Disclaimer: I don't own The OC, Ryan or Benjamin McKenzie.
Note: WARNING...tiny bit graphic. (Mel told me I had to warn you all, hee!). This is my contribution to brandywine421's death fic challenge.
You sit on your bed and stare at the wall for a while. You try not to think too much. That's not hard to do because over the last five months it's been increasingly difficult to keep your thoughts coherent. You never dreamed that you'd be in this situation, hell… you should have known better, you of all people should have known better but things were never that simple.
College just wasn't working; the pressure had hit you like a ton of bricks the third month after you'd arrived when the realization that so many people were looking at you to succeed. Your mom was busy telling everyone who'd listen that you were the only goddamn one in the whole family who was going to make something of yourself. They were all so fucking proud of you. You couldn't understand why. The Cohens' were the proudest of all. They kept telling you that you could have the whole world within your grasp when you graduated. That scared the fuck out of you, your life stretched in front of you and you didn't like what you saw.
You thought that you could handle being away from them all. You thought that you'd able to cope with being alone – you spent most of your life feeling lonely, so you thought you'd be able to handle the long hours spent in seclusion sat in your room with only books and the four walls for company but when it came down to it you just weren't cut out for it. Seth would ring you with excited tales of campus life, a life full of parties and fun. You were happy that he fitted in so well where he was. You were pleased that he had slotted in so well into his new environment. You heard from Summer, she was full off the sorority house she'd joined and Marissa talked and sent mails about the current guy of the week but things were so different for you, you hadn't been able to make friends easily; you never envied Seth's easy chatter so much in your life. Without Seth you just came across as uncommunicative, unfriendly and antisocial to the other students. Eventually you'd stopped trying to fit in.
You'd never been strong really and being separated from everything you'd come to trust and need had stretched the fragile binds that tied your fears down. Being alone again had terrified you. You'd been stupid and looked for a way to temporarily forget the feelings of utter hopelessness you felt. It had been easy and it had worked –for a short time at least. Now you were locked into a cycle of never ending hell. Your schoolwork was going to hell and it was only a matter of time before they kicked you out.
You couldn't take it anymore.
You sigh and looked down at the bed. All the paraphernalia of a major league screw up was right there. It's become all that is important to you. It makes you lie to the people you love, it makes you avoid them – You tell them you are studying too hard to visit because even in your fucked up state you know that if they saw you they'd freak. They'd take one look at you and know. You're starting to look like what you have become – a junkie.
But this would be your last.
You pick up the metal spoon, you would usually wipe it with an alcohol swab but it doesn't matter today. Infection from germs is the furthest thing from your mind right now. You pick up a small foil parcel, unwrap it, placing the brown nugget on the spoon, and lay it down on the cover. You rip the cellophane on the syringe with your teeth and open the bottle of water next to you. It scares you just how much this whole procedure has become second nature now. You measure 50 units from the bottle of Evian and carefully squirt it over the brown lump sat on the spoon, you hold the plastic end of the syringe in your mouth - it wouldn't do to get the fluffy fibres off the bed on the end of that. Next you pick up your lighter, you watch as the water starts to bubble and spit, the lump begins to dissolve like sugar. The pungent smell of vinegar, hot metal and a heady smell you can't define make you start to shake. Your body knows that it's almost time - that the blissful nirvana will be coming soon, it's craving it. The bubbling mass on the spoon now looks like fudge boiling, the fudge Theresa's mom used to make for you after school and you feel a pang of regret; you know this would kill her. Seeing you, her favourite, fall down the rabbit hole like so many of Arturo friends but it's too late for regrets now.
You tear a piece of cotton off the roll next to you with one hand – careful not to spill anything off the metal and roll a tiny piece between your fingers. You drop the cotton onto the cooling mass in the spoon and watch as it puffs up like a sponge. You feel safer, your hand is shaking so much and the precious cargo is less likely to spill on your blanket now. You take the syringe from your mouth, insert the metal needle into the centre of the woolly ball, and gently pull back the plunger watching as the clear plastic fills with the brown syrup.
You toss the spoon on the bed; it's not needed anymore. It won't be needed ever again. You clamp the syringe lengthways between your teeth and pick up a worn leather belt. You left arm is no good anymore, the tracks and bruises that mar its surface tell of overuse. You can't find a healthy vein to use anymore. You tried once to inject into your ankle but that hadn't been successful, it had hurt like hell and the first time you'd done it you'd gone straight though your vein and all you'd achieved was a large heroin blister that had taken hours to absorb into your bloodstream. So you were onto your right arm now, not ideal when you were right handed but you managed – needs must and all that.
You pull the belt in a tight tourniquet and fist your hand to make the veins stand out; it didn't take long for the blue ribbons to stand proud on your pale flesh. Sweat starts to form on your forehead, your body aching for a fix – it's so near, so close now.
You take the syringe out of your mouth and give it a flick. An aneurism is not how you want this to end and you rest the sharp point against your arm for a second. This is the time to back out…this is the time for you to pick up the phone and tell them you need help. You know that they would come running but you can't face seeing the disappointment in their eyes. You don't want to see the confusion on Seth's face when he realizes that you're not a superhero after all.
It's too late.
You push the needle in carefully making sure you don't go too deep, you pull back the plunger to check that you hit the vein and not the surrounding tissue, the blood that rushes in to mix with the contents of the syringe tells you you've hit the jackpot first time – not that you're surprised, you've been injecting long enough to be good at it by now. You push the drug into your vein and almost immediately you feel the effects. You know that this is it.
This time it feels different.
This is finally going to end.
You fall back onto the bed, the needle still puncturing your arm, the belt still in place and you know. After an initial exhilarating rush the feeling of euphoria starts to fade. Your muscles start to twitch - it feels like someone has connected electrodes to you and you have no control over the spasms. Your body starts to rebel against the large dose of poison you've deliberately introduced into your bloodstream. The muscles in your stomach start to contract and cramp but no matter how much you want to curl into a ball, you can't move. Images start to flash in your head…flashes of the times when you were happy. There was a time when you were happy – once. You try to cling onto those moments but they speed so fleetingly though your mind and you can't quite reach out and grab them. That has been the story of your life, never being able to focus on the good things, always dwelling on the bad.
You can actually hear your heartbeat clearly, it's in your head – the tattoo is gradually slowing until it seems like an eternity between each pulse. You feel like your body is heavy yet it's as light as air at the same time. Your not even sure you're breathing anymore, you're not sure you can remember how to and it's the strangest feeling.
The twitching has stopped now and you wait to hear the next beat of your heart…everything starts to fade.
This is it and for once in your life you're not scared.
You stare motionless at the ceiling.
You just know that things will be better now.