Sleepless, a Poofless ff

"I Don't Want To Die Anymore"

Listen to "Coming Down" by Five Finger Death Punch for this chapter, seriously, it adds to the mood. Do it. DO IT. DOOO ITTTT!!!!

Chapter 14, "I Don't Want To Die Anymore"

It was a beautiful day, Saturday, sunny, it seemed that nothing could go wrong. Rob grabbed a box of cereal, eating it dry, directly out of the box. Vikk had been considerably distant within the past few days, and Rob couldn't seen to address it properly. He was almost in a state of shock, and understandably so. That Saturday morning, was when he made the first mistake that would change everything.

"Vikk, I'm going out shopping for a while!" He shouted, and these words were the big mistake. When the door shut, Vikk jumped up from the bed, and hurried to the closet. He searched through the back (A/N NO, IT'S NOT NARNIA), pulling out loose pages of notebook paper, covered in writing, with crossed out words and smudges.

He made his way down to the bathroom, skipping steps in the attempt to get there as fast as possible. Shutting the door for extra precaution, he set his phone on the sink, and pulled out the all-too familiar gallon bottle. Sinking back against the wall, he looked over the pages, tears falling freely. The apartment was silent, perhaps even eerie. Such a beautiful day for such a tragedy. Vikk was scared, for sure, but excited in some way. Curious even, curious as to how it felt to die. Curious as to how it felt to be free. Tears fell shamelessly onto the tile, his breaths coming in small hiccups. He slowly reached forward, un-screwing the cap and tossing it to the side. Even the smell of it made him gag. He organized the papers, looking away because he didn't want to see them. He didn't want to acknowledge that he'd given up.

Taking a deep breath, he lifted up the bottle, the liquid inside sloshing around. He looked at his surroundings, pushing back every ounce of regret as he tipped his head back. The taste was rancid, burning every inch of his mouth. He almost spit it out, but forced it down, his throat raw and burning. He quickly moved the papers as a cough erupted from his mouth, pushing the bottle to the side. Vikk tried to relax, as the hacking overtook his body, lying in a puddle of bleach. He could imagine everyone's faces, their smiles, the reassuring words. Everything will be better now, He thought. Soon he couldn't feel his legs, violent coughing shaking his entire body. Everything hurt.

"I'm sorry." He whispered over and over again, tears dripping down his shirt. His head was pounding. He thought back to recording, the jokes and innuendos, the silly faces they'd make into the webcam. Rob's smile as he spoke, "I'm going to help you." He lost feeling in his left arm, and his body felt like it was on fire. Regret seemed to flow over him like a wave. His gaze fell upon the phone, still sitting abandoned on the sink. Using up his energy, he reached for it, speed dialing 911.

"Hello, 911, what is your problem?"

"Please...help." He managed between coughs, wheezing.

"Sir, what is your location an..." She was cut off by his voice.

"I don't want to die anymore." He whispered, his tongue going numb. A crash was heard through the room, as he fell to the ground. So selfish. He thought to himself, as his vision went black.

"Hello? Sir?"

The woman stood up frantically, rushing to get help. Sirens surrounded the apartment building. As the door was kicked open, it became brutally silent. Nobody cried, they just worked. A man sat in the corner, calling all of his contacts. A woman bit her lip, examining the room. It was too common, they were too used to it. Footsteps were heard, frantically running through the hall.

A man shot through the door, stopping in his place when he saw the scene. Phones ringing, people taking samples of the bleach, it was quite the horrid sight. Although the worst was the body that was currently being searched over, a breathing mask over his face. He received pity filled stares, fake hope, and awkward glances. Sirens were heard circling the building, confused pedestrians stopped and stared.

The man stood there, perhaps shocked, and in a way angry. Angry that he couldn't do any better. The floor was cleared up around him, papers he didn't want to see placed in his hands. Tears fell, why of course they did, grief kicking in before confirmation. The man knew that there wasn't much of a chance. That it barely mattered anymore anyways

He felt like he could have tried harder. Dedicated himself more. He felt like it was his fault. If he'd just cared more, just a little bit more. The day Vikram Barn died, devastated Robert Latsky.

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I'm just gonna let that sink in. (You better have listened to the song)