𝓻𝓾𝓮𝓵 𝓲𝓶𝓪𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓼

• hard sometimes •

{Trigger warning - Suicide}

*.*.*.*

"MISTER VAN DICKY I'M HOME!" You yelled, opening the door with your shoulder after another long day at university. You expected Ruel's arms to envelop you in your daily embrace— but you were only met by the chilly air of your apartment.

Ruel had called you and told you that he'd come home early from the studio, sounding quite flustered over the phone, so you were basically buzzing to see him again and make sure that he wasn't getting too stressed like he always seemed to lately. You tiptoed through the apartment, wrapping your jacket tighter around your figure, as the ajar window emitted a less-than-comfortable draught.

"YOO HOO?" You called again, sweeping the kitchen and the hallways, your converse making a strangely eerie noise against the tiled floors.

As you went, you fixed up Ruel's mess in the cramped living space. You shut the window, and sighed, turning on the heater. You also dusted chips crumbs off his guitar, picked up the guitar he left laying on the worn fabric of the couch, and laid it on its stand. Ruel's amp and aux cords cluttered the floor, looking almost like writhing snakes bestrewing the usual quaint neatness of the area. You quickly kicked them to the corner of the room. He was never normally this messy— but he was extra stressed today, so you dismissed it.

If only I could find that pig, you thought bemusedly, continuing your search for your boyfriend.

After one last sweep of the house, you heard the soft patter of the running shower in the hallway. Ah, so he was just showering, you thought. You did a small double take. At 3 in the afternoon? You shrugged and threw yourself to the couch and waited for him to come out.

After twenty minutes of the furious running water in the distance and half an episode of The Real Bros of Simi Valley, you scrunched up your face and made your way down the hallway to the bathroom.

You knocked on the door hesitantly. "Babe? You're fingers are gonna get all pruny! Get out!"

You pouted as there was no answer from inside the door. You turned the doorknob, but found yourself rattling it.

Except, you didn't recall having a lock on any of the doors in your apartment other than your front one. You and Ruel always put off the lock installations because you were both lazy asses. You stepped back and examined the mahogany door. It was locked from the inside.

Your eyes fell to a small, flimsy piece of notebook paper folded up and stuck to the door. It had the word 'Y/n' scribbled onto it in Ruel's handwriting, with a tiny heart next to it, so you opened it up curiously.

Dear y/n,

Before you go into the bathroom, please hear me out.

I need you to know that I wanted this.

There are some days that I felt like I was going to be okay. Like last week, when we went down the beach and watched the stars, or yesterday, when you kissed me and said you loved me. But the thoughts always came crashing back no matter how good you were to me, and now I feel like I can't push it down anymore.

I don't blame the pills. Or the stress. I feel like I have lived long enough, in this sweet cesspool of worry and hatred that you call home.

Believe me. If anyone could save me, it would be you. I didn't feel anything except for what I had for you, y/n. Still, that was fading away slowly with every ounce of stress that piled on me everyday. I hated myself for everything that I did— and so did everybody else. I always wondered how I made you happy.