Vinnie Hacker Imagines

till we meet again

trigger warning! mentions of su!cide.

Y/N had officially given up. She was tired—tired of pretending, tired of thinking, tired of breathing, and most of all, tired of living. It felt as if the weight of the world was pressing down on her chest, making every breath a laborious task. This wasn't some random, impulsive decision she had made in a moment of despair; it was a conclusion she had come to after weeks of silent suffering. This life—the facade she had been putting on—wasn't what she wanted anymore.

She had tried everything. Therapy? It didn't help. Not one bit. All it had taught her was how to shove her feelings deep inside, like unwanted baggage, without offering any guidance on what to do when those feelings inevitably resurfaced.

The hotlines? Those hadn't worked either. They didn't ease her panic attacks or quell her insomnia; instead, they kept her awake even more, tangled in her thoughts, feeling more isolated than ever.

And her friends—oh, her friends. When they finally grew weary of hearing her talk about her depression, they slowly started to fade away. The texts became less frequent, the calls were left unanswered. She didn't blame them, though. How could she? She didn't even want to listen to her own problems, so why would they?

On the day her tear-filled pillows finally reached capacity, when her prayers no longer seemed to matter, and when the decision had become clear, only one thought kept running through her mind: Vinnie. She loved him with every bone in her body.

She loved his thick golden locs that danced in the light, his hair reflecting a warmth that always made her feel safe. The meaningful yet seemingly meaningless tattoos that scattered his body were stories etched in ink, tales of who he was and where he had been. She adored his sweet smile that could light up the darkest of rooms, and his melodic laugh that was like music to her ears, playing a symphony of joy in her heart. His signature scent—earthy and comforting—filled her senses every time he pulled her in close, grounding her in a way nothing else could.

Every moment they shared was a treasure to her, and she documented everything they did together—whether it was a spontaneous run to the nearby gas station for snacks or racing up the hills, wind in their hair and laughter echoing in the air. Each memory was a piece of their love story, something for him to remember when things got tough.As the tears streamed down her cheeks, Y/N poured her heart into a letter. It was raw and honest, a reflection of her struggles, but also a testament to her love for him. She didn't expect him to forgive her or understand her decision; she just wanted him to know that she was finally at peace. No more suffering, no more restless nights—just nothingness, the elusive feeling she had been searching for her whole life.She folded the letter neatly, placing it on his pillow as a final gift, hoping he would find solace in her words, even if it meant he would never see her again.

When Vinnie came home, he was exhausted, but the moment he walked into the room and saw the neatly folded letter on his pillow, a sense of unease washed over him. His heart raced as he picked it up, sensing that something was terribly wrong. As he opened it and began to read, tears started to well in his eyes, blurring the words on the page.

With each line, he felt the ground beneath him shift, as if the very foundation of his world was crumbling. Her words, heavy with pain yet laced with love, tore through him. The sobs began as quiet whimpers but quickly escalated into gut-wrenching cries that filled the room, echoing off the walls.

"How could you do this?" he shouted to the empty space around him, feeling utterly lost. "I need you! You don't have to go through this alone!"

As he reached the final words on the page, the realization hit him like a freight train. Y/N had made her choice, and in that moment, he felt like he was losing a part of himself. The thought of a world without her, without her laughter and light, was unbearable.