Fic: Just a Cut.

[silentdescant]

Title: Just a Cut.

Author: silentdescant

Rating: R

Fandom: lotrips

Pairing: BB/DM

Summary: It’s just a cut on the wrist…

Warnings: *suicide* and, of course, angst.

Wordcount: 375
Disclaimer: These people aren't mine and I've never met them. I'm just making up stories for my own enjoyment.

A/N: I was just about to fall asleep when this bunny jumped onto my bed and bit me. Made get up and write it down immediately.

 

 

Just a Cut.

 

It’s weird, innit? How veins look blue from under the skin, but once they’re cut, everything’s red again, like blood should be. This’ll make a mess. Why did I just think that? I shouldn’t care. But I do. I feel sorry for whoever has to clean me up. Probably Billy. Oh, poor Billy. It’d be great if he could come with me. Then who would clean up after him? Elijah? What am I saying? I don’t want Billy to off himself! Then again, I am about to… Am I really? Yes. I have to. Poor, poor Bills. I shouldn’t do this to him. He shouldn’t have to clean me up. I should tell Lij to do it. What a morbid thought. I should just get this over with. Before he comes home and tries to stop me. What the hell. Why not now? Nothing dramatic, just a cut on the wrist… There. All done.

 

..::*::..

 

The sharp, tangy smell of copper filled the room. My heart stopped beating. I nudged open the door. My heart, which had yet to resume its life-sustaining functions, dropped clear out of my chest. Except I think I followed it, because a second later, my knees hit the floor. It should have hurt. I didn’t feel it. My jeans slowly grew wet and stained. I didn't want to see his (empty, lifeless, sad) eyes, but I couldn’t keep myself from looking. Looking for that spark, that light, that… life to shine through. Slits of blue-gray are barely visible under his dark lashes. They contained none of the things I was hoping for. I reach out to touch his face. His cheeks, rough with stubble, are pale and cold to the touch. I trace his lower lip with my thumb. His mouth is slightly open, as if he were surprised about the approach of death. Oh, Dommie, how could you not know? Is this not what you had in mind, love? With that thought, I collapsed onto the floor beside his body, sobbing uncontrollably. I take his (limp, blood soaked, clammy) hand in mine and squeeze it, as if that would bring him back. Once upon a time, everything was perfect. Look what it’s come to, Dommie. Look what we’ve done.


fin.