boyf riends » jeremyxmichael « one-shots

slipping away

trigger warning
(self harm, suicide, etc.)

Michael stumbled into the bathroom, head hazy from the beers he had drank earlier and his eyes clouded with tears.

It was worse the second time.

A terrible, unreal pain clawed at Michael's heart, tearing away at it bit by bit until it was left in crumbled shards on the floor.

A forceful sob shook his body, causing him to trip and fall forward onto the cold stone tile.

A small wail escaped his mouth, a new pain exploding in his right foot. Ignoring it, he scrambled to his feet, limping his way to the medicine cabinet and pulling out a razor, already caked with dry blood.

He wasted no time in pressing down against his wrist, and sooner than later he felt the comforting, warm blood flow down his hand and drip to the floor.

Michael couldn't do it anymore. He had tried so, so hard to support Jeremy, to be there whenever was needed.

But the thing was, Jeremy didn't need Michael anymore. If he hadn't already proved that with the SQUIP, he definitely proved it just a few hours earlier.

After Jeremy had called Michael a loser at the Halloween party, Michael had wanted to off himself, but he knew he had to save Jeremy. As Jeremy's best friend, he knew his place and understood that Jeremy needed his help.

That wasn't so true now.

Michael and Jeremy were supposed to have a sleepover at Jeremy's house. They were going to hang out after school, get stoned, play some Apocalypse Of the Damned, just like they used to. It had been a week or so since Michael had helped rid everyone of their SQUIPs (not like he got any credit, though), and they were supposed to hang out together.

Then, an hour before they were supposed to hang out, Jeremy had called and told Michael he was going to hang out with Christine, Rich, and Jake instead. 'They're more fun,' he had said gently. 'And you're not invited.'

Michael had slammed the hang up button as quickly as he could, chucking his phone across the floor so it cracked and shattered onto the ground, just like Michael's heart.

Michael had known he wouldn't be able to do it if he were sober. So he had drank as many beers as he could handle, dizzying his senses with the alcohol, and slightly numbing his pain.

Now, as he watched the sticky red blood pour steadily from his open wrist, he couldn't help but wish he had tried harder with Jeremy... but he couldn't bring himself to regret what he was doing.

His head drooped, and he let out a strangled cough, stumbling backward into... someone?

"No, fuck, no," the person cursed. "God dammit, Michael, you retard!"

Michael let out another strangled sob as he was called the cruel name. Soft hands guided him to his kitchen, and he felt a pressure being applied to his wound.

"I love you, you fucking idiot. It was a joke, it was a prank, it was just some fun!" Jeremy? It was Jeremy talking. Why would Jeremy prank him like that? Whywhywhy?

"Don't die, you bastard, fucking wake UP!"

Michael was being splashed with water, and he was slowly sobering up. "Wha-what?" he gasped, his wrist exploding with pain.

Instead of an answer, two plush lips were being pushed against his. Michael let out a squeak.

His pain temporarily subsided, and he concentrated on the warm lips against his.

"I'm so sorry," Jeremy whispered, and Michael knew he was going to be okay.