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It stings.
Is all Dazai can think, the warm blood trickling down his arm contrasting the cold harsh floor of his bathroom. His fingers twitch as he tries to see if his arm is still capable of feeling other than pain. Discovering that it was not, he lifted his head back up against the wall, letting out a wet, broken laugh. Knowing that if he continued to look at his wounds he would eventually come to the decision to call for help, because he can’t do anything fucking right. He focused his sights on the little window he had above his shower, the only source of light being the glow from the moon. His vision growing spotty and darkening from the loss of blood and amount of pain pills and various other medications he downed before slitting his wrists getting to him.
Dazai thought that maybe halfway through this he would’ve realized how idiotic he was being, that he’d realize how this was too painful of a way for him to go and that he just needed to figure out the perfect suicide, a completely painless one that would just make him feel as if he never existed in the first place. But he knew deep down that was all a lie. There was no painless way to go, he was just too scared to admit that he was afraid of death. He didn’t wanna be this way. He didn’t wanna die, he just wishes he wasn’t born. He’s never had a successful attempt before, so why now? Why is it going to actually happen whenever this was one of his better days? Nothing bad even happened, he was just.. broken. and so very tired. Even on his worse days he can’t even feel much sadness anymore, just an eerie calm that seemed to plague his mind that could only truly be described as numb.
His mind was racing but he couldn’t get any of the actual thoughts out. Everything moving too fast and too slow simultaneously. Dazai’s mind growing hazier by the second with him not only bleeding out but also overdosing on whatever the hell he had in his medicine cabinet. He doesn’t even know what exactly he took, with all the bottles looking the same, and him not caring enough to check before swallowing as many as he could. The only person to know what he took would be who finds his body, covered with dried blood, and surrounded with empty containers. With a silent pulse too, if this is going the way Dazai believes it is.
Dazai thinks he might’ve just hallucinated a tear running down his cheek, hearing it drop onto the floor he chooses to believe that it’s just the blood still gushing out of him. Not wanting to consider that he might regret this, I mean, after all this is all he’s ever wanted right? It’s all he’s ever talked about. So why isn’t he relieved. Why is he not closing his eyes and relishing in the feeling of drifting off and never having to wake up and be disappointed that he’s still here. Why is he trying so hard to keep his eyes open for just a little bit longer. Remember the very few people that he cherishes, hating himself even more at the thought of one of them finding him. Maybe no one ever will find him though. It’s not like many people even like him, and the few that do probably wouldn’t come looking for him. They’d just figure that he either was disappearing off the face of the planet for a bit like he typically does. Or they might just think that he finally got what he wanted. Possibly even be happy that he was finally freed of this hellscape.
His head slumped forward, it taking too much energy to continue keeping it up. Dazais eyes growing heavier by the second, he finally gave in and let them slip shut. His labored breaths slowing as he thought about how he had gotten here. Who would be most likely to find him if he was found at all. If anyone might actually miss his presence, or even want him to come back. Most likely not, but it’s a nice thought.
His mind became quiet, quieter then it had been in years. It felt nice. I guess this is the acceptance people talk about before you die. This is nice.
Dazai smiled, letting the emptiness of death swallow him hole.
By the time Chuuya found him the body was cold. The soft smile still on his face.