My BBS AU's

It Should've Been Me | AU

AU : Brian likes Brock but has told no one. Brock gets married and Brian is left to deal with his emotions.

Warning: Self harm, depression, over dosage, suicide

⚠ PLEASE DO NOT THINK THE TRIGGERS IN THIS CHAPTER ARE OK ⚠ IF YOU EVER THINK ABOUT OR YEARN TO SELF HARM OR SUICIDE, PLEASE ⚠ TALK TO SOMEBODY
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Everyone said congratulations right away.

I mean, who wouldn't? Brock, aka Moo Snuckle, is the first one to get married out of all of us. And by us I mean "the banana bus squad" as the fans put it.

Everyone was happy for Brock. I mean, he's really in love with Lauren and wouldn't give his heart to anyone else....

B-But it's not like Lauren isn't perfect for him. She's smart, cute, funny. Moo's fans haven't met her, but we have over Skype. She's really nice and I can't find a reason to hate her even if I had a spotlight, Sherlock and the FBI looking.

Why would I need a reason to hate her anyway? She makes Brock happy and that's all that matters.

If Brock's happy, I'm happy.

I feel something cold on my cheek and reach up to feel it. Tears. I should've seen it coming. I've been depressed for weeks now ever since Brock has mentioned getting engaged.

Now I'm staring at fans asking for kids. And Brock favorited some.

My fist clenches and I feel nauseous.

I stand to my shaking, numb feet and start my journey downstairs. My fingers are cold and I can practically taste my depression meds. Or my "happy pills" as my doctor called them. But the change in name doesn't change anything. God, my head is pounding.

As soon as I get to the bottom floor, I catch sight of myself in the mirror but look away quickly so I won't remind myself of how low I've sunk.

I finally reach the kitchen and automatically grab for the pills and a glass of water. The urge to cut seems to dull when I take them but my emotions are numb to me. I don't find anything funny, sad, or frustrating. I'm on robotic mode.

I made the mistake of taking my pills before playing with the guys once. I was completely zapped of any playful energy and everyone noticed as I didn't rage at their trolling antics like I used to. No one knows I take the pills, so I lied and said I was tired.

Everyone bought it, but Daithe. We had a full blown Irish conversation in the middle of the call until I couldn't speak. I didn't feel a need to. I went silent and just reverted to text, saying my mic disconnected.

I slowly put the pills in my mouth and swallow it down with water. I feel the tingle at my wrist and the pounding at my head fade but at the same time, I go into robot mode.

Yep. I'm fine.

It should've been me.

I'm selfish enough to admit it. It should've been me with Brock. Holding him, loving on him, kissing him, laughing with him. It should've been me he was getting married to!

I feel myself shaking and despite taking the meds, tears run down my face once again, the throbbing at the back of my head starting up.

No...nonono! I need- I can't feel!

I grasp the bottle frantically and toss it back, swallowing every last pill.

My head is now swimming with pain and my vision is spinning but I still feel the ache, the hurt I'm not supposed to feel.

It was supposed to be me.. I should've been me.

But I'm throwing a child fit...over this.

I'm not...I'm not a robot... These feelings are real and no amount of pills can stop that.

The next two hours are a blur. I was addicted to those pills and I was glad I got an extra bottle just in case.

All over the house I wrote in my blood: I'm sorry. Not a robot. Human. Should've been me. I love you.

I'm feeling dizzy and faint by the two hours and my bleeding wound is still gushing.

I press my knife down a little too hard and wince when I hit a vein. That's it right there. My death sentence. I've sealed my fate on both wrist.

Blood is leaking out. And that's good. Then I'll be empty. Like a robot.

But I need to do something real quick....

I slowly make my way over to my open monitor and log into twitter. One more goodbye.

"I love you guyts. Love yuo so much. Keep the Terminator dream going."

As soon as I publish it, I get half worried, half confused replies.

"I'll be back...soon."

This one gets more frantic replies and even a few private messages from my friends. Brock's stand out. I see dots and my strength is slipping.

"Thank you. So much."

Skype calls. That's what I'm receiving but I'm so tired I don't even know what to do.

I then tweet out a picture of Terminator with his thumb up as he sinks down into the lava. (?)

More replies and more messages. Uh...what next... Ah. Group chat.

Terroriser - thanks for the memories.

Terroriser - :)

Wildcat, Vanoss, Delirious, Lui, Mini, all of the guys are spamming my inbox with don't do its.. But I see nothing from Moo. Nothing. But it says he's online...

He doesn't care. That's all the confirmation I need.

"I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

Knife...I need....knife.

So close to freedom... I leave my monitor open and fall on the bed. Blood is everywhere and I smile faintly.

No more hurting the way I hurt.

Brock is happy. I'm happy.

I press the knife to my neck and drag it across.

Darkness.

What Brian didn't know if maybe he stayed alive a little longer, he would've seen the caring, heart felt message Brock finally sent.

But it was too late.