Third person P.O.V
He was mysterious and intriguing which is what Grayson loved about him most. He wasn't your average seventeen year old boy. He was different. The way his artwork showed a reflection of himself. The dark, evil colors made an artist streak across the sleek paper as he began to draw himself. The way he drew a huge hand completely covering his face in the drawing showing just how hidden his soul really is. He drew his hair swept down against his forehead using crimson red to draw his read streak. This was his passion, his way of life, his only love.
At least that's what he thought.
His name was Ethan. Ethan Dolan. The boy always carrying a sketch book under his arm aa he walked down the hallways. The one who never spoke a word. The one who sat outside alone on a bench during lunch hour drawing and sketching out whatever thought or idea comes to mind. He felt alone, trapped, abandoned, betrayed and most of all. Hated.
He didn't always feel this way. He used to be this outgoing, social goofball making youtube videos and always spreading positivity.
But that all changed with one phone call. One message. One incident. His brothers death. Ethan's brother was the only one who kept Ethan securely stable. The only one that kept him in balance with his life.
Grayson was perfect but he never even got the chance to realize that before he unfortunately passed away. His death broke Ethan and left him emotionally unstable. He shut down, stopped eating, and starting doing the things Grayson always told him not to do.
Grayson used to tell him:
"Please Ethan. Don't even think about harming your body. I tell you, it's truly a precious thing that needs to be taken care of like it's the finest jewel."
Ethan promised he would never even think of it but he's now breaking his promise. Ethan can't live without Grayson any longer. It pains him waking up every morning alone with bloodshot eyes, dry teats plastered onto his face and most of all, not being able to wake up to his brothers beautiful face.
Positivity. It was all about positivity for Ethan. Even when the times got hard and all he could do was cry, he still managed to smile through the tears but all of the negativity hit Ethan right in the face when his beloved brother was pronounced dead.
Ethan loved his brother more than he should. Ethan wanted to hug Grayson, kiss him, and love him like there's no tomorrow.
Little did he know Grayson didn't have a tomorrow.
Negative thoughts filled Ethan's shattered mind as he thought about his promise to Grayson. He holds his pencil in his hands as he began to draw Grayson.
His prominent and defined jawline. His styled up brown hair mixed with the. Blonde streaks almost perfectly. His admirable smile he always wore on his tawny, clear skin. His mesmerizing hazel eyes Ethan used to get lost in. Grayson never knew how perfect he really was and still is.
God knows where Grayson is but Ethan is determined he made it to heaven.
Graysom always wanted to go the right thing. He hated negativity just as much as Ethan did.
They were both all about spreading love and compassion. But that was until his death.
Gripping paintbrushes and paint palettes filled with dark and evil colors.
Crimson red was always Ethan's favorite. Drawing the fresh, dark red blood dripping out of his wrist was always easy for him. He just couldn't come to complete that action. His mind wouldn't physically allow him to attach the blade to his cold, shaking skin. Something about the sight of it amused him, gave him pleasure.
How easy it is to take your own life away. How many things you could use to take your life. One bullet. Many slits leaving him in a pool of crimson red blood. Many pills traveling down his throat making his body weak and weary. Tying a brick heavy enough to hold his weight under water and waiting until he couldn't breathe anymore.
It's the consequences that scares him. He pictures all the many ways he could die but never brings himself to it. He doesn't want to break his promise to Grayson.
His body was barely able to hold his own weight making it easier to take his oh so precious life. One bullet. One slit. One pill bottle.
Maybe for you there is tomorrow. Maybe there's one thousand or ten.
But for some of us, there's only today.
__________
I actually kinda like this chapter
