I wrote a story!

Hey again! So, I wanted to share with you my story that I recently wrote, but there's one problem. It's kinda long. I mean, not book length, it's only 1,000 words or so, but I mean, that's a lot for some. It was a collab writing too, with the help of my waifu. So, if you'd like to read it, click the little read more thing. Also, it's really sad. Just, just warning you.

It started in December. I didn’t know what triggered it, but something inside me clicked. Late at night, I would crack, fragments of myself lost in the years of murder and deceiving, all going back to my brother. Memories of a bang in the back of my head, trying to kill myself, to be with my parents and brother, to be happy. Of course, I was saved. I didn’t even make the shot. My hand shook so much that I shot through my cheek instead.

Just after Christmas I was in my bed, aware of the soft breathing of Anthony. I couldn’t sleep. My mind was a whir, thoughts such as “You don’t deserve this,” and “Just join your brother. It’s all you wanted, right?” circled my head, making my hands twitch. Without realizing it, I was standing.

I walked out of the room, not caring if I was loud when I closed the door. As I stepped over to the kitchen, I was aware of warm tears streaking down my cheeks, my heart thudding in my chest as I picked up a knife. Quiet tears turned to sobs as I lifted it with my numb hand.

“I don’t deserve this, I don’t deserve to live,” I whispered, looking at my face in the distorted reflection of the knife. I raised it, aimed to my chest...I felt someone wrap one arm around me, the other grabbing the hand holding the knife, and forced it gently out. Only then did I realize what was happening, and I crumpled into Anthony, sobbing. He kicked the knife away from us and his other arm wrapped around me, drawing me in, murmuring quiet words into my hair.

“It isn’t your fault. You’re okay. You deserve to live, Bea. I love you.” He murmured. I felt him shaking though, his entire frame shivering as he held me close. He was terrified that I would’ve done it.

The next time it was when he was at work, and I had gone into the bathroom and grabbed a handful of pills. I swallowed them, and then I start to regret it. I dialed Anthony, told him what I did. Everything was turning cold and numb, my stomach aching as I heard him running in the background of the call.

He was telling me to stay awake, to keep talking but I couldn’t move, and then I felt things slip, and all I heard was Anthony yelling, his breathing hard. I woke up in a hospital with the explanation that Anthony called the medics and got there before him, and took me to get my stomach pumped.

I apologized softly, promised him I wouldn’t leave him, I would never leave him. That I didn’t know what went through my head and that I was okay now. He gave me a weak smile, kissed my forehead, said he was going to hold me to that.

That was three months ago. I was getting better, and after I was released from the hospital, I was able to continue my life with Anthony normally. We were okay. Then April rolled around.

It was a stormy night, and Anthony was working late, his job keeping him there to finish filing. I looked at the clock constantly, watching the minutes tick by slowly. 

6:47

6:53

7:02 

Then a thought came into my head, and I couldn’t push it out. Not this time. You don’t deserve this. I blinked slowly. You don’t deserve to live, Bea. Join your family. Leave this god forsaken world and pain.

I found myself standing, looking around. I grabbed the chair I was sitting in, and slowly moved it to the door. Soon, I was pushing everything in the living room to the door. Couches, chairs, stools, tables, I piled them up at the door, making sure it blocked it completely. 

Then I looked around, walked to our bedroom and rummaged a little before finding a dusty, white string bag. Memories flooded my system, my mind recalling all my adventures, missions, assassinations. I opened the bag and found a revolver.

Bang. It was the gun that assisted me in my first attempt. I smiled a small, weak smile. I won't miss this time. When I stepped into the bare room, I pulled a small stool from the pile and sat on it, slowly toying with the gun, waiting for my hands to move to the trigger.

Then I heard the door click as he tried the lock.

"Hi, Anthony." I called, and he tried again. "Bea? Is that you? Why is the door locked...? Let me in..." I looked at the gun in my hands, and shook my head.

"I can't." The clicking stopped. 

“...What?” I closed my eyes. “I’m not going to open the door, Anthony. He was quiet for a moment, and I knew it was dawning on him. 

"Bea." He said more forcefully. "Let me in."

I swallowed. "I'm sorry." Then the door shook as he slammed into it once. The mountain of furniture budged just a little.

"Bea! No, okay, listen, you have to let me in." He called, his voice a strained to be calm. I fidgeted in my seat, but didn't stand. "Bea, I love you. Remember? I love you. Don't do this. Just, just let me in..." My hands clenched on the gun, and he slammed into the door again.

Then he started to yell. "Bea! Bea, listen to me, you have to let me in! Please, okay, please let me in, you have to let me in...” I sighed softly, feeling coldness seep through me. I couldn’t speak for a moment.

“I’m so sorry.” I murmured, almost too quiet for him to hear. Maybe he didn’t. He slammed into the door again, more force making the furniture quiver, ready to collapse at any time. I had to move.

Slowly, I stood, shaking, and looked at the door. “BEA!” He shouted, his accent slipping fully, and I cringed slightly.

“I’m sorry.” 

I looked down at the gun in my hands, rubbing my thumb across the metal handle. I slowly pulled the chamber out. One bullet. I slid it back, and loaded it in.

"Bea!" He screamed, his voice cracking. "Don't do this! Please!" I closed my eyes, rubbing the gun again, almost a nervous habit.

Then I moved, almost in slowly motion. My feet walked me to the window looking out over stormy England.

"Let me in! Please Bea, you can't do this, you can't just leave! I love you!" I heard the coffee table clatter to the ground and turned, seeing the mountain of furniture was giving way.

I took a deep breath. Do it. Just do it. I lifted the gun, my hand shaking. I forced it to stop. I wouldn’t miss this time. Placing the cold muzzle to my skull, I gently laid my finger on the trigger. 

The furniture fell, couches and tables falling over, glass shattering, and he slammed a few more times before breaking the door open. He stumbled into the apartment, and our eyes met, his eyes full of terror and desperateness.

His mouth was open, screaming for me to stop, stumbled to his feet and sprinted forward to me, even though we both knew he was too late. He reached a hand out to me, desperately trying to get to me.

"I'm so sorry." I whispered, closing my eyes, and put pressure on the trigger.

"B--!" And I fired, everything smearing into nothing as I heard the bang.