The Letter (Banana Fish Fanfic)

Chapter One

*Trigger Warning* This story contains dark themes, drug use, alcoholism, suicide and other triggering thing. If any of that triggers you do not read this story. If you believe any other warnings apply please tell me and I'll add it.

A storm had set over my house once again. The sky was gray with angry black clouds that pelted the ground down below with its tears like it has been doing for the past two days. I sit at the table staring out the window in a vain attempt to clear my racing mind of all my thoughts for at least a moment. I hold my coffee while I slowly sip at the steaming cup in my hand. If someone were to look at me now I would look very stoic and at peace. But if only they knew. The inside of my head was filled with dark thoughts that stirred in my mind similar to the storm that was ragging on outside my window.

When I heard about what happened I didn't believe it. I couldn't believe what they told me, but what reason would they have to lie about something about that? I took the first plane back to the place where it all started, leaving the place that I once called home behind me, for good this time. I couldn't bear parting with New York when all of our memories that we shared together are here. Those memories are all that I have left of him.

Since then I have created a good reputation for myself here in New York. I became a popular photographer and created a name for myself. I have buried myself in my work trying to put my mind at peace. At my exhibits I show all of my most prized and favorite photos. I try to show emotion in the work that I pride myself on but people don't understand. They do not see all of the emotions behind my photos. They see a pretty scene or face, mutter under their breath about how nice it is, then move on to something else to soon forget what they just looked at.

I have taken many photos over the years, but to me one stands out the most and is my favorite. It is one of the photos that I took so long ago. This photo is one of the ones that I have taken of him. It was at one of the bases during one of those moments when time finally seemed to slow down. He had fallen asleep curled up on the couch, a peaceful expression playing on your face. He looked happy for once in his life, a feeling that I am no longer familiar with.

I finally move from my spot in front of the window. My attempt at peace in vain, just like every other way I have tried to forget in the past three years. It had been three years since that dreadful day. Three long years that seemed to last an eternity. I have never felt this alone. Even when Sing visits me, like he has done everyday for the last three years, I still feel utterly and completely alone. I appreciate his company but I know he blames himself for it was one of his own that killed him.

I don't like who I've become. I used to live because I like living. Now I live to try to hold on to him. I spend my days wasted away in my home, afraid to leave, and afraid to face reality. I only go out to go to my galleries and events from work, in which I put on a fake smile and pretend that everything is okay. Then I come home and I find myself drowning at the bottom of a bottle. Even then it still hurts and even as much as I may wish it, I am unable to forget. My therapist keeps telling me that it takes time and will be hard, but I should work on moving on. She also gave me sleep, anxiety and depression meds to try to help me. So far none have worked.

I head into my room and sit down on my bed, feeling the familiar pit of my stomach that I have learned to call my friend. The feeling of being utterly and entirely alone. Although Sing has already visited me today, I still feel the crushing weight of it all. I know Sing tries to help, and I appreciate it, I really do, but it's not enough. It's not him. I also know that to Sing it's more than trying to help out a friend. I don't know what he sees in me. He shouldn't like me. Hell, I don't even like me anymore. I don't like the person I have become anymore, I never have, but it's the only way I can cope with the loss.

Everyday it's the same thing on an endless cycle. I come home from a day full of plastered smiles and empty words, to an even more empty house. I put on a brave smile for Sing if he is there, even though I know full well he can see through it and even though there were some days when he would come visit and he would find me passed out on the floor. Once he leaves I go to my only medicine, an endless cycle of guys entering and leaving the house and an endless amount of alcohol. Today I find a familiar empty bottle in my hand and I feel the familiar burning in my mouth. The same burn that I have learned to cherish. This is one of the only things I have found to help give me the sweet relief from the pain of the world around me and I drown myself in these bottles, and when that is not enough I find myself with another kind of bottle in hand. Right now is one of those times.

I pick up the familiar bottles from my nightstand, pouring all the remaining contents of one into my mouth and washing them down with the other. I wait for it to finally kick in and take me away, even if it is just for a little bit. I wish I wasn't like this. I never wanted to be this type of person. I remember when I was this eager and naive kid who has never felt the true weight of the world. The kid who had dreams and hope and the kid who believed in everyone, now I don't even believe in myself. I wish I still was the kid that I was then, but that kid is dead. Hidden under the pain and mass amounts of liquor. With the liquor and pills finally kicking in, I close my eyes as I finally manage to slip away.

. . . . .

*Author Note

Here is the first chapter of the rewrite I promised so long ago! I finally got off my butt and actually sat down to write it. Well anyway I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I would really appreciate it if you vote and comment, for I really enjoy hearing from you all :-)

Sincerely, Me