The Dreaming Smile Above the Skin

I've been able to function just fine as my self mutilation has turned into a habit. I'm not proud but I'm not ashamed. It is what it is, and with this I've been paying more attention to Brendon. There's no more loss of composure, no more worry. I know both of our fates... it will be just fine.

---

It's been about a month. Maybe I'm being a bit too risky, but I start to think about what I'd use to take my life. In the past I only had what I had. Only used what was available, but I'm older now. I walk around the house just looking for something. For anything. For ideas of what I could use... what I could do.
Then I find a cabinet near the fire extinguisher. I open it slowly and... the decision is made.
I take the shotgun out of the cabinet. So cold and unused, of course it's main purpose is used for emergencies only.
One of the quickest; least painful ways to die. I breath out deeply... my breath is shaky. Finding the strength to pull the trigger, I know, is a completely different story.
In that moment, I take a bigger risk. I tuck it in the side of my jeans and head into our room.
He's peacefully sleeping... I love how beautiful he is when he sleeps. Even in a state of dying, his skin radiates and everything about him is flawless.
I go on my side of the bed and find an old shoe box. There, I place the gun in and tuck it under the bed. When I lose myself, the will power to hunt something down causes the worst torment in my mind. As long as this blissful release weapon is in reach... as long as it stays close to me, when my time is over... it will be right there.
I have the urge to smile, but thinking about it again... tearing myself up to greet death with open arms is never something anyone else would look forward to. I do, though.
I sit myself on the edge of the bed as Brendon yawns and rolls over to face me. His eyes open.
"Hey." His voice is a bit rough.
"Hey yourself." I say. And I actually smile before he does.
A big grin grows on his face, "I'm proud of you."
"Proud of me?" I say, still with that planted smile on my face.
"Your smile, it's glowing."
My heart skips a beat, it hasn't done that in a long time.
"Yours is nothing less than perfect." I say.
He giggles a bit. I move closer to him and place a kiss on his forehead.

---

And just like all the previous nights, I make my way into the other bathroom as Brendon coughs up his lungs.
The fact that it doesn't hurt anymore makes it a lot easier.
I take the scissors in my hands, open them up, and sweep it across my extremely thrashed up arm. I can barely recognize my skin, it's lying under the thousands of marks. The battle scars... this war I will lose. Another slash... and another.
Drip... drip... drip.
"Ry... are you in there?"
Brendon. Shit. At least I locked the door.
I turn on the water, "Yeah, just washing up."
I progressively turn off the water as slowly as I can and I hear his footsteps leave the room.
So damn close, but I decide to put the scissors away for the night.
I clean them off under the running water.
Somehow I find it crazy, but, my ears perk up to the sound of a door.
This door... no... being unlocked? Shit! How the fuck could it even be-
The door swings open.
"I knew it." His eyes are sharp and his voice is low. His expression is dark and disappointed.
How the fuck did he know? Did he always figure that I...
He's so much smarter than me... crawling out of this one is going to be impossible.
"Bren-"
"Don't."
I walk over to him. My lips are stapled shut.
He looks away from me briefly. He shakes his head in disappointment.
Why isn't he saying anything? Goddamn it!
Nervousness builds in the pit of my stomach, the staples... I remove. "Bren, I'm sorry-"
His face brightens up with worry. I hope he's not thinking what I'm thinking... I'm fucked.
"Sit down." He spits, "Don't you dare move."
I drop right to the floor, cross legged. He's never been so forceful... so bitterly ashamed of what I've done.
Then he leaves quickly... I know what he's doing. I... know... what he's doing. My hands cover my face.
He's going to see that the gun's missing.
I hold my chest with both hands. My blood smears into my shirt. It's the least of my worries.
"Ryan!" He yells. Fuck... the empty cabinet, "Where'd you put it?! Fuck!"
He goes into our room and my heart shatters. I'm sinking... I'm fucking drowning, "Brendon, no." I whine through tears.
He comes back to see me in the bathroom. The gun is in his hands. He stares into my eyes... his eyes are burning through me.
"How could you..." He breathes in a harsh whisper.
"You don't understand."
"I think I do." He then leaves quickly. He's going to fucking hide it.
"Brendon stop!" I yell at the top of my lungs. I want to get up, but I know how much he'd hate me for it. I'm too weak anyway.
As soon as he gets back in, the fire in my gut builds up. I stand up, "How could you?!"
"How could I what, Ryan? Save you from yourself?!"
I push him out of the way and go into our room. He follows me and when I get into the doorway, he grabs my right arm.
"Let go, goddamn it!." His touch burns hotter than fire. I rip my arm from his grip.
"Hiding the gun in our room, Ryan? I don't want you to fucking do this to yourself!" He yells.
"Fuck you, Brendon, fuck you!" I scream. Nothing's even remotely possible to be contained.
"I'm starting to think you love fucking destroying yourself more than you love me."
"I'm destroying myself because I don't want to live life without you, goddamn it!"
I crash onto the bed and curl up as tight as I can. If he dare says another word...
It's dead silent.