I found him. His right hand tightly grasping his phone, the other limply hanging on his side and directly below it was the purple ballpoint pen, Faber-Castell, a favourite alternative for the expensive brand that he kept on losing. Fault of his faltering memory. Seated on his chair, facing the study table, his head rested on the side as if he had unconsciously fallen to slumber.
He looked tired, I told to myself then, smiling. He wouldn’t want to know I cried. The thought of a guy crying in front of another guy is quite a funny sight. But tears fall, thanks gravity. It betrays a lot of people sometimes. Gravity. Make peoples’ heart fall, shattering it to pieces. Planes crash, men and things fall and break...and tears. That tear that should and could be hidden is being lured by gravity to peep out and fall.
I threw my head back and laughed and cried and face-palmed. Funny thoughts during a crucial situation. I ought to make myself look grave but he won’t like it either.
“Man, you’re pain in the arse.”
Am I...supposed to be happy, when all I ever wanted...comes with a price...
The third time Cat and Mouse replayed over his phone since I got here. I guess it’s the only song in the playlist since. I observed the headset dangling from his shoulder, the other earpiece stuck on the other ear albeit the wire’s end got intertwined on his flaccid arm, cutting off the connection to the phone.
He’s paler than usual, frighteningly paler. His eyelids were also darker now, reminder of those sleepless nights he had spent writing. I knew what had happened, I just hoped nothing was true and the horrendous display was just one of his pranks.
A message on Facebook popped just as I was approaching the table. His girlfriend’s message, no doubt. They used to talk for hours over the phone, on chat, on text and anywhere possible. Sometimes it kind of makes me want to whack him with a pan. Nothing matters anymore, just that girl of his and their dreamy little world.
He could no longer open the message so I took the task of clicking and reading and invading their privacy. Intrigued by the ruckus lately, his constant swearing, restlessness and considerable amount of brandy, I know it’s time for me to interfere. Though I am late. Too late to bring him back.
Too late, Dylan. You’ve proven yourself unworthy. Whether or not I accept your apology, you’re not worthy to know either. I just want to move on. You must be happy with her now so that makes me happy for you too. :)
So I heard. He made a terrible mistake. The boy who seldom makes mistakes and hates errors had just made a terrible compromise and failed, accepting all backlashes to himself and his ego. I never knew he were that serious to this girl, whoever she is he just met online.
He was guilty. From the looks of it, he could no longer cope with the shame and embarrassment brought about by that single mistake he made. Everything turned against him. His mistake prevailed, tarnishing everything there was in his life, or his so called life. He had never lived with us...he lived virtually where his girl resides.
“You found him---?” asked a voice from behind me. I turned my head back, staring blankly at our dumbfounded brother. I sniffed, wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my sweater and glanced grimly at Dylan. I noticed those obvious tear stains from his eyes down to his rigid cheeks.
“He’s been here all along.”
I didn’t receive an answer. Maybe he’s too overwhelmed to say anything. Just staring there with a priceless expression. Never in my life had I seen our elder brother break down, vanity gone from his highly regarded face.
“He gave up,” I croaked, sniffing hard.
“He stopped breathing...” our brother almost choked by his own words. “Damn he killed himself for that---"
Another message popped. Then Dylan's phone rang. Texts came flooding in all at once. We stood there, lost within that dim room and the seemingly endless ringing and beeps from a girl too late to be able to wake him up.
