Suicidal Todoroki x Midoriya | What it Means to Love

60 | What it Means to Love

True end
Shoto Todoroki

Pressing the bottle to my lips with a wave of clicking from the pills, I begin to read over my suicide notes. The small, scentless capsules stick slightly to my tongue as I swallow them down. Although the sensation of a multiplicity of cylindrical capsules being wedged down my throat is far from pleasant, my body has capitulated to my blighting thoughts.

It feels surreal for this to be happening. Is this what I truly desire? Yes, of course...right?

Bakugou, you were perhaps the last person I expected to receive help from. Ever since that day at Yaoyorozu's house, I have been eternally in your debt. You put forth exceptional effort to change my mind, better me, open my eyes, and to take care of me. Although I never mentioned it, I did greatly appreciate your company during the times when I was feeling extraordinarily...well, lonely, I suppose you could say. Your reaffirming pats on my shoulder became a type of praise I relished. Thank you. Thank you for everything. I'm terribly sorry to have been an object of vanity you expended much time and effort into. I want you to know that you have been one of the scarce reasons I had not to die just yet. I wanted to prove that I could pull through to spite Endeavor, but I also did not want your efforts to be futile. You were so kind. Again, thank you. No amount of thank you's will ever suffice for your invaluable hours invested into me. You were also perceptive enough to see my flaws beneath the surface before Izuku managed to. Despite your appearance, you truly are quite soft on the inside. Had it not been for you, I likely never would have touched any food, and I can imagine that I would have arrived at this conclusion within a matter of days. Seeing that you, the omnipotent Katsuki Bakugou, had been subjected to immense suffering that you prevailed through gave me hope. Truly, thank you, Bakugou.

Everything we worked for was futile. I am selfish. I am taking our progress and tossing it behind me, where I am never to entertain the thought of glancing back at it. But, in my corrupted mind, I imagine that this is far superior to potentially hurting you further by relapsing. Whenever you realize that I've relapsed, I suddenly feel so heavy, as if gravity itself is crushing me. You'll admonish me, and then remind me of how far I've come. You tell me you aren't angry, but a part of me cannot believe that. You tell me you aren't disappointed in me, but why else would you admonish my actions? Perhaps my mind is simply mired by this abject self-loathing, but you seem to be creating a paradox. I am a disappointment, but so as not to perhaps degrade my mind, you tell me that I am not. I'm a disappointment for scarring my skin with whatever I can find. I'm a disappointment for eating too little. I'm a disappointment for being so damn weak. I'm a disappointment for being so heartless and cold. I'm a disappointment for everything I haven't felt. I'm a disappointment for provoking others to desire to help me. I'm a disappointment for subjecting myself to others' aid from rejecting myself. I'm a disappointment for thinking as I do. I'm a disappointment for being suicidal. I'm a fucking disappointment...

Subconsciously, I begin to drag my nails across the scabs and scars running across my arms.

We are all fated to die. I will simply die a bit sooner than expected. Or, perhaps...quite a few years later than expected. I should have drowned. I should have. But I was opposed by adversity, and in the end, I did live. I lived, but I wanted to die. I wanted to die, so I planned to commit suicide. My plans were tarnished by Izuku, so I lived. I lived, and here I am again. I want to die again. I want to disappear. Suppressing this desire is unbearable. My left half is unbearable. But here I am...planning once more to commit suicide. This time, I will not fail. Lest I fail, however...

Without a writing instrument easily accessible to me, I draw my own blood and write with red ink:

I'm sorry, but it seems I won't be around to "hang out" with you, Kirishima, and Kaminari. It seems I'll be "hanging" with myself. I know it's incredibly selfish, but even so, I suppose I've convinced myself that this is the most preferable ending. Perhaps I even feel as though you truly won't care—that I was a fool for believing anyone could care about me.