Work Text:
jisung wants to die.
he can’t sleep. he can’t, even if he wanted to.
the nights are endless. his eyes dart over to the digital alarm next to him. 2:01 am. it feels so much later.
the washing machine sounds so annoying.
he can’t sleep.
the phone in his hands doesn’t do him any good deed either. his fingers are numb, maybe because he’s been holding them up for his phone for so long now.
who cares.
nothing really matters.
his car is outside.
right, he got his licence a few months ago.
god, he’s so fucking tired.
he should get up. maybe go to the club again.
he already went yesterday. it’s not like the alcohol and tobacco and ear killing music made any difference. his thoughts remained the same;
I‘m fine with dying tonight.
okay, so not a club.
the air is awfully cold when he steps outside and walks to his car. his car is already dirty, full of energies and candy wrappers.
proof that he never succeeded in weight loss, too.
seriously, what could he even do?
his life is not worth it.
jisung starts the engine. it roars through the night and leaves a weird feeling in jisungs gut.
he looks to the passenger seat and the big bottle of vodka laying on it. untouched.
jisung doesn’t drink and drive, no, if he dies, then it’s just him.
he can at least have his dignity.
so, he starts driving. his nose is snotty. this is so annoying, really.
he can see his black hair in the car mirror. it’s messy. it’s ugly. just like he is.
he can’t even look at himself. he knows if he does any longer, he‘ll cry.
he hates when he cries. because there’s nobody to wipe the tears.
he’s all alone. has always been. will always be.
not like he knows what will always be in the future. he won’t be there anyway.
he decides to ride in silence. the car radio isn’t turning on anyway.
it’s boring, though. so he doesn’t drive for too long.
jisung stops in an empty parking lot. there’s not a single other car.
it’s annoying how his hoodie sticks to his bloody skin and makes the wounds burn again. the cuts are hours old now. they shouldn’t still be bleeding.
but they do. because he’s alive.
shut up.
shut up.
SHUT UP.
with a huff, jisung grabs the bottle and the pills laying next to it and gets out of the car.
he doesn’t walk too long, only opens the trunk and sits at the edge of the end of his car.
the first few sips are so disgusting. the taste never gets better, jisung hates the taste of alcohol. he likes the way it makes him feel, though.
the first cigarette is smoked in just a few minutes.
the rest of the pack is gone soon after, too.
just like the inside of the bottle.
wow, jisung is such a light weight.
his head falls onto his knees as the alcohol finally kicks in. he feels so light. it’s good.
so he opens up the pill bottle - his old antidepressants from 3 years ago, which he never finished.
even back then he knew. he kept them, just in case.
it’s easy to just swallow them at first, it gets harder after each passing pill though.
so he starts to take three and four at the same time.
he needs to make sure this works. he can’t fail again.
is he feeling like that because he’s drunk?
is that what the pills do?
whoa, everything is so unreal.
is he really in this body right now? is he seeing all this right?
is this really the end?
is this really his life?
jisung doesn’t think about it. if he thinks even more, he might not do it.
that’s why there’s no farewell letter, too.
because he really wants to die this time.
he’s getting weaker. he can barely even see now.
that’s scary.
but it’s too late now.
he takes another sip of the bottle and finally leans back.
he said he’d be fine with dying.
he’s not.
of course he isn’t.
he wants to live, more than anything, he does.
but it hurts. it has been hurting so much.
six years of the same thoughts and pains and it had only been getting worser.
all those empty promises were left in the rain.
it never truly gets better, does it?
as jisung closes his eyes, he wonders if anyone would miss him.
the sky is so beautiful tonight.