３６５ Ｆｒｅｓｈ

Ｓｉｘ(承受) - The Last

Warning: This chapter contains heavy subjects such as suicidal attempts. If these are triggering to you we advise to skip this chapter.

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"Such pretty eyes . . ."

"Thank you for your . . . sweet donations."

Amid an empty bedroom, soulless red ruby eyes stared deeply at a plain wall. The recollection of words spoken by selfish unknown killers replayed vividly in the blonde's head.

It was in the blink of an eye that the colorless stare turned into a cold expression. Jaw clenching and hands turned into fists with knuckles turning paler. Behind that cold icy gaze was a peak of pain. It was as if he had stored away from the anger that was seeping through cracks attempting to break all.

His thought of lashing out being taken as acceptance of a forever over.

Incapable of taking in the truth, the blonde male screamed at nothing, in particular, his cries of angered pain fell on deaf ears as they were ignored by those around.

His yells subsided when in change, a phone on the wall began ringing.

The coolness of his glare was shivering, he strolled right over the phone before pushing several buttons on it. On the line, all that was left after his act as a beeping sound that irritated him more than it should have.

For a second, the blonde-haired male held the phone in hand before finally breaking. Tangling himself in the curls of its cord. He wrapped it carelessly around his neck.

The feeling he hoped to achieve was nowhere there. Instead, the cord hung loosely around his neck, no matter how much he pulled at the end, the cord tangled with itself preventing what he was hoping.

Nothing came out of it.

Scoffing at his first pity attempt of following the endings of his family, his jaw clenched as the knuckles turned whiter than usual.

Reluctantly, even when he hadn't come to feel any asphyxiation he waited for something until he didn't. With scissors laying near, the male cut the phone's chord. The freeing feeling was not enough for him to find himself finding warmth in it.

Instead, he felt cold.

The lonely male slammed his head against the wall holding a broken phone. For a moment his body sensed every single thing that was done to his family. The piercing of knives in his eye sockets, the aftermath of silenced cries.

Everything.

His mind went towards the darker side of things before the corner of his eye met with the small trash can at a corner.

The imagery of the death beds of his clan only urged him to find a way to join them.

Withering with blame and pity, the blonde male destructively dumped the trash around his home before thrashing in it.

Little by little, each clot of junk became a mere representation of those he lost in his eyes.

In the middle of his reenactment of what was, he viewed down on the mess and then at the plastic bag in his hand.

The bitter sight running in his head was vivid enough for him to pull the bag over his head, his hands knotting the ends together and grasping his neck to prevent any air from escaping or entering.

He was breathing but the air just wouldn't go in, like his lungs were surrounded by metal bands. Just how he wanted.

A dizzy feeling developed before a rising in panic took over. He struggled for a while inside the suffocating bag, trying to stay in it and take off into the next life but he gave into wanting to breathe again and ripped open the bag.

While getting his breath back, the lonely blonde finds himself staring at his reflection in a mirror on the opposite side.

With the more he staggered right over, it was as if he was being made fun of.

His suffocating attempt being mocked by the ripped bag still around him and the way it was evident he tried to strangle himself with the way the phone cord had left its markings on his neck.

"How pathetic . . . to not be able to kill yourself." He spoke to no one but himself, disgust reigned superior in his red eyes.

"How pathetic of you . . . to be the last to die . ."

Disgust turned to hate, and hate turned to anger in an instant.

He threw a punch at the mirror, not being capable of taking the ridicule of his reflection any longer. In the fragments of the broken mirror, it was probable to see a replication of his soul in shards as well.

Pale hands were now puffy, decorated with cuts and red blood oozing out.

Even when his hand trickled with blood and stung he continued on his finding of death, ignoring the pain he was inflicting on himself.

To him, the stinging was just a sign to carry on.
To rid himself of this cruel world.

Kurapika eyed the bathtub as it was filling up.

The echoing sound and the sight of spewing water brought out a glimpse of what was known as calm to him.

As it was filled he sat on the edge while throwing a glare at the floor. The thoughtless taunts of what could have been the words of killers were brought up in his head.

Pleads of his clan falling on deaf ears were no longer, he could hear them. Crying and calling for aid that never came. Hollering words to save each other but falling futile.

To shut it all off, he fell backward into the water.

Crisp, cold, and sharp water was slowly beginning to fill his lungs as if there was just less space in them for air.

Not used to the feeling every time he inflated them it felt like pushing weight on his chest.

Every last bit of air sucked in was treacle.

His eyesight was going blurry but not before finding himself in front of a familiar face.

Donning a crimson garb with a pinkish lining and blonde hair, his eyes blurred when it was noted that her eyes were gone. Instead, a black hole was made out of her loss.

Believing the image, he desperately flailed his arms for something or someone to clutch. To save him from a horrible fate.

But after admitting the truth of the deaths, starting to go limp, and after tiring himself quickly, he started to lose himself.

The dragging feeling of the water, he felt the water surrounding him in a cold embrace.

"Kurapika!"

A sudden rush of fear shot through his body. His brain panicked for air. He unexpectedly began struggling again, drowning in his own hands wasn't what he wanted.

He was a coward who wanted someone else to fulfill that wish. He needed someone to do to him what those people did to his clan.

He rose from the water and stayed in it with his head held out. His eyes holding zero expression looked around, all around him was clean but dark. Quiet but loud.

The voices of those long gone went silenced when all he could hear was the dripping of water from his clothes as he stood up.

Dazed and gone, soaked and out for death; Kurapika walked out of his home and wandered the city.

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© 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘺 𝘋𝘪𝘯𝘰, 𝘌𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘊𝘩𝘪𝘣𝘪