The Mortician's Son [BoyxBoy Romance] * On Hold *

Prologue

When depressed, life seems blank, dark, and too painful to even seem real. Dark, malicious, feelings engulf your mind, pushing and pulling you away from everything you’ve ever known and come to love.

            These feelings lead to you to do stupid things. When there’s a blade pressed against your pale fingertips, when the barrel of a gun is pushing against your temple, when you’re one step away from the edge of a cliff, and when you’re three seconds away from gulping down a whole bottle of Aspirin, you question yourself for at least a moment, before going through with your wish.

            For a split second, you’ll look back on your life, trying your hardest to remember the good, yet remembering the bad. You start to feel numb, not caring that you’re not going to see that boy or girl you fell in love with tomorrow, and being able to hold them, telling them that you’re sorry and ignoring them when they ask why. It doesn’t matter that they won’t get the answer.

It doesn’t matter that you won’t be able to read that next book in that series you liked, it doesn’t matter that you won’t hear your favorite band’s new album, and it doesn’t matter that you’ll miss your younger brother’s thirteenth birthday, and laugh and smile when he blows out those candles you bought just for him at Stop and Shop for a buck fifty.

But as you grasp your death wish just a bit harder, you realize you’ve come too far to back down now. Pulling the trigger is as easy as moving your finger; you do it ever second, without acknowledgement. Jumping off a cliff would be so easy–if there were to be ground to land on.

Your mind lies to you and tells you your family doesn’t care, doesn’t want, and doesn’t love you. You try your hardest to fight your inner conscious, screaming at it in pure hatred and disgust. Tremors and terrors invade your mind, leading you closer and closer to that breaking point.  So you think, “I may as well go. Nobody’s stopping me.”

You don’t jump, and there’s a voice inside of your head screaming, coward coward, coward.

You don’t down the pills, and there’s a voice inside of your head screaming, coward, coward, coward.

You don’t pull the trigger, and there’s a voice inside of your head screaming, coward, coward, coward.

You don’t break the vein, and there’s a voice inside of your head screaming, fucking coward.

And then you kill the voice.

And you break the vein.

She killed the voice.

She broke the vein.

She left me alone on my thirteenth birthday.

She pulled the trigger, blowing out her brains on the wall behind her.

We died with her.