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Vic and Mike had gotten into a fight again.
Vic was slow to anger, but Mike never knew when to shut up, resulting in frequent arguments between the two.
This time was particularly bad. Mike had said some things that he, under normal circumstances, would never think of saying to someone, much less his brother. Usually his words don’t reach Vic, but these ones cut deep. As soon as Vic started to tear up, Mike brought up Vic’s old.. habit.
“What, are you gonna go hole up in your room with that blade again?”
Mike immediately regretted what he’d said, but it was too late. Vic had already ran off to his room and locked his door, just like he used to.
His wrists and thighs wouldn’t stop tingling. He stared at the drawer on his bedside table. It had been years since he purposely hurt himself in any way, but the urge was always there, waiting for the right thing to set it off.
Mike found it.
Vic had stopped crying by now. His face was blank as he reached for the drawer. Inside was many miscellaneous items, and under a carefully placed piece of folded paper, laid a razor blade. Vic’s hands shook as he took it in his hand and closed the drawer.
He rolled up his sleeves, revealing his scar-covered arms. The scars dated from to his freshman year to his 21st birthday, on which he made a vow to never self-harm again. Well, all good things come to an end, don’t they? Sighing deeply, Vic shakily pressed the blade to the skin on his wrist, closed his eyes, and made the first cut. It stung like hell, and the combination of the pain and blood resurfaced something in Vic. He pressed the blade to his wrist again, this time harder, and swiped again. Watching his skin split open and blood pool out of him made him feel at peace. He felt like this was the one thing he had complete control over. He made a few more cuts on his left wrist, then moved on to the right one. He started shallow, then went deeper and deeper until his hand was shaking so bad he couldn’t hold the blade steady anymore. The right side always hurt more, so he was rougher with it. Vic watched as the blood covered his sheets, though he couldn’t care less about that right now.
He needed more.
Still bleeding, Vic pulled his pants off and stared at his thighs. He’d never cut there before, and he had to admit, it made him a bit nervous, but it didn’t matter; he deserved this.
He pressed the blade to his right thigh, and swiped as fast and as hard as he could. The pain was enough to make his vision become spotty. He smiled as he looked at his thigh, now gushing blood. He stared as his hand seemed to move on its own, filling both of his thighs with deep gashes. It decided to focus on one in particular, continuously going at the same spot until it hit the hypodermis. Vic’s blood now covered his arms, his legs, and his sheets.
His consciousness was fading, but he used his last bit of energy to take the piece of paper out of the drawer and unfold it.
The paper read;
“As I sit down to write this letter, I find myself struggling to find the right words to express what’s in my heart. It’s a feeling that I’ve tried to fight against for so long, but I now realize that I can’t keep battling my mind alone. There’s a part of me that feels immense sorrow for the weight I’ve carried and the impact it has had on all of you whom I love dearly.
Through the years, every one of you have been my anchor in moments of darkness, and for that, I am eternally grateful. The laughter we’ve shared, the memories we’ve built, and the times we’ve supported each other mean the world to me. Yet, I’ve come to understand that sometimes, the bravest thing I can do is to say goodbye; not out of love, but as a way to free myself from the ongoing struggle within.
Please remember me for the joy we’ve shared rather than the battles I’ve fought. I hope you can find comfort in knowing that I held each of you close to my heart until the very end. I wish you all the strength and love in this world. Thank you for being my light—you will always be cherished.
Love you guys,
Vic”
Vic had hoped he’d never have to actually use this note, but alas, he placed the paper in-between the pillows on his bed and laid down.
He reminisced on all the good times he’d had, all the wonderful people he’d met in his twenty-eight years on Earth, but the person who made the most appearances was Mike. He’d watched him grow up, seen his whole life up until now. They were usually there for each other, just not for the times that mattered the most. But even so, he was still Vic’s little brother. He couldn’t just leave him like this. But it was too late. What’s done is done.
Vic closed his eyes, tears rolling down the sides of his face. He hated that his brother would have to see him like this. He hated that Jaime and Tony would find out why he’d get so uncomfortable around any kind of blade. He hated that he never got to hug his mom and dad one last time. He hated that their baby boy was going to die without them being able to say goodbye to him. But he hated himself worst of all. He hated himself for dragging down the people around him, for making his own issues everyone else’s, for not letting what Mike said just go in one ear and out the other like every other time. He hated himself for being weak like those boys would tell him in school, and for never giving himself a chance to be happy because he was so preoccupied with thinking of ways to not be depressed. He hated that he was going out with so many regrets. This wasn’t peaceful at all. He was filled with anger, guilt, sorrow, and disgust.
Vic tried to open his eyes, but came to find out that he couldn’t. He tried to move his eyes, his hands, anything, but nothing responded. This was it, what he had craved since high school. He never thought he’d actually do it, but here he is. Vic shed a few more tears, then quietly drifted off to sleep, never to wake again.