Shit. It's been almost a month. I seriously have to apologize, I never meant to take so long. I've been trying to get this chapter done for the past fews days, but I haven't been able to because stressful life things are stressful and sucky.
Well, please don't hate me too much, and I hope you enjoy yet another rambling (possibly crappy) chapter...
I was not afraid of death anymore. Death will free me from my mistakes. So many mistakes.
In my younger years, I'd mused upon my place in this world for hours on end, wondered if anyone would care if I was gone.
Wondered if I even mattered. Wondered if anyone would feel bad if I died.
At the time, I'd decided that nobody would miss me, nobody would care if I were gone. That thought still held true.
Everyone at school had hated me, absolutely ridiculed me. They'd pushed me around, shoved me, told me to go die. Insults had been hurled my way. Freak. Creep. Weirdo. Every single day the same, every single day spent trying to avoid people in any way I could. Every insult building up protective walls. Drawing deeper and deeper within myself when I was alone.
It had only gotten worse as I'd gotten older. When I was very little, my mother had always told me that someday I would find people that understood me, that I would find friends as I got older that accepted me for who I was. She explained that the kids in primary school just didn't understand me, that I was special and different and there was nothing wrong with that. She was wrong. Because it had only gotten worse, children did not gain empathy as they got older. They only got crueler, better at hurling their insults and fists.
A mistake. I should have held myself differently, learned when to shut up and stop being arrogant. Maybe I could have had a friend if I had acted differently, treated people kindly. Maybe the world wouldn't have hated me. All this could have been avoided.
And the teachers had never done anything to stop it. To them, I was the annoying know-it-all, too intelligent for my own good. I was disruptive. I was arrogant and probably deserved it. They chose to ignore me, turn a blind to what was going on because it never seemed to bother me anyway. The insults the hurled would bounce right back. But it was all a mask, one nobody was willing to look behind. My arrogance was just a front.
They didn't care enough to help, or to even understand.
And it isn't as if anything is different now. I am still ridiculed. There is still no one there to stop it, and all I can do is pretend it doesn't hurt me.
But I could have dealt with all of that. I could have dealt with it if I had the one thing I'd wanted since I was child.
A real brother. Someone that cared about me. Someone who understood, who comforted me when I needed him. Someone who gave me assurance.
Not Mycroft. Mycroft hated me so much back then. He still does.
To him, I always was and continue to be the annoying little brother. I am unwanted, a burden, a point of stress in his life that he surely doesn't need.
I am stupid. Arrogant and dumb and deserving of every insult I heard.
He hated me. When we were younger, we fought ceaselessly. He shouted, and I shouted back. He called me an idiot, I called him fat. But he had the virtue of ignoring me, I was just a stupid kid brother that didn't know anything. He had better things to do than listen to me. So he started ignoring me. Stopped fighting because I was a worthless waste of energy. I was annoying.
I started fights myself, then. Tried to get any shred of attention I could because deep down I wanted him to notice me, wanted anyone to notice me. I was the one that upset Mummy, with our constant fights. Yet another mistake.
And Mummy always sided with him, said I shouldn't be annoying him because he had important things to do. Mycroft was the golden boy. He did well in school, far better than I. He had friends, which I did not. Mummy assured me that I was loved too, but I knew Mycroft was the favorite. Father felt the same way. I was sure of it.
Mycroft was the favorite. Mycroft was perfect. He still is.
I didn't have the option of ignoring him, letting the fighting and jealousy fade to the point of being civil. I knew my brother, the only person who was supposed to care about me and love me, hated me. Hated me more than anything. I would've looked up to him, had things been different.
If I hadn't been so annoying, if I hadn't antagonized him, perhaps things could have been different.
Mistake.
Most people would call that a childish feud. Just petty sibling rivalry that faded as we both got older.
But it didn't. It never ever faded like it so often did.
He still hates me just the same. Never shows he cares, he's too high and mighty for that. Every meeting is about some "important" business and they always end with insults.
I only want him to care. But I had made that impossible.
I wish we could have had a better relationship. I wish I could have had a real brother. I wish I could have been a better brother myself.
But I screwed it up. Years of annoyance and jealousy had screwed it up so badly. I made him hate me.
It was my fault. All my mistakes.
Everything is my fault. I drive people away with my own actions. That is why I am dying alone now.
I drove Mycroft away, with my constant pestering.
A mistake. I could have had a real brother.
I drove Lestrade away, by pretending he didn't matter and calling him the wrong name all the time and belittling his admittedly admirable intelligence. I treated him like dirt.
A mistake. I could have had a friend, a colleague.
I drove Molly away, by pretending she didn't matter and ignoring her advances. She was a good woman, the most important one I knew. I knew she loved me, it was painfully obvious. She was probably the only person to ever feel that way about me. But I couldn't let her in because then she would see me for who I really was, broken and unlovable. I should have done things differently.
A mistake. I could have had romantic love.
And I drove John away. He was a good friend, a good man. He saw the best in me. He loved me and cared for me deeply, in the most platonic way possible. When I jumped from Barts, I should have told him. I should have been confident in his ability to act, I should have realized that he deserved to know. He could have received protection from Mycroft, top level surveillance to protect him.
I could have handled it better.
Because my jump had broken us. It had broken him. Nothing could have been the same after that.
I'd stayed away too long, let him move on and forget me, find a beautiful woman to share his life with. I'd given him the chance to begin a new life without me.
I should have handled things differently. I should have told him, saved him two years of grief and suffering.
A mistake. I could have come home to a best friend. A real one.
I made too many mistakes.
That's why I am alone. That's why nobody cares.
I drove them all away. My solitude is my fault. It is self-imposed, self-inflicted.
But death can set me free.
Soon, I won't have to worry about my mistakes anymore. Soon, I will be gone with nobody to remember me.
Because Mycroft doesn't love me.
Because Lestrade can handle cases on his own and never needed me.
Because Molly has Tom to love instead. A decent human being. Not a mistaken freak.
Because John has Mary and a child who has probably been born by now. A real family life.
They all have lives without me.
They won't miss me when I'm gone.
So I continue to struggle on, crawling at a snail's pace to the light that will cleanse me of all my mistakes.
I think that nothing can stop me. I am determined for this to be all over.
But I stop when I hear the whispers. Resounding in my head and growing louder and louder. But not like before.
No. Not like before.
I stop, leaning against the wall. I strain to listen as everything around me burns. I am close. I can tell. The light is right there, right in front of me.
I can reach out, stumble though and end a lifetime of self-inflicted misery.
But I stop to listen.
Because these are words are ones I've never heard before. Never in this order, never from this voice.
Telling me to live. Telling me to fight. Telling me that we still have time together. Telling me that I am needed.
John.
Please leave me a review and tell me what you think. I feel like this story isn't working out right and I have pretty much 0 confidence in this story right now...Also, any suggestions?