(no subject)
Title: Pain
Author:
slasher48/
bad_bad_books
Rating: R, tons of swearing and certain references
Pairing: VAM
Standard Disclaimer Applies (Yes I know I kinda stole that from Fizzy but I'm too lazy to care right now, sorry Fizz)
Warning: Character Death, Suicide, and a slightly offending view that may anger good Christians
Pain. Unbearable, crushing pain. It's all I feel at this moment. I know if I still possessed a body, it would be bent double with the crushing agony, tears running down my all too pale face.
But I haven't a mortal form anymore. If I had, I would definitely not be concentrating on it, but on the mortal form through the window in front of me. The mortal form of him, of my lover.
Why do I feel such pain, you ask? Merely because the last time I looked through a window at a scene like this, with him holding a knife just barely to the skin of his wrists and staring fixedly at a pill bottle, wondering which method of escape to use, I'd been able to stop him.
Now, my hand would go right through him, my voice wouldn't be able to be heard by him, my pain would go unnoticed. I'd have to watch as my best friend, the love of my life sliced open those delicate wrists or swallowed one pill too many to end all this suffering he was in, unable to halt his progress, to run into the kitchen where he is right now and rip all methods of self-demise from his trembling hands, to hold him as he sobbed to me the fact that it'd all gone to hell, that he really couldn't deal with it anymore, to make sure he knew he was loved and that I wasn't going to let him go, not even of his own accord.
That's what I'd done the last time. And the time before that, and before that. He'd tried this many times, and I'd almost always been the one with enough luck to happen upon him when he was in a mood such as this. One such time had been the first time we'd kissed, my emotionally drained body just wanting to pull from him some realization he was still here with me, devastated by the very thought of him leaving me, in any way or fashion.
God, I wish I could do that now. But my wispy, barely there form, inaudible and invisible to humans, can't serve me that purpose. I must merely witness this, feel my heart breaking, despite the fact that I haven't one anymore to break, bear this horrifying pain with little choice.
I read his lips, they're finally forming words as he sobs uncontrollably, bent at the waist with one hand pressing a knife against the other wrist, eyes firmly on the pill bottle and pouring tears. "Why?," he cries out, and I can just hear it through the window, "Why the hell did you have to leave me, huh, Willa? I fucking loved you, I told you not to get on that plane, I fucking TOLD YOU when you said the pilot had been incompetent enough to be fired before not to get on that flight and come here! Did you listen? FUCK no! And now you're gone, now I'll never see your face again, never hear those gorgeous, heartbreaking songs you write from your lips, only from a fucking piece of scrap metal with your face on it! I've had it, my love, I've fucking had it with this life, one without you...it's agony, it's just constant, terrible pain....I have to get away, I need to see you again, baby...."
It's almost as if he knows I can hear him, but I know he doesn't really, he's just lashing out at me, begging me to forgive him for doing something as horrible as taking one's own life.
"Please, Bam," I yell through the glass, my voice tinted with the tears that I know I can never shed, spirits don't cry, they can't,"Don't, don't do this to yourself. I can't bear to see you in this much pain, but you can do it, you can make it, you'll get through this! Bam Margera does whatever he fucking wants, right! Right?!" He won't answer, I know he won't, but still I'm begging him hysterically to live, just live, don't put himself into this terror of a life...or death would be more appropriate.. that I am stuck in.
He ignores me. His arm is trembling as he slides the knife quickly across his skin, pressing down enough that thick red blood spills out of the cut as soon as the knife has left his skin. Again, he does it, and again, and again, and all I can fucking do is watch! God can't exist, letting me watch this type of thing but making me powerless to stop him!
He slumps to the floor and I walk through the window so I can still see him, crouching down by his shaking, bleeding, sobbing form. "I need death," he whispers, barely able to be heard," because I need you, and death brings me that much closer to you."
I'm gasping for breath, if my bodiless existence could produce tears, they may start and never cease, drawn out by the horrible pain this angel is feeling, all a cause of my stupidity, I should have listened to him, I should have stayed in Helsinki 'til the next flight, I should have placated myself with his voice on my phone until it was safe, I should have just fucking listened to him, but I'd been too stubborn, too anxious to see him, too ignorant with the anticipation of young love to realize that it was the worst decision I could have ever made to step onto that plane.
His breath is getting shallow, the blood is draining from his arms and the color of his face and arms with it. "Bye, world," he whispers with his last breaths," God, just take me to Willa, please." Then he's still, his life's blood pooling around him, eyes closed, body unmoving.
I'm waiting, wanting him to jump up and say "Gotcha, cocksucker!", to pretend this whole thing is a dream, that I'm still in the airport, waiting for the next flight, having given up on the cunty pilot given to us for the first one, speaking to him on the phone as he reassures me that we'll see each other soon enough, and that it was a very good move on my part not to let myself on that plane.
His head has slumped to the side, but there is not even enough breath in him to stir the pool of blood, and it's then I realize he's dead.
I curl up in a ball on the floor next to him and try to make myself stop existing, even in this meager half-existence, the pain now unbelievably strong. It's my fault, it's all my fault, Bam is dead, and it's all my fault, because he'd wanted to be with me, because he couldn't take life without me. I could die right here, my soul destroyed, heart shattered, the only fucking problem is I'm already dead.
I run my pitiful excuse for a hand over his chilly, pale skin, stroking his cheek with adoring fingers, and my eyes, they want so badly to cry, God, I'd never complain again about this stupid half-life I'm living if only I could cry, let out the pain I'm feeling somehow. The tears are pooling in the back of my eyes but they're not real tears, just the memory of a sensation. I'd been crying when I died, watching through the window as the water met the nose of the plane, knowing without a doubt I'd never see my Bammie again. My body still wanted to, and so did what's left of a heart in me, they prompted me to lay on my fallen love's chest and have me shed floods of tears to rival oceans.
Instead, I could only feel the crushing pain, and do nothing. I had to face it, because that's all I would ever have, was pain. Especially with my darling angel lying dead.
*****
I apologize, as I prolly should be working on Tearing Apart and The List instead of writing rather short little drabbles, but it was in my head and wouldn't. fucking. go. away. so I figured, what the hell, write and post it, maybe then I'm good.
*blows kisses* Review for me, loves? Please?
Author:
slasher48/
bad_bad_books
Rating: R, tons of swearing and certain references
Pairing: VAM
Standard Disclaimer Applies (Yes I know I kinda stole that from Fizzy but I'm too lazy to care right now, sorry Fizz)
Warning: Character Death, Suicide, and a slightly offending view that may anger good Christians
Pain. Unbearable, crushing pain. It's all I feel at this moment. I know if I still possessed a body, it would be bent double with the crushing agony, tears running down my all too pale face.
But I haven't a mortal form anymore. If I had, I would definitely not be concentrating on it, but on the mortal form through the window in front of me. The mortal form of him, of my lover.
Why do I feel such pain, you ask? Merely because the last time I looked through a window at a scene like this, with him holding a knife just barely to the skin of his wrists and staring fixedly at a pill bottle, wondering which method of escape to use, I'd been able to stop him.
Now, my hand would go right through him, my voice wouldn't be able to be heard by him, my pain would go unnoticed. I'd have to watch as my best friend, the love of my life sliced open those delicate wrists or swallowed one pill too many to end all this suffering he was in, unable to halt his progress, to run into the kitchen where he is right now and rip all methods of self-demise from his trembling hands, to hold him as he sobbed to me the fact that it'd all gone to hell, that he really couldn't deal with it anymore, to make sure he knew he was loved and that I wasn't going to let him go, not even of his own accord.
That's what I'd done the last time. And the time before that, and before that. He'd tried this many times, and I'd almost always been the one with enough luck to happen upon him when he was in a mood such as this. One such time had been the first time we'd kissed, my emotionally drained body just wanting to pull from him some realization he was still here with me, devastated by the very thought of him leaving me, in any way or fashion.
God, I wish I could do that now. But my wispy, barely there form, inaudible and invisible to humans, can't serve me that purpose. I must merely witness this, feel my heart breaking, despite the fact that I haven't one anymore to break, bear this horrifying pain with little choice.
I read his lips, they're finally forming words as he sobs uncontrollably, bent at the waist with one hand pressing a knife against the other wrist, eyes firmly on the pill bottle and pouring tears. "Why?," he cries out, and I can just hear it through the window, "Why the hell did you have to leave me, huh, Willa? I fucking loved you, I told you not to get on that plane, I fucking TOLD YOU when you said the pilot had been incompetent enough to be fired before not to get on that flight and come here! Did you listen? FUCK no! And now you're gone, now I'll never see your face again, never hear those gorgeous, heartbreaking songs you write from your lips, only from a fucking piece of scrap metal with your face on it! I've had it, my love, I've fucking had it with this life, one without you...it's agony, it's just constant, terrible pain....I have to get away, I need to see you again, baby...."
It's almost as if he knows I can hear him, but I know he doesn't really, he's just lashing out at me, begging me to forgive him for doing something as horrible as taking one's own life.
"Please, Bam," I yell through the glass, my voice tinted with the tears that I know I can never shed, spirits don't cry, they can't,"Don't, don't do this to yourself. I can't bear to see you in this much pain, but you can do it, you can make it, you'll get through this! Bam Margera does whatever he fucking wants, right! Right?!" He won't answer, I know he won't, but still I'm begging him hysterically to live, just live, don't put himself into this terror of a life...or death would be more appropriate.. that I am stuck in.
He ignores me. His arm is trembling as he slides the knife quickly across his skin, pressing down enough that thick red blood spills out of the cut as soon as the knife has left his skin. Again, he does it, and again, and again, and all I can fucking do is watch! God can't exist, letting me watch this type of thing but making me powerless to stop him!
He slumps to the floor and I walk through the window so I can still see him, crouching down by his shaking, bleeding, sobbing form. "I need death," he whispers, barely able to be heard," because I need you, and death brings me that much closer to you."
I'm gasping for breath, if my bodiless existence could produce tears, they may start and never cease, drawn out by the horrible pain this angel is feeling, all a cause of my stupidity, I should have listened to him, I should have stayed in Helsinki 'til the next flight, I should have placated myself with his voice on my phone until it was safe, I should have just fucking listened to him, but I'd been too stubborn, too anxious to see him, too ignorant with the anticipation of young love to realize that it was the worst decision I could have ever made to step onto that plane.
His breath is getting shallow, the blood is draining from his arms and the color of his face and arms with it. "Bye, world," he whispers with his last breaths," God, just take me to Willa, please." Then he's still, his life's blood pooling around him, eyes closed, body unmoving.
I'm waiting, wanting him to jump up and say "Gotcha, cocksucker!", to pretend this whole thing is a dream, that I'm still in the airport, waiting for the next flight, having given up on the cunty pilot given to us for the first one, speaking to him on the phone as he reassures me that we'll see each other soon enough, and that it was a very good move on my part not to let myself on that plane.
His head has slumped to the side, but there is not even enough breath in him to stir the pool of blood, and it's then I realize he's dead.
I curl up in a ball on the floor next to him and try to make myself stop existing, even in this meager half-existence, the pain now unbelievably strong. It's my fault, it's all my fault, Bam is dead, and it's all my fault, because he'd wanted to be with me, because he couldn't take life without me. I could die right here, my soul destroyed, heart shattered, the only fucking problem is I'm already dead.
I run my pitiful excuse for a hand over his chilly, pale skin, stroking his cheek with adoring fingers, and my eyes, they want so badly to cry, God, I'd never complain again about this stupid half-life I'm living if only I could cry, let out the pain I'm feeling somehow. The tears are pooling in the back of my eyes but they're not real tears, just the memory of a sensation. I'd been crying when I died, watching through the window as the water met the nose of the plane, knowing without a doubt I'd never see my Bammie again. My body still wanted to, and so did what's left of a heart in me, they prompted me to lay on my fallen love's chest and have me shed floods of tears to rival oceans.
Instead, I could only feel the crushing pain, and do nothing. I had to face it, because that's all I would ever have, was pain. Especially with my darling angel lying dead.
*****
I apologize, as I prolly should be working on Tearing Apart and The List instead of writing rather short little drabbles, but it was in my head and wouldn't. fucking. go. away. so I figured, what the hell, write and post it, maybe then I'm good.
*blows kisses* Review for me, loves? Please?