A/N if there's a chapter where I suggest the lyrics, it's this one...Garret's hit the edge, he can't take it anymore. And that's fun, it's a good thing, at least to me. Because I'm morbid like that. And I like listening to songs about suicide with my friends (to quote my friend Katie "we listen to such depressing music we need happy pills!") I've enjoyed writing angsty suicidal emokid Garret (now that's a thought, Garret in girlpants and hornrimed glasses with a emoshag toupee...). You're not going to get the conclusion to this until probably tomorrow night, depending on the response is whether or not you get it after I get home from school or when i get home tomorrow night after I go out...although if I get like ten reviews, I may just actually have to finish this tonight...

Your life has been so hard
It's dried up angels that can't keep guard
I'm trying to reach your hand
But I'm on fire
I never planned to fade... away
Stay with me
Stop pretending when they say that you're nothing
Are you sad?
Are you holding yourself?
Are you locked in your room?
You shouldn't be..
I'm drowning inside your head
Help me to answer
Help understand
Why it's been so long since we talked like friends
Please, forgive me,
I'm just a man
Whose made mistakes

Our Lady Peace-Are You Sad?

He stared down at the note. Jordan. The whole thing was to Jordan. He couldn't do this, he couldn't go without saying goodbye to her, he couldn't go without hearing her voice one last time. He picked up the phone and dialed the phone number that had been drilled into his head.

"Garret?" She questioned. She sounded surprised. He didn't blame her, she had every right to be surprised, he'd only picked up the phone to snap at her over the last week.

"Jordan?" He checked. She sounded different. He wasn't quite sure how, but just very different. Tired, broken, the same way he knew he sounded.

"What is it Gar? What do you need?" Her tone was eager, she wanted to help. She wanted to help him. She was so eager to help him, it hurt him. She wanted to see him get better, she didn't want to see this happen, but she couldn't stop it.

"Jordan, I just wanted to say thank you." His voice was low and quiet, soft, gentle. He didn't want to hurt her. He had to smile a little, the pain was finally going to stop.

"For what?" She asked. He could hear the confusion in her voice. She couldn't tell what he was doing. He felt horrible for it, for doing this to her, but he had to. It would only make him feel worse if he didn't. He couldn't stand living with the pain any longer, living with Abby haunting him every time he turned around, mocking him.

"For getting me this far. I wouldn't have made it if it wasn't for you Jordan." He could hear the faint gasp. She realized what he was doing, it had dawned on her what he was thanking her for.

"Garret, no, please, don't." She was begging. Pleading. He was breaking with every word. It hurt so much. She was the only person he didn't want to hurt, she meant too much to him.

"Jordan, just leave, please. I know you're there, just leave." His voice had an edge to it, he knew he sounded broken and hollow. It was how he was feeling. Empty, broken, useless, damaged.

"Garret, no, don't." The sharp click of a the hammer being pulled back echoed through the line as he played with gun, twirling it, putting it up against his temple and back down again.. "Don't." Her voice was raw, emotional. She sounded like she was about to snap.. "Just, please. I'll be up in a minute, just don't do this. Think about it, think about what you're doing."

"I have thought about it." His voice was mockingly light. "It's why I'm doing this. The more I think about, the better and better it sounds. Just leave Jordan, you don't need to be here for this, I don't want you to be here for it, just go home and forget about me." He spun the chamber around in the gun, before snapping it back into place. Every passing second it was getting easier and easier, it was hurting less and less to listen to the pained tone in her voice. The idea was getting better and better and better every second more he thought about it.

"But I couldn't do it, I can't do this, not without just saying thank you for being the only one who believed in me. I just had to call and tell you goodbye." He had to do it. Something compelled him to do it, to call her, to tell her goodbye, to tell her how sorry he was. He had to tell her, she had to be the last person that he spoke to, she was the one person that he loved the most, the one that he had left, she deserved to know, to not just walk in and find him there.

"Garret-" She gasped. "Garret, please, just, don't." She was pleading with him. He wanted to stop, but it would just be delaying the inevitable. Procrastination would only make things that much worse. Every minute, every day that he didn't do it, it would just make the pain worse and worse.

"Jordan, I love you, you're my best friend, the last one I had left, you're the only one who I could trust, you kept my secret. But, Goodbye Jordan. I'm sorry Jordan, I really am, but goodbye." He hung up on her, the line going dead. He stared down at the phone, hanging it back neatly on the charger. He smiled faintly at the move. It wouldn't really matter if it charged or not, would it? It didn't matter that his house was a mess, it wasn't as if he was going to be brining anyone home. Nothing mattered.

He gave one last look around his apartment before driving the cold metal into his head, gently stroking the trigger, making sure that everything was as it should be. He had called her, said his apology, said his goodbye, he had payed his bills off the day before, one less things for others to worry about. Everything was in order, the morgue would go most likely to Bug, as much as he favored Jordan, the thought of her in a posistion of authority was simply something his mind could not process; Bug could play office politics and had no adversion to paperwork, it would be in good hands with Bug.

No, there was nothing that he was leaving behind, nothing that he was leaving undone. He smiled faintly, taking one last gulp of scotch, enjoying the long slow burn down his throat before his hand closed down, and his finger pulled the trigger back. The last thing he heard was the loud blast of the gunshot echoing through the loft.