I Love You and I'm Sorry

Overdose

Trigger Warning: overdose, kinda graphic (just a detailed description of the pain, there's no blood), nobody dies I promise

He didn't expect to feel nothing. Maybe he should have, he knew better than anyone that his emotions were broken. He didn't feel anything that he was supposed to anymore. 

But still, he thought he would at least be relieved, or sad, or maybe even a bit scared. After all, this was his last day alive. 

Then he ambled into the kitchen- for the last breakfast I'm ever going to eat, he thought- and he locked eyes with his wife. His stomach dropped.

He told her he wasn't feeling well and should probably call in sick for work that day, and that was definitely why he was so obviously wrong. No, she shouldn't stay with him because she was a badass Sergeant now and she needed to get work done. Reluctantly, Amy had agreed.

He'd meant to go into work that day, to see everyone in the precinct one last time, but he'd said his goodbyes, and now that the feels had kicked in, he was pretty sure he would give himself away if he tried to talk to any of them. 

When the door clicked shut behind Amy, the tears began to run steadily down his cheeks as if on cue. He was alone with his thoughts again, which was quite possibly the worst place in the entire world for Jake Peralta to be. For the first time in a while, he let himself ugly cry, sobbing loudly. He cried for what felt like an eternity until he calmed down. 

He wasn't sure what to do, he wanted to do something before he went out. So, he watched Die Hard for the last time. He tried to enjoy it, but when it was over, he felt hollow.

On one hand, he felt so guilty for doing this to them, all the people that he loved. He was going to hurt all of them just to end his own pain and it was so, so selfish. On the other, he was doing the right thing because they would be better off without him. He held back the squad, the 99th precinct would have already been the best in Brooklyn like Holt wanted if it wasn't for him, and Amy. Amy had settled for him, and now she could finally be free. Charles wouldn't have to deal with Jake treating him so poorly, abusing their friendship. Rosa wouldn't have to handle all the things he did that made her want to smash yet another innocent printer. Gina wouldn't be weighed down by Jake's lack of awesomeness anymore. He wouldn't need to be Terry's dumb work baby, and Holt would never have to endure his insufferable antics ever again. He didn't understand how he could feel both sentiments so vividly at the same time, but he did. 

Regardless of his internal conflict, he had already made his decision. Ultimately, they would be better without them, even if they would hurt for a little bit before they saw that. So, he pulled a bottle out of the fridge, not bothering to check what kind of alcohol it was.

Then, he opened the medicine cabinet. He pulled out Amy's antidepressants and the sleeping pills that he'd been prescribed for a few weeks after he came home from prison. He grabbed some ibuprofen too, for good measure. 

Lastly, he pulled the note from the drawer in his bedside table.

He returned to the couch in the living room, where the door into the apartment was. It would hurt Amy to find him no matter what he did, but he could picture her walking in, not seeing him and assuming that he was in their bedroom. She would call his name to no avail, and ice-cold panic would shoot through her veins. He's probably asleep, she would think, but somehow, she would know that something was terribly wrong, and in the mere seconds that it took her to find his body, it would kill her.

Jake loved Amy Santiago more than anything in the world, and he never wanted that for her. 

So he chose the living room.