31Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter! Now, before we read this chapter, let me just say something - I love Ryan. He's easily my favourite character in the whole show. That's why I'm writing this - because he's the only one complex enough to make this work. To all the readers ... I apologise.
Also, I don't own the lyrics to the song Grace used in this chapter. They are the sole property of the late Jeff Buckley, RIP Jeff.
Warnings: Darker than the previous chapter - contains mentions of methods of suicide, past self harming, suicide and character death (duh!)
Ryan put down his pen, shaking his sore hand. That had been the longest he'd ever gone handwriting non-stop up to that point - and now it was the longest he ever would go. It was 1 a.m now, and it was cold. He felt so cold, both inside and out. There was already condensation on his window.
Part of him had hoped that getting everything off his chest in a strongly worded letter would ease the burden, and hopefully discourage him from carrying out what he had been planning to carry out. But it hadn't - all it had done was remind him of why he was planning to do this in the first place, and made him feel even more sure that he was taking the path he wanted to take - what everyone wanted him to take.
Fine with him.
He left the note on his desk, the pen next to it and the bottle of Xanax on top of it.
He hadn't opted to overdose - he didn't have enough pills left for that. Wrist-slitting was too messy and it most likely wouldn't work anyway. Shooting himself wasn't an option as he couldn't get hold of a gun, and it'd wake everyone up anyway. Hanging was slow, painful and undignified - these were his last moments, he'd like to have some dignity in dying, thank you very much. Falling from a great height would be too ironic for words, and it probably wouldn't work anyway (Ryan couldn't help but let out a mirthless laugh at the thought of him attempting suicide in that way and ending up in a wheelchair.) He didn't know where Mike kept the minibus keys or his car keys, so carbon monoxide poisoning wasn't an option. Choking by any other means, including drowning, would be too painful, and again, undignified. (His panic attacks had always felt like drowning - he didn't feel like suffocating for real.) Stabbing was way too painful. He couldn't poison himself as he couldn't get a hold of it, and trying to use cleaning products to do the job would be futile as he would just throw them back up.
There was only one option.
He'd changed into his favourite outfit already - the black skinny jeans, socks and Converse, with his black shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He took a moment to glance at the prominent lines on his forearms. He ran his fingers down them, feeling the sharp stings, as if he was pressing the knife into his skin all over again. It was nothing more or less than he deserved.
Ryan stood up, picked up his phone and earphones and left his room, going across the landing, down the stairs and out the back door, taking great care not to make any noise whatsoever.
Ryan found himself in the back garden, the cold wind buffeting his brown hair and stinging his exposed arms, but he bared through it - he wouldn't have to feel anything in not very long.
His Physics lessons had taught him that the quickest death from hypothermia would be caused by minimal clothing and being essentially spread eagle on the ground, but Ryan lay down off to one side and curled into the fetal position. He wanted to die with dignity, no matter how long it took. He'd still be dead by the morning anyway.
His fingers numbing fast, he inserted his earphones into his ears and went through his music library, selecting one song to play on loop as his life slipped away from him.
It was an easy choice.
As the guitar intro strummed in his ears, Ryan's vision started to blur with tiredness. The caffeine in coffee and Red Bull would only slow down his death even more, after all. Yet as Jeff Buckley's soft voice sounded in his ears, the least perceptible of smiles appeared on his face as his eyes focused on the ghostly galleon in the sky, tossed upon cloudy seas (A/N: Bonus points if you got that reference).
There's the moon asking to stay
Long enough for the clouds to fly me away
The moon did indeed look like it was fighting to stay visible as the clouds flew around in front of it. Ryan laid his head on the cold grass and gazed at it like it would disappear if he looked away. He wasn't sure whether he wanted the night to stick around for long or not, but he would find out when he was flying away with those wispy clouds.
Well it's my time coming, I'm not afraid, afraid to die
His time was coming alright. He wasn't afraid. There was no point in being afraid, there was literally nothing coming. It wouldn't even matter that he would never see Chloe again - there wouldn't be a Ryan Reeves to miss her anymore.
My fading voice sings of love,
But she cries to the clicking of time, oh, time.
Not quite - 85% of the words in his suicide note had been laced with venom and malice. Yet he had written a very long paragraph dedicated to Chloe, and since these were his last words, he had been completely and utterly honest - how much he loved her, how much he'd missed her, and all the pain and confusion he'd felt all those years ago at the time when she fell - and all the years after that. It stung him now to think of her mourning him, but he wouldn't be around for the real thing anyway.
Wait in the fire, wait in the fire
Wait in the fire, wait in the fire
Ryan felt a cold drop in his hair, then another on his arm. Soon enough, it was raining steadily - no fire could survive right there and then. But it did mean that he'd probably die faster. There was a reason he'd picked this night after all. He'd read or heard somewhere that right before a man freezes to death, he suddenly feels nice and warm. Maybe that was what would happen to him now. Maybe that was what Jeff was talking about when he was going on about fires and waiting.
And she weeps on my arm
Walking to the bright lights in sorrow
Ryan couldn't help but ponder over whether anyone would cry when they found out that he'd been cutting. He tried to imagine people weeping over his self-inflicted scars, but his thoughts were blurring together, and he found he was beyond caring at that point anyway. He wouldn't walk to any bright lights in sorrow. He'd welcome them gladly. Well, do you think he'd be lying outside in the cold and the wind and the rain on purpose if he planned to react any other way?
Oh drink a bit of wine we both might go tomorrow
Oh my love
How ironic, Ryan thought, as the wind blew the rain around so hard that he ended up inhaling a few drops. Jeff Buckley himself had died from drowning, and just a few years earlier, there he was, singing about how he wasn't afraid to go. Be careful what you wish for.
And the rain is falling and I believe my time has come
That much was true - the cold had already seeped into his bones, aided by the rainwater. He wasn't even shivering anymore - his muscles were too numb to contract. Even the electrical signals traveling through his brain seemed to be slowing down. He could hardly think at all. His death was coming soon, he could feel it. Well, it was the only thing he could feel by now.
It reminds me of the pain I might leave, leave behind,
That was it. That was why he was doing this. Ryan was completely numb. His body seemed to have shut itself off from feelings such as cold and pain. That had been his intention all along - to shut down his emotional computer completely and for good. It had been used only to create negative emotions. Ryan was good with technology - he could tell you that himself - but everyone knew you couldn't reboot a malfunctioning emotional computer. The only option was to shut it down to stop it from doing any more damage.
Wait in the fire, wait in the fire
Wait in the fire, wait in the fire
Ryan could no longer hear the sounds of the rainstorm. He felt his eyelids slipping shut, the last thing he ever saw was the watery moon, staring straight back at him like a teary eye. His entire world became the song in his ears and his own heartbeat, the amount of time between each beat increasing as Jeff and his band vocalised.
And I feel them drown my name
So easy to know and forget with this kiss
Would anyone remember him? Would anybody care? Or would they just drown his name and leave it there to be neglected? The odds were looking largely towards the answer to the latter question being 'yes'. They would forget him as he received the Kiss of Death. It would be easy enough for them, Ryan supposed.
I'm not afraid to go but it goes so slow ...
His breathing slowed down even more. He knew that by now he was wheezing with every breath and that he was practically gasping. This was it. The life of Ryan Reeves would end in harsh, vicious cold and darkness. It was fitting really, there wasn't much warmth and light in his life anyway, not after Chloe's accident.
As Jeff belted out the last lines of the song, it was like Ryan was hearing them through a badly-tuned radio. The vocals and instruments were distorted, the dynamics inconsistent. It was like he was falling down, down, down into a dark hole ...
... before all of a sudden, he was comfortable. He was warm and felt an immeasurable calm. He was strongly at peace, at last.
Ryan Reeves let a smile spread across his face as his last ever breath left his body, and the clouds flew him away.
*comes out from behind the sofa* is it safe to come out?
*ducks back down to avoid flying hate mail and tomatoes, as well as boos and hisses for killing Ryan*
Just hear me out! *flying hate mail and tomatoes stops* Thank you. Now, here's what I want to know - do you or do you not want to have another chapter showing everyone's reactions?
Review!