Forvgive Me || JeanMarco

So close- Extended Ending

Waking up was hard. It always was these days. His bed, the left side, was freezing; no one was there anymore to occupy the space. Jean sighed, reaching his hand to his bedside table and closing his fingers around the anti-depressant pills he had laid out the night before. He swallowed them mindlessly and slumped back, waiting for their affect to take place. They made him feel normal, or at least somewhere near normal, though somewhere in the deep recesses of his brain, he was unhappy. He was drowning in grief that increased by the day, eventually to overflow and consume him. He had no will to live.

In what he thought was his final moments, he saw darkness. But that wasn't all. He could have sworn he smelled the faint trace of Marco's cologne, and the breezy warmth of his hand pressed to his cheek. He wasn't allowed paradise for long; someone grabbed him out of his fantasy world, bringing him back to consciousness. He was barely alive. A sobbing face hovered over his, pleading him to hold on just a bit longer, until help came.

But the help he received was not the kind he was looking for. No, none of them how broken he was. Every attempt to reach him had failed. Every part of him was corrupted, eroded away by the stormy waters of despair. Lost forever in the churning waves.

He shut his eyes as the familiar warmth swelled in his body, balancing it out and making him feel almost-new. It wouldn't last very long. That was something he had figured out on his own. He didn't like the fresh feeling that settled in his gut. He had embraced his demise. It was a part of him that he was subconsciously feeding off of, waiting for the day when he decided to obey its call to action, to end his suffering. But today wasn't the day. He was drained of any trace of energy that was once anchored to him. Everything was grey and numb. He hated and loved the feeling, at the same time. But the hate tended to overrule all. There were some days when he had come so close- so close- to ending it all. There wasn't a cell in his body that objected the though of death- it was something Jean pondered often when he was drugged into happiness. Something he pondered while floating on a cloud, overtaken by numbness, the pills effect hitting him so strong that pain simply passed over him without a trace.

But then the pain would hit. His body was racked with sobs that shook his body. "Marco...MARCO!" He screamed his lovers name over and over again until his throat was bitter and raw and their were no tears left. Then he would sleep. For hours upon hours, repeating nightmare after nightmare. He had no energy to wake himself up- no desire to. He was so, so, tired, tired of his anchor to the loving world, tired of the cold spot on his bed, tired of the jagged scar that ran up his wrist, serving as a permanent reminder of his failure to end his own life.

"But it doesn't have to be permanent," He reminded himself. It would be so easy for him to reopen the tender flesh, this time for good. "I could really do it. I'm ready to escape this shithole reality." And he was ready. The ray of sunshine warming his life had been snuffed out, lost forever, leaving nothing but damp grayness in its place. Everything was grey. He feet mindlessly hit the floor. His legs lifted from the bed, the mattress groaning in return. Every trace of who he had been was gone. He took the small white bottle of pills from the bedside table. "I'm really going to do it this time... He knew how, and where. The bathroom. He just needed to make it there, then he could fix everything. He could undo his suffering for good. He feet dragged themselves across the floor gracelessly. "Everything is gray." But not for long. He would end this with a beautiful symphony of crimson red and silver, dancing their way in unison down his blank tan canvas. He would carve his skin down to the very bone if it meant being with Marco.

His slim fingers found the light switch easily. He opened the drawer and traced his fingers around a dainty silver blade, the one he had been staring at for weeks, readying himself to end his life with it. That was its only purpose to him. It was nothing but another blur in the cruel gray world. It was his key out. He traced the cold, sharp tip over his scar, finding the right place to make the incision. And in a flash of silver he did just that. The knife moved so fast he didn't have time to feel the stinging pain of it ripping open the scar tissue. Hot, red blood poured out and down his wrist almost instantly. Tears stung his eyes. He was nothing but raw hate, so easy to wipe out. Before he knew it the pills were in his mouth one after another until the whole bottle was gone. "M-Marco!" He sobbed, choking on tears and the pills. Blood soaked through his sock and dripped down his shirt sleeve. Nostalgia. He had know done this once before, and he knew exactly what was going to happen. Accept this time... He hit the floor. His vision was starting to become nothing but black and white static. Blood loss.

He cried. He didn't stop, not even when he felt himself slipping into a world of darkness.

I'm crying

Missing my lover

I don't have the power

On my side forever

The distant sound of music could be heard. Atleast he though. He couldn't tell anymore. Everything was going white. The pain was ebbing away. He was getting closer, closer, to-

We don't know what's wrong tonight

Everybody's got no place to hide

No ones left and theirs no one to go on

All I know is my life is gone

I'm crying, missing my lover,

I don't have the power

On my side forever

Oh

Where is my lover

And I got no power

I'm standing alone,

No way

Calling out your name...

"Marco"