubbering now. The guilt washed over me, tears, anger, and hatred mixing themselves in my chest.
"Colt. Where are you?" It was Amy. "Are you home? Stay there. Don't move, OK? Bryant, keep talking to him."
"Hey, Colt. Tell you a story?" Grasping at straws.
"It's time. Tell someone you love them, Bryant. Tell them." I slowly lowered the receiver to the cradle, cutting off his last shouted "Colt". I had to hurry. No time for a well written note. It was ironic, I had gotten the attention I wanted, and now I was fleeing it. My resolve had won out after all, I guess. Or had I just wanted the challenge of it? I scrawled a note on a legal pad and left it on my mom's bed: Mom- Went to live with Lance. See you in forty years or so. Love Colt. I sighed. It wasn't Shakespeare, but it would have to do. Grabbing the largest kitchen knife I could find, I dashed to the bathroom, and started the water. Hot water. I had heard that the pain is dulled by hot water.
I stripped, and sank into the tub, ignoring the protest my skin illicite. I looked at the gleaming knife in my hands, then at my wrists. ~Down, not across.~ a voice in my head informed me. ~You get more veins that way.~ Numbly, I pressed the knife against my flesh, and, squeezing my eyes against the pain, sliced. The pain that lanced across my arm wasn't as bad as I expected.
I listened. Silence. Nothing but the beating of my own heart. It wasn't pounding anymore. I knew I had done the right thing. I had rectified the mistake Lance made. I was going home. The other wrist was easier. I sank back in the tub, and watched the blood well up. I had the knife in my hands, in case I needed to make another cut.
I don't know how much time passed. It may have been an hour, it may have been five minutes. Eventually the water was overflowing from the tub, and I began to fade.
Dimly, as if from afar, I heard a thud, and Amy was there, holding my naked form in her arms. The blood stained water splashed her jeans and stained her blouse, but she ignored it. "Colt, oh, Colt, you idiot. What did you do? Why?" I looked at her, into her burning blue eyes. ~Contacts. She wears contacts~ I fought to return. To tell her it was OK, that everything would be alright now. But consciousness eluded my grasp, and I faded into the darkness. And then, nothing.