One Shots

Red.

That was all she saw, really; bright flashes of red.

As the razor cut deeper into her skin and the blood started to flow even more freely, she let out a slight wimper.

Pressed harder.

She let out a strangled cry, the tears coursing down her cheeks.

She sat in the corner of the bathroom, hunched against the toilet, her knees to her chest.

It was a party. Everyone was having a blast, except for her.

No one had noticed her slip upstairs, or lock the bathroom door.

No one had heard her, frantically rifling through the bathroom cupboards, searching for some kind of razor.

And she had finally found it - long, a sliver of shiny metal, sharp as hell.

Except now the metal was stained with her blood, her red, red blood.

The pain started to burn with a fire so intense she couldn't breathe.

This wasn't supposed to hurt. But it did. It hurt like hell.

But it didn't hurt as much as she had the night he cheated on her.

She had given him everything. Loved him to no end.

She thought that she had finally found someone who loved her. Who cared for her, who would always be there for her.

Well, where was he now?

Her lips moved soundlessly as her head dipped and she started to lose consciousness.

A burst of light, a burst of clarity, and she had one thought: This is your fault, you bastard.

And then the light went away. The darkness seeped in at the corners, just as her blood was permeating her jeans, the blue innocence of her shirt.

She knew she was dying, and frankly, she was doing nothing to stop it.

______________________________

He sat at home, on his bed, listening to the chords of his music as his iTunes played accordingly.

His shaggy black hair fell over one green eye, and he brushed it away irritatedly.

He wondered where she was right now.

Probably living it up with her friends, drinking the night away, fucking a random guy who surely wasn't him.

His fists clenched at the thought of someone else touching her in that way, but he let out a sigh, squeezed his eyes shut, took a breath.

She wasn't his anymore, and he had to accept that.

But, damn, it was hard to accept.

They had been together for all of four years.

She was, basically, his everything.

His heart, his mind, his body, his soul.

They belonged to each other, they loved each other.

That is, until the night some girl decided to attach her lips to his.

He pushed her away, but all of too late.

She had already seen.

And he was already screwed over.

Tears burned his eyes as he remembered running after her.

The pounding of his feet against the concrete.

The thud of her car door as she slammed it shut.

The squeal of brakes.

The feel of the wind, cold and icy against his cheeks, as tears wet them.

He came back to the present, pressing stop on his iTunes.

It wasn't something he did very often, but this was the last time he would ever do it.

He took a breath, and started pouring the assortment of pills into his hand.

There were so many colors. Blue, orange, pink, green, white. Black, even.

He downed them all with a gulp of water.

Sobbed as he lay down in his bed for the last time.

His suicide note said two words.

I'm sorry.

And he meant it.

__________________________

The room was white.

Pure white.

She blinked. Where was the red?

She looked down at her arms. There were no bloody cuts, no raised scars.

She raised her hands to her cheeks, tracing her cheekbones. There were no dried paths of salty tears.

She didn't know what was going on, what had happened.

Was she dreaming?

She must have been dreaming, because the next person that entered the room was him.

She could see his hazy outline at first.

Then he slowly came into focus.

He was looking around, a confused look on his face.

He looked at his hands, tugged at his black hair.

She knew, automatically, that he was trying to figure out a problem.

He kicked something at the ground, the simple white ground.

She didn't know what to say to him.

She wanted to sob, to cuss, to punch and slap and kick him.

But she couldn't. Something was stopping her.

He looked up suddenly.

Caught her eye.

Started to run.

She stood still, her head high, her eyes, for once, free of tears.

They said nothing.

They looked at one another.

She took a step forward.

He took her in his arms.

They both let out a heavy sigh.

"I'm sorry," he said.

She smiled softly. "I forgive you."

They kissed.

And even in death, it was a kiss that neither of them would ever forget.