Euthanasia (Kellic)

18: The Letters

Here's A Letter For You, But The Words Get Confused, And The Conversation Dies. Apologize For The Past, Talk Some Shit Take It Back. Are We Cursed To This Life

Never before had I envisioned myself going ever going back into this daily required attendance hellhole they lovingly nicknamed 'school', but never before had I envisioned the possibility of someone like Vic Fuentes finding my suicide notes. And the one addressed to him in particular. This was a situation new to me entirely, and I wasn't quite sure how to function right now.

My heart had been thumping in my chest, bouncing between my ribs and being pinged between the bony protectors. My chest physically began to hurt, my heart never settling and now it was getting to the point where it hurt to pump blood around this body. Not just mentally, but physically as well. And unfortunately, it wasn't just like my heart had an off switch.

I was in the process of making one for my whole body in fact, but it seems like Vic has entirely foiled that plan by now and in the worst possible way of course. Just because he's Vic Fuentes, and that's how the world works.

The world doesn't like off switches, escape routes and easy ways out of any demeanour. The world likes to watch as we struggle and scramble through our life chasing a meaningless ending just because we have to.

I prayed that he hadn't found it all, and the letters were laying in a crumpled heap in the corner of the bathroom; the ink smudged by toilet water and god knows what else, but most importantly unread by anyone - unread by Vic Fuentes. I could rewrite them, but I could never take those words out of someone's head. I just suspected that I wouldn't give be so lucky; luck and I had never really gotten on well.

I began to recite Vic's letter to myself, trying to estimate as to just how bad this situation could possibly be, but this tactic wasn't helping in any way whatsoever, because as I looked over the words that I had tucked away in the back of my head, I began to realise that this all could be much worse than I could have previously imagined.

Vic Fuentes, I love you.

It's true, despite the fact that I really don't want it to be. I'm not even sure how it came to be, it was never a cliché thing: love at first sight etc. It kind of crept up on me as I found myself growing more and more attached to you.

You're straight and you can get a girlfriend with a snap of your fingers and you don't want me and that's very understandable. I wouldn't want me - I don't want me. Nobody wants me. I'm alone and it's very clear that I don't belong on this earth.

I'm alone and I don't want to be alone, I don't want to be alive.

So as you read this I'm dead. I'm not sure how yet, but you can ask the hospital I'm sure would have found the pills or the gun shot or the noose around my neck. Or maybe it's you that found me, and no one else is here except the two of us, except I'm dead. Then I'm very sorry, but make sure the notes to get to who they're for. And Vic, please just forget me?

I want you to forget I ever existed - things are easier that way. I don't think you will find me though. I'm trying my best to prevent that. The hospital can deal with the mess - you shouldn't. I think maybe I should apologise, but I don't know if I can, because a lot of me is certain that this is the only thing I can do.

You might be angry with me... I don't know. If you are... can I just ask you to please forgive me, Vic?

It was unfinished, yet somehow it'd reached some kind of conclusion at the very least, even if it was quite possibly the worst conclusion I'd want Vic to read when my stupid fucking heart is still beating in this fucking chest of mine, and to be honest, I was in the right mind to put the barrel of a gun to my temples right this instant, grinning as the bullet penetrated my skull, flying straight through, cutting through bone, flesh, brain matter and whatever could even try to stand in its way.