Musical One-Shots

Connor Murphy Angst

SO I'm feeling edgy today and just decided to post this because yay emotions and crap

also there is no reader in this one just kinda picturing Connor's suicide, not actually sure if they depict it in the musical (do they?)

TW: SUICIDE, SUICIDE, JUST LIKE ALL AROUND DEPRESSION

I'M NOT KIDDING WHEN I SAY THIS IS SAD.

(At least, I think it is, but then again I'm kinda sensitive so-)

...

Connor's instincts were now to survive. His throat felt dry, his chest heavy, and his eyes felt tired, but he wasn't going to give up. Not yet.

Damn it, he had so much to live for.  He had heard about people trying to commit and regretting it, but he never thought they were serious.

Well, not until now.

He couldn't help but feel it was a tragedy that he'd never get to meet his other half. He could never know what it would be like to be clean for once, like when he was a child. He couldn't know what it was like to sleep well, to be loved by his parents, to be loved by Zoe.

He couldn't remember. Maybe that was the problem. You couldn't solve a problem you couldn't see. If he forgot how to be loved, maybe it wouldn't be a problem. 

It'd just be there.

He breath caught again. His parents, who used to complement him for being so athletic and tall ad good looking. His parents, who once gave him $50 because his father's boss told the he was such a good kid, and would consider naming their newborn something after him. His parents, who praised him for getting A's and chiding Zoe for getting B's, but they would make up eventually, like the perfect family they were.

Were.

Zoe, his mind raced faster.

Zoe, who he had grew up with. Zoe, who drew stars on the cuff of her jeans all throughout her years and had the brightest smile of anyone, so bright that it made him want to hide in the shadows. Zoe, who was the perfect child and always would be. Zoe, who when she was in elementary, loved playing small jazz tunes for her and Connor to laugh at and dance to. Zoe, who climbed all over him because he was a tree even back then. But now, of course they had to be a million worlds apart. She was a good child and he wasn't. She did her work, he didn't. She was obedient, he wasn't.

Shut the fuck up, he thought to himself. You weren't good enough anyway. You will never be good enough for Larry, for Cynthia, for Zoe.

You can't ever be good enough.

Your problems can be solved this way, can't they?

The front door opened, and he could hear his mother and father bickering, while Zoe presumably stood there patiently, waiting for them to finish.

"Hey, Connor! What the hell are you doing?" Zoe yelled upstairs, and adding a small 'not that I care, you know.'

"He's probably high," Larry muttered, and Cynthia nodded, rolling her eyes. "Definitely high."

Shit. He couldn't have anyone walk in on him, not now.

He didn't want to be saved, to be treated like even more of a pyschopath at school, to be treated like porcelain.

He didn't deserve to live.

"Oh, nothing, Zoe!" he snapped tiredly and foggily at the door where she now was, her feet rocking back and forth and the creaky stairs.

His eyes were closing, the pain was all there now. His breaths were loud and sharp, trying to get him enough oxygen.

It didn't matter, he was going to die anyway, now.

And at the final fatal slipping moment, he knew he didn't want to.

But life wasn't fair, and took him anyway from his own hands.

"Sure you aren't," Zoe muttered angrily. "What the hell are you doing? You sound like your dying in there!"

Connor didn't respond, there was no use. He was gone now, and his sister couldn't hear him as a ghost anyway, either. "I'd prefer if suicide was a private thing," he muttered to himself, his hands finding his hoodie pockets.

And now, all he was waiting for was the inevitable.

Zoe shoved open the door, bracing herself for the explosion that was surely going to happen, and gasped at him laying on the bed, for once a peaceful expression brushed across his features.

His arms were spread out, his eyes were shut loosely, but he looked less mature. He looked a child. A child who had gone through enough pain and suffering and decided to end it all.

"Hey. Connor." Zoe muttered. "Hey, wake up. You don't just fall asleep in a conversation like that. And besides, Larry wants to meet with the Smiths tonight." Zoe looked down, confused at the lack or response. "What the hell, why aren't you-"

And the she collapsed to her knees, the realization suddenly there. 

"Connor, Connor, what the hell, why the actual fuck would you do that, I HATE YOU!" she screamed, and she rested her hands over his heart while her eyes found the empty bottle next to him.

No tears would fall from her, though.

He stepped behind her, and laid an invisible hand on her back. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

She stared for a couple more minutes, down at his peacefully expression. She quietly ran her fingers through his unruly long hair, tucking the sheets over him, trying to forget, trying to forget this was happening.

"Honey," Cynthia came up cheerfully, to see Zoe standing over him.

She turned around, her eyes brimming with red, her arms solemnly to her sides.

Out of all the things Cynthia expected, she never knew Zoe could look so somber, so old and so young, so free and yet so trapped.

"Mom," Zoe whispered silently, swallowing hardly. "He's gone."