alex p.o.v
"And if you could say one thing to him what would it be?" The interviewer asked.
"I really don't know, maybe how the fuck did you hide it so well?" I gave an emotionless laugh.
"So you're telling me you really didn't know he was suicidal?" He asked me.
"Yeah, we thought he was living his best life and fucking thriving." Another fucking emotionless laugh came out of my mouth.
"So it's been seven years, correct?" He looked down at the paper on his lap.
"Yup, March seventh two-thousand and twelve." I said.
"What made you want to continue after his, suicide." I could feel the man cringe at the words 'his suicide', it's not like I'm gonna kill you because you stated facts. Zachary Steven Merrick took his own life on 3/7/2012, and that is the unavoidable truth.
"It's what he would've wanted, I know that sounded cheesy but it's true. After all I think the whole fucking planet has read his suicide note." I said.
First things first, the gun is my dad's. I stole it from him. Please give it back to him.
Jack, please shower. God you stink. I love you but please sort out your odour. You stinky bastard. Your energy and happiness is so inspiring. Never stop smiling.
Rian, I still remember fucking you, yes and I know what you'll think so, this is not your fault. Not one bit. I love you so so so much, you are my bestest best friend in the entire universe. I love you Ri, so much. Keep showing off your shiny ass teeth and amazing sense of humour. I could write a thousand letters for you. I'm sorry for leaving so quickly, your favourite ex, Zacky. :)
Alex, paint your nails and quit pretending to be someone you're not. We all know you're a bisexual twink. You're not very good at hiding it. I love you and I am sorry.
Please tell my family this isn't their doings either. I'd never want them thinking they killed me. It wasn't them. It really wasn't anyone but me.
I'm guessing you want my reasoning now? Well, I'm useless. No one bats an eye at me. I don't fucking matter. I bet half my fans don't even know who I am. I'm also stupid and quiet. No one wants a friend, a son, a brother, anything, that doesn't fucking open his fat mouth. I'm a waste of space and a fat one at that.
As for the band, please continue. Please, please, please keep going. That thing is practically my child. I love it. Please don't kill it.
Anyway, that's all I can think of saying, goodbye,
Zack Merrick 4/21/88-3/7/12 :)
God, that thing went viral. Everyone posted screenshots of the original picture, the original was just a regular picture of the battered piece of paper Zack had dumped in Jack's suitcase. Jack called me and Rian through straight away. I don't think I've ever been more shocked than when I head Jack Barakat say "I think Zack just killed himself" before handing me a piece of crumpled cheap notebook paper.
I felt the world crumble around me that day.
Why would he do that? How? What was he thinking? Could I have changed it? Am I a bad friend? Am I a bad person?
It was awful.
I'd never wish this on my worst enemy.
Being left behind is possibly the worst feeling of all.
And here I am, that interview been and done with, now I'm stood about to sing a song I wrote with Zack in the back of my mind, in front of a crowd bigger than anything he could've ever imagined. He would've loved this.
"Zack, this one's for you. I wish you could've heard this a long time ago." I say into my mic, "I heard that you've been
Self-medicating in the quiet of your room,
Your sweet, suburban tomb.
And if you need a friend,
I'll help you stitch up your wounds..." I start singing.
Zack, it's been seven fucking years and you've never left my mind once. Twenty-three years wasn't enough. That's only 23% of a full lifetime in my opinion.
We miss you, why did you do that? What were the possible benefits of that one? You're a fucking idiot.
