Work Text:
-
“I would say I'm sorry if I thought that it would change your mind… But I know that this time, I have said too much, been too unkind.”
-
A canvas lays motionless on a broken easel. A small fluorescent light shines on it, illuminating the pencil sketch of a beautiful woman- glowing skin- flowing hair- gorgeous outfit- in a field of flowers. The artist had named her “Ketsueki”, which, when translated into english, meant “Blood”. The light flickered every now and then- as it was connected to a faulty outlet. Punk rock music filled the dark room- with the only thing intercepting it being the occasional words of his screaming parents having an awful argument with one another. He sat on his bed, staring at the beautiful woman he had sketched on his canvas.
A bottle of white paint was nestled in his hand. A worn and torn paintbrush in the other, and a paint palette in his lap. He had been contemplating if he should continue painting for a while. A shaky sigh creeped out of his mouth, as he uncapped the bottle and poured some of it into the paint palette, quickly closing it and tossing it to the corner of his room. He picked up the forsaken palette, and stood, approaching the canvas with a grim demeanor. He dipped the paintbrush in the paint, adding a little bit of water and then pushing long streaks of white paint across the canvas, making the previous sketch nearly invisible.
He gripped the paintbrush with all of his strength, holding back his angry tears- but it failed, as he slammed it on the ground, his palette following pursuit. He had been so angry he was left there alone- to hear his parents scream at each other- he had been so angry that he was left there alone- without his safe space. Without the one safe person he had- who he knew would never judge him- and- he ran away to god knows where, where he couldn't have his safe person anymore. He was so angry at himself for feeling all these things. His brother was suffering too- and it wasn't the end of the world that he was gone. Well, maybe it was for him. But- he thought he had done good. He thought he had done good to convince his brother and his brother’s boyfriend to not do the stupid thing they have done. He thought he did so well. Was he just that- clingy? Was he that annoying? Did- did his brother hate him that much- that he went back on the agreement they had?
He choked out a sob, gripping his fists together. He was on the verge of a meltdown- but he didn't want anything to happen- he didn't want to make things worse for his already stressed, worried and scared- oh, SCARED parents. So he held his tears in.
That didn't last long.
-
“I try to laugh about it, cover it all up with lies. I try to laugh about it, hiding the tears in my eyes, ‘cause boys don't cry. Boys don't cry.”
-
He took the bottle of red paint he had lying around- pouring some of it onto his hands, and acting without his mind first. He smacked the canvas, sending red paint splattering everywhere, and the canvas and easel crashing down to the floor. He bit his tongue till it bled, tears streaming down his already tear-stained face. He kicked the canvas, causing the middle to tear apart and ruining his beautiful sketch. He continued to stomp it out til it was nothing more than broken paper. He breathed heavily, gripping his scar-covered arms and scratching them til they were red. He sniffled, his legs stammering- before failing on him and causing him to fall back. He cried, covering his face with his hands and getting paint all over his face. “I thought I did good. I'm never good.” He cried. As tears streamed down his face- everything became blurry for him. But he could see something shimmering from across the room. He looked up slowly, sniffling.
…He stopped dead in his tracks, quitting any noise he made- but continuing his heart wrenching tears. He picked himself up- approaching his bedroom door and locking it. Before turning to his prized possession.
-
“I would break down at your feet and beg forgiveness, plead with you, but I know that it’s too late, and there's nothing I can do.”
-
Two weeks.
Two weeks, he had been clean. His brother was helping him with that. Guess he didn't find the extra one he had. Blood spilled onto the floor below him as he held the razorblade. He felt- content. Like a rush of calmness drowned him. He gripped it tighter, as it cut into his palm and created a deep wound. It felt nice. It felt oh so horrible at the same time. He didn't know why he liked it so much- or why it helped- but he knew it was bad. He let it go, as it clattered onto the ground with a familiar sound. He approached his journal, taking his pencil and opening to a new page. He gripped onto the pencil- as his new palm wound squeezed into it and bled harder.
“ October XX XXXX Suicide Note ”
“I think today is finally the day I do it. It’s obvious now. It’s so clear. Nobody really cared about me, did they?... Apollo stopped hanging out with me so often- especially after the coma. My parents focus on Orion more than they did me. I guess he was more special than I ever was. I don't blame them. Orion- he… left. He left and it’s not fair. He left- and he didnt take me with. Sol- I think. I think at this point he’s with me for pity. I don't think he actually likes me at all.
Today is the day I can finally relax for once. Be free of all of the things that hurt me. It feels so good to say that now. To say that I can leave this wretched planet. I hope no one misses me. I never deserved it.
-Jupiter Ray Belvedere”
He angled the razorblade above his wrist. He knew exactly where and what to cut. Something tugged at the corners of his mouth- it felt like freedom. It felt horrible all at the same time. Something interrupted his freedom- it was the familiar sound of his notifications.
-
“So, I try to laugh about it, cover it all up with lies, I try to laugh about it, hiding the tears in my eyes, ‘cause boys don't cry.”
“Boys don't cry.”
-
He set the blade down, slowly reaching for his phone and checking his texts. Sol had texted him. He took a deep, agonizing breath as he read it. Was he going to tell him he wanted to break up-? Did Sol die?- Did he really want to be with him? He- hoped. He hoped and prayed there was something to stop him.
[Prince]
“Hey, hun. How are you holding up?”
He felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth as tears streamed down his face. He sniffled, slowly responding.
“Can we call”
“Of course!”
-
“I would tell you that I loved you, if I thought that you would stay, but I know that it’s no use, that you've already gone away.”
-
That call lasted hours. Jupiter, regrettably, had explained his plans to Sol. What he did- what he wanted to do- but- how he wished that he stopped himself beforehand. Instead of being dismissed- he.. He was given grace. Love. Affection.
“Do you want me to come over, mi amor?” Sol asked from the other side of the phone. “I don't think it would be that good of an idea. My- my parents are um. Currently.. Screaming at each other. I don't want you to be bothered.” He responded, a shaky undertone to it. “..Alright. How about- we meet up at the park near your house?- I can help you bandage your arms up- and we can go do what you want to get your mind off of everything.” Sol responded. “....Th-that would be nice- um- Let me go get ready.” Jupiter sniffled. “Do you want to stay on call?” Sol asked. Jupiter nodded to himself, tapping the floor with his free hand- before realizing Sol probably couldn't see him. “...Yes please.” He exhaled- albeit, a shaky exhale.
“Alright.” Sol seemed happy. Jupiter- was happy for him. As Sol went off on another rant about a show or thing he liked- Jupiter slowly got dressed.
I'm safe. He thought. He really does love me.
I don't think I'll be that alone anymore.
-
“Misjudged your limit, pushed you too far, took you for granted, thought that you needed me more, more, more.”
“Now I would do most anything to get you back by my side, but I just keep on laughing, hiding the tears in my eyes, ‘cause boys don't cry.”
“Boys don't cry.”
-