Easy Way Out

The thought had crossed his mind a few days ago and that’s all it took. Just a simple thought, he should take his own life.

And on the desk that usually held nothing but papers, almost black from the the ink they had been given, there was rope, a loaded hand gun, a knife, and bottles of prescription drugs that shouldn’t be taken together.

He wasn’t sure which way he should do it, even his bath was running water in case drowning seemed like a good way to go.

If you think about it though, is there any good way to go? And Ryan thought about it a lot, ever since the previous week when his father passed away.

It’s funny what seeing death can do to you. Suddenly you’re suffocating from oxygen, you don’t know what to do. You’re being tugged this way and that. Is this the life you want to live? It can be taken away at any moment. Are you happy? But you don’t want a 9 to 5 job. You don’t want a family yet. You’re not ready for a serious relationship. Are you living wrong?

Ryan didn’t even get to say goodbye.

It’s not like his father had made a positive impact on his life, actually the opposite but still, it was the man who raised him. His blood was running through Ryan’s veins. The blood of someone who wasn’t there anymore.

The regrets and memories were all he could think about until he discovered there was a way to get out of it all. He could just end himself.

Then the troubles would cease to exist because he would cease to exist.

Ryan picked up the rope and held it firmly, twisting it and then untwisting it. Noting how how hard and inflexible it actually was.

But where could he hang? He tossed the rope to the side of the chair he was sitting in.

He picked up the gun gently, making sure he didn’t accidentally set it off.

He bought it from a gun shop the day before, he wasn’t sure what kind it was. He only asked for something small. The man behind the counter gave him an odd look. Ryan didn’t appear like the type that knew how to handle guns much less wanted to handle them.

But it was too noisy. And what if the first bullet didn’t work?

He placed the gun back on the desk, making sure the part where the bullet came out (he didn’t know what it was called) was aimed towards the wall.

Ryan picked up the knife. It was sharp and short but could do damage even if he pressed it down on his skin with little pressure.

But cutting yourself makes the pain last. He wanted to go quickly.

He put the knife down after staring at his reflection from the blade.

His eyes were red from not sleeping and only crying.

His hair hadn’t been washed for days because the only energy he had was saved for laying awake in bed.

His face was growing stubble and it itched but he didn’t feel like shaving.

Ryan was a mess. Inside and out.

He opened two of the orange medicine bottles before him and shook a few pills out from each.

One bottle gave out decent sized white pills, the other were small and blue. He didn’t know what they were called, he had taken them from Brendon’s house last week, once they had gotten back from the hospital.

It was before he had even made the decision to commit…commit…this.

Just something about the pills comforted him so he took them from Bren’s cabinet.

But how long would they take to effect him? And what if one worked quicker than the other? Would the chemicals still mix enough to cause his death?

He put the pills down on his desk. Not bothering to return them to their homes, the orange bottles that had fallen on the floor moments before. Causing a small racket and spilling the rest of their residents.

He stood up from the chair and began walking towards the bathroom.

But before he could reach the tub he heard a solid knock on his door.

He paused, then continued on towards his destination.

More knocking, this time louder and desperate.

His eyes narrowed sick of this interruption.

The knocking became even more fierce, he could hear his apartment door almost breaking from it’s hinges.

“It’s probably just the damn neighbors.” he said, turning around to go tell who ever it was to fuck off.

He swung the door open fast before another episode of knocking could occur.

It wasn’t the neighbors.

“What the fuck, Ryan?! I’ve been trying to call you all fucking day. Don’t you answer your god damn fucking phone?!” Brendon was yelling at him like he had never yelled before. “I’ve been worried sick you inconsiderate asshole!”

He pushed himself in, slamming the door behind him.

“I broke my cell.” was all Ryan could say. What he meant was, he threw it at a wall the day he got home.

“Oh, okay then. That’s completely fine.” Brendon gave a fake “no big deal” voice for a second. “You still could’ve used a pay phone or gone to the cafe down the street or your neighbor's or something. I’m sure someone would’ve gladly let you borrow their phone for 5 fucking seconds.” he ripped off his jacket, still not taking his eyes off his best friend.

Ryan suddenly became hyper aware that his bath was still running and there were pills, on the floor and…

Brendon looked around quick, observing the room before him. Pills on the floor, rope, a gun, a knife,…his face became suddenly pale very fast.

His voice was hoarse when he asked “What are you doing Ryan?”

Ryan backed away to sit on his bed. Which was located in front of his desk and on the side of the bathroom door.

He didn’t speak.

Brendon repeated himself almost choking on tears as he realized what this scene all meant. “What are you doing Ryan? What are you trying to do? Why are there…oh my god.”

He could barely breathe, there wasn’t enough air.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING RYAN?!” he couldn’t hold back and sobs were erupting from his body. He walked over to his friend, wrapping his arms around Ryan as tight as he could, rocking back and forth. Not know what else to do.

“I’m sorry.” Ryan said quietly, his own eyes tearing up fast.

“Y-y-you wer-were j-j-ust goin-g-g to le-leave us-s-s?” Bren was shaking from head to toe.

“I was going to leave me.” Ryan said holding Brendon. They were embracing in almost a hug.

By now the water from the tub was overflowing and they both could see it was seeping onto the bedroom’s hardwood floor.

But neither could bare leaving each other’s arms.

“I won’t let you.” Brendon said as best as he could through his crying.