Work Text:
"I'm sorry." The words slip from your lips, whiny and broken and littered with sniffles, but you don't care anymore. All you want is the one person in this shithole you can trust.
You're going to die in this hellhole, aren't you? You're going to die here because you messed up, because you're such a dumbass, because you can't help but be so insufferable that no one likes you.
"I'm so sorry—" A hiccup, a sob. "—For being such a dumbass!"
Silence. Like you're talking to a brick wall. It could be worse. You could be getting shoved out right now.
No. Getting shoved out would be better than this. Getting shoved out would be so much better than this, than feeling your heart collapse in on your ribcage as the silence threatens to crush you whole.
When you first found out exactly who you were stuck rooming with, you'd been a vapid asshole. You've been so stuck up, and mean, and so maybe… Maybe you deserve this. It was selfish of you to think that you could ever have a relationship with a man you so coldly shunned.
"You were right about everything," the words continue falling from your lips like water tumbling from a waterfall. You couldn't put a lid on it if you desperately tried. "I was being—I was being an idiot."
You can faintly see your reflection in the mirror—the roots of your hair, your ruffled clothes, and most of all, just how pathetic you look. You are pathetic.
You couldn't hold on to the one person in this place you needed—no, still need—more than anything, because you're an idiot, because you're a goddamn idiot who can't keep your mouth shut.
You feel broken. You feel like a little kid.
But feeling stupid and hating yourself for the way you're acting—that just makes the tears worsen. You hate this. You hate your stupid stubborn roommate who you need so much, that stupid line of tape that, though now irrelevant, sits there tauntingly as a reminder of the way you just can't help but push others away, and you hate yourself for being so blind.
But even as the silence continues, filled by nothing but his tears, you blindly rambles onward, trying to fill it. Talking big—that's all you really know how to do, isn't it? What does you actually do? When it mattered most, you did nothing.
Get out.
The words haunt you like a spectre.
"You left me all alone," you say. You don't know whether it's supposed to be an accusation or a lamentation or a plea. "I'm sorry for barging into your room, but what the hell else was I supposed to do?"
Are you more angry with him for abandoning you or more angry with yourself? You don't know. For someone of your capabilities, this should be an easy question to solve, but you don't know.
"I'm sorry." You say. You've lost count of how many times you've said it by now—it's ironic. You've always hated apologizing, and yet here you are.
This place really does change people, doesn't it?
You were always so stuck-up and stand-offish and now you're being so clingy and codependent, but really—
"What else was I supposed to do?"
You have no one else. You're never going to see your family again, because you're going to die here, so he's the only person you have.
He was. Not anymore, of course, because you messed up.
The silence you receive in response speaks volumes.
"I can't sleep alone," you say. "You know I can't trust anyone in this place!"
Your voice is getting loud. People always did tell you you had issues controlling your volume.
"You never did anything bad to me when we slept," you say. "Even though we were on the same bed, and it would've been so easy…"
The silence is sickening, stifling, it makes you want to scream, if only to fill a void that swallows up your heart and mind.
"You always took care of me, in your own, weird way." You keep going. "You always… You always tried to act all standoffish, but.. heh—" For the first time in so long, your lips contort into something of a smile. "—You were really bad at it."
But more silence, of course, because that's all you'll get, because you squandered your opportunity for anything more.
Still, you can't take this anymore. Why can't he say something, anything? You know… You know you were a shitty roommate, but surely you don't deserve this?
"I'll lie on the floor if you want me to," you say. Your voice is cracking, you're getting desperate, for something, anything, just— please—
The door opens. You school your face into a facisimile of neutrality.
"Damon?" It's Diana. Of course it is. "The others wanted me to check up on you."
"I'm sure they did."
"It's true!" She says. "We've all been really worried about you… I know it was hard for you more than anyone."
"I handled it just fine."
"Damon…" You wonder how much of your outburst she heard. "I—"
Diana wrings her hands out nervously, before settling on a watery smile.
"You dye your hair?" She questions. Your eyes widen in confusion before you remember—your roots are showing.
"… I do."
"Do you—" She pauses, pondering what to say. Diana's feeling awkward around you, you can tell, even if she tries to hide it. "—Do you want me to give you a touch-up?"
Just to get her off your back for the time being, you nod mutely.
"Great!" She says, perking up. As awkward as she is, she also does care about you—she's being sincere, and you know it. That somehow makes it worse. What have you done to warrant this? Why does she bother? "Let's go to my room! I've got all the supplies there—Y'know, Ultimate Cosmetologist and all—you won't regret this, I swear…"
And as she rambles onward, you follow her out of the room, making one last glance at the now empty bed that once belonged to Kai Monteago, the Ultimate Influencer…
The man you loved.