My Time Of Dying
By Breech Loader
Breech: This week's song is Papa Roach with "Last Resort".
I've been there, y'know. There's a special kind of pit and you know you're in it when you wake up in the morning and think, "I spent all of yesterday bracing myself for today, and It will be the same tomorrow…" Anything else you consider doing that day is kind of superfluous.
Chapter Seven: Last Resort
"Sonic…"
I open my eyes. There's white everywhere. There's only one person who would call me 'Sonic'. One guy, anyway. I know that voice. And somebody comes into focus.
"D-Dad? But… you're dead! I spat on your body at the Wake!"
"Yes. I am dead. And now… so are you."
"I… I…" I look down at my hands. Try and get a hold of my fur to look at it. It's me. I'm… I'm… Oh Chaos, no… Oh no… wait, no? No, I don't want to be dead? Well, wasn't expecting to think that but, what the fuck, I'll- Wait… I look at him, and… there's something wrong. In fact… everything's wrong… "No. I'm not dead."
"Your heart isn't beating. You're not breathing. Therefore, you're dead. Come to my arms, my son," he spreads them wide.
"No, I'm not. This is a trick, and you're not my dad," I sneer, "I'm not dead. Wanna know how I know? My Dad… was a good man. Well, mostly good. He tried. If I was dead, I wouldn't see him. I'd be in Hell, seeing fire and somehow being made even more miserable."
"How do you know this isn't Heaven?"
"Because if, by some contrived coincidence it was possible to serve God by being an absolute bastard, my Dad wouldn't be in my Heaven," I grin, "What, you think I'm an idiot, mother-fucker? What are you trying to pull? Huh?!"
"But Sonic, I thought you wanted to die!"
"Damn right! I'm a shit-stain on the universe; the result of some jack-ass god deciding he wanted somebody to fuck with and didn't want to mess with the blue boy! I don't deserve to live! I wasn't intended to exist! But if I'm gonna die, it's gonna be on MY terms!"
Is it my imagination, or did I hear something thump?
"I'm not 'pulling' anything, Sonic."
"You know how else I know you're not my Dad?" I ask him.
And I roundhouse that dead, lying mother-fucker so hard that he's downed to the white floor.
Did something just thump again?
"My Dad would'a seen that one coming!" I crack my knuckles, "The name's Scourge now. And no matter what the hell you are, by the time I'm done with you and head back to my cluster-fuck of a life… you'll remember it."
"Oh, crap…"
I step forward, grinning. Whatever this creep is, he sure chose the wrong shape to try and fake me out with, because I am going to enjoy the hell out of this-
And then there's another thump…
Somebody is holding onto my hand real tight. Squeezing so strong and… sobbing… "Scourge! Oh Chaos, Scourge! Don't… Don't… Please don't give up…"
"Nnngh…"
"Scourge?"
I hurt. But nothing like as bad as before. Just regular old hurt. It's a blunt pain; the kind that means you're alive, and not dying. I still want to be dead… but on my terms. Hey, it's an improvement. Still… beating the ever-living shit out of that bastard who faked as my dad would have been awesome.
Guess I wasn't in Heaven after all.
"Scourge?"
I open my eyes and see his face… oh damn, it's so hard… "S-Sonic…" He's crying. He's actually crying over me. Was I really dead?
"Scourge!" he clutches me, "You lost so much blood… they said you'd stopped breathing and stuff and-"
"AAAGH SHIT! BASTARD!" He lets go of me in a hurry, and I gasp painfully, getting my breath back. Try and get a handle on where I am. Hospital bed. There's a shitton of blood all over the place. My bedshirt's off, there's an IV back in my wrist and I can hear a heart monitor beeping in the background.
"Sorry! I just forgot-"
"Hey, it's… okay… just go easy… warn me first next time?" I take a deep breath, "But why'd you bring me back? It was such a wonderful place… I was gonna beat three kinds of shit out of some fucker who faked as my dad…" But I manage to grin… let him know it's a joke.
Damn, he's still gulping back tears, "You nearly… They said…" he points at the doctors, "I mean, they sewed you up and they were trying, but… it was like, twenty minutes… I told them they had to keep trying… because I knew that you wouldn't give up… You… you almost…"
He bursts into tears again and sinks to his knees. Grabs the sheets of the bed, twisting them up.
"Sonic… Sonic…" I croak, squeezing his hand, "Don't ever cry over me…" I pick up my shades and put them back on.
"I'm just glad you're alive-"
"Yeah, well… you should probably go home. Get some sleep. If I'm tired, you're tired."
He looks kind of like a kicked dog for that, "I can't just leave you after you almost… How about if I'm quiet?"
"You? Quiet? Come off it, Sonic… Just go… I'm gonna be sleeping anyway. I'll be fine…"
He looks like he's really fighting it. I pull my hand out of his, "Well… okay…" He kisses me on the forehead, and I… turn out of it, not looking at him as he goes.
My head falls back against the bed. I can hear him trying to stop crying as he leaves. It's hard to describe. I'm glad I'm not dead. But I don't feel like I should be alive. It's all fading, anyway. All I know for sure is that I don't want Sonic to cry.
It shouldn't be like this. He shouldn't care about me. He should care about somebody worthwhile. It's not like this universe is lacking in hot chicks. Of course, the last time I started thinking like that, I nearly got kicked to death.
It's still true though.
In theory I could do some assholish things to try and get him to hate me again, but… yeah, then he'd be in the shit with the Zone Cops. No matter what I do, I'm gonna hurt him. The doctors fuss for a bit longer, then leave me to myself.
Fuck, I'm so tired. I know, I know I told him I'd be sleeping. Yeah, that was a lie. I'm not much good at sleeping without my pills. I just wanted him to go. Because it's better that he doesn't sit around sniffling over an asshole who doesn't deserve it.
Oh Chaos, everything about this is so wrong. He's worrying about me. Everything I do hurts people. Even when I'm only trying to hurt myself. I'm so fucking sick of this…
I look around for something to do. Anything. Somebody left a box of disposable scalpels behind. I pick one out. Stare at my wrists for a bit where I really dug in.
Then I run my fingers further up my arm. Wonder what the doctors thought when they spotted these babies for the first time. It's amazing what long sleeves and a smart remark can hide. The other cuts. Not very deep. Just deep enough to let me feel.
Some of them are less than two weeks old…
And careful, real careful. Because it's so easy… I add one more cut.
A few beads of blood spring up, and I grit my teeth and clench my fist. And if you think cutting is emo-dumbass, you have no idea how good that one quick movement feels. Like I've been holding my breath forever and I just took a gasp of air.
So again. Just once more.
Yeah, that's a little better. Gives me a bit of a rush. Better than the Judas was, right?
But I can hear somebody coming now. Damn... Push the scalpel under the pillow. I lick off the blood fast, and pull on my jacket real fast to cover up the fresh cuts. Lie back again and steady my breathing. It's the Duck Doc.
I steady my expression, "So, doc… when do I get out? Because I can tell you, if your misdiagnosing shit doesn't kill me, the boredom will."
He checks his notepad, "Two days."
"Two days?! Two fucking days?!" Ah, shit. Yes, I'm tired. Yes, I'm miserable. But being tired and miserable while cooped up in here… "I'm gonna go crazy!"
"Scourge, calm down. You're exhausted. You need to get some sleep."
I rub my face, "I already told you man, I take pills for that… I have a prescription…"
"Yes, on Moebius. With Moebian medicine."
"Oh, for fuck's sake…"
Now he's talking medical shit about my condition having improved but needing monitoring, as if he'd give a rat's ass if Sonic hadn't told him to do it. I think he asks about the cuts, but I just curl up on my side and think about how much my life sucks, all over again. Yes, the moving kinda hurts. But a lot less than it did.
At least I'm not crying. After a while he's finished talking and goes away. Okay, okay, I'll try and sleep…
Well, I managed to close my eyes for a few hours. Didn't have the nightmares. But whatever it was, it wasn't sleep. Real sleep doesn't leave you with a mouthful of mothballs. And now I'm just lying here, trying to 'rest', with nothing to do but think about what an asshole I am.
Well, fuck this. Since when did I ever do what the Doctor told me?
I try and look myself over. Okay, it hurts pretty bad when I get out of the bed. But my chest feels fine by now, and most of the bruises are on their way out. There's a thin line and stitches over my stomach where they must have cut me open. Not like the dark scars on my chest; it'll heal up fine.
Look at my own face in the mirror. Yeah, that doesn't make me feel any better. I pull the IV out of my wrist. Pick up another disposable scalpel. Take that stupid heart monitor off my finger. Of course it starts up the helluva fuss, and I just… kick it over. Doesn't keep it making noise. I'm sick of people making me lie around in a goddamn hospital bed. I limp out of there at high speed.
Bundle a fresh scalpel into my jacket pocket. Shouldn't do. Wouldn't need to if I still had my switchblade…
Don't want to be there.
Don't want to be anywhere.
Head out the door, trying not to mess with those fresh stitches. Yes, they hurt, but compared to a few hours ago it's a tickle.
Don't know where to go, to be honest. It's late and there's not many people around. I don't want to be around here, but I can't bear to run away like I did before.
I hurry out of town, huddled in on myself… Out to the Chao Garden. It's quiet there, if you don't count all the little Chao that start squeaking all excited as soon as they spot me. I sit down and manage to shoo most of them away, except the one that looks like it's turning a bit green. That one's being stubborn.
"Y'know, you're kind of cute…" I pat it on the head, "I hate cute."
I pull out the scalpel and turn it over in my hand. Then I push up my sleeve to see the fresh cuts. The bleeding has stopped by now, obviously. But it's kind of a mess. I look for a space between the scars. There aren't many left. Not enough to die. Just enough to feel.
Breathe in. One slash. Breathe out. Watch it bleed.
Now again-
"Scourge!"
"Dammit!" I pull my sleeves down fast as Sonic runs up, and stash the scalpel in a pocket, "You again?"
"And it's good to see you too! They said you left the infirmary way too early… not checking out. They thought you were running off again and… I came here first. To check. And you're here."
I put on a weakass fake grin, "Yeah, well! It's calm and clean and quiet!" The Chao squeak again, "Kind of."
"Yeah… except…" he turns to me and grabs my arms, then pushes up my sleeves to see the three fresh cuts on my left arm, "Aw, Scourge! You almost died a few hours ago!"
I snatch my arms away from him and turn away, "Hey, I wasn't going to kill myself!"
"That doesn't make this okay!"
"Why? Because it makes you sad?"
"Yes! No! Kind of! Just stop, okay! This isn't the answer! It won't help!"
"Quit patronising me!" I get back to my feet, "I know that!"
He stands and looks me in the eyes, almost screaming, "Then why are you even doing it?!"
"Because I just can't think of any reason not to!" I grab hold of my quills and pull in sheer frustration, "Tell me something I don't know!"
"Fine!" he grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me, "YOU! ARE! SCARING ME!"
"What?"
"Every time I take my eyes off you, I'm terrified you'll go and do something like… like this!" he takes a deep breath, shaking a bit, "Scourge… please… just… look at me and give me your arm."
"Why?"
"Trust me, okay? Keep looking into my eyes…"
Okay. I'll trust him. I don't do that often. But I let him take my arm. He wets a piece of cloth in the clean water and wipes the blood off my skin. Then he pulls out a soft-tip marker pen. I can feel him drawing something on my arm, where all the lines are. Then he stops and hands me the marker.
"Okay, you finish it."
I look down. He's drawn the body and one wing of a butterfly. I can't help but smile. My hand's shaking so bad I can hardly hold the pen, but I manage to add the other wing, and antennae and a couple of spots on the wings…
"Okay, just keep saying to yourself 'We made it together'… and take the knife out of your pocket, and give it to me."
I take out the scalpel. My hand's still shaking something awful and for a moment it hovers right over the butterfly. But Sonic's still holding out his hand and I'm whispering those four words so quiet I don't know if he can hear and… eventually… I manage to give it to him. He's holding the knife, and I'm not.
Totally wussy, huh?
We stand there and he puts a strong arm around my shoulder. I press my face to the peach fur on his chest. I'm not crying, but damn, I'm shaking so hard…
"I guess I'm not the only one who's scared-"
I push him back bitterly, "Are you gonna call me weak too?"
"What?"
"Back when Fiona still loved me, I was telling her how bad I felt… how I wanted to die. And we sat down and she told me, all wise-like, that killing yourself is the easy way out and you're braver when you face another day…"
"Well, that's a pretty stupid thing to say," I look up at him as he holds me again, warm and close, "Did she really think that'd make you feel better?"
"I just… I just…" I lean against him, hiding my face again. I'm not crying. At least he's here.
"I guess sooner or later, everybody starts running out of steam. You've faced a lot, all alone…" he kisses me on the top of the head and I feel him smile as he does so, "You still look like a tough guy to me…"
Cut my life into pieces,
This is my last resort,
Suffocation, no breathing,
Don't give a fuck if I cut my arm bleeding,
Would it be wrong, would it be right,
If I took my life tonight?
Chances are that I might,
Mutilation out of sight,
And I'm contemplating suicide,
'Cause I'm losing my sight, losing my mind,
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine,
Losing my sight, losing my mind,
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine,
Nothing's alright, nothing is fine,
I'm running and I'm crying…
Breech: Well, Scourge has survived thus far… but ever heard the word 'relapse'?