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Sprinkling glitters of light dashed across the sky like a freight train. Ze looked up at the sky in awe after not being able to sleep for the past few days. The soft grass pricked his skin, despite being merely fictional. He stared up at the sky, reconstructing all the constellations he could find. Ze tossed and turned, mushing the fine strands of ground into a pulp. He tossed over once more, hearing a distinctly deep voice behind him. God, that could only be one person…
Regect’s eye flickered a reaction of surprise. He wasn’t expecting Ze to be here of all places. Ze was never the “stargazing” type after all. He stood there for a moment, letting the stars fleet away before lying down beside Ze, making sure to keep a respectable distance so that he wouldn’t get yelled at. “So, what brings you here, Ze? I never knew you enjoyed stargazing.”
Ze replied with “I don’t, I just can’t sleep.” That was a lie, Ze did like stargazing. However, he would never let Regect know. Stargazing isn’t a manly thing to do. He has to be strong so that his image is upheld, despite this ruining his self-confidence. His image was the only thing he had left, the only reason why he was still alive and not hanging from his apartment’s ceiling fan. Regect looked at Ze with a knowing expression, doubt written all over his invisible face and singular eye. “You sure you don’t like stargazing? Not being able to sleep isn’t a viable enough excuse for this.”
Ze scoffed, attempting to pay no mind to the monstrous being lying next to him. Regect continued pestering him, poking him, doing anything to spark a reaction from the usually hostile man.
“Motherfucker stop staring.” Ze ruffed to Regect, pulling a Malboro cigarette out of his back pocket and lighting it. Smoke slowly emitted from the stick as Ze took in a long drag.
“Dude, you need to stop smoking. I read a lot about it, and it’s bound to kill you if you don’t stop.” Regect scolded. Ze rolling his eyes in response replied “Good, maybe I want it to kill me.”
If Ze really wanted to die, what was stopping him from going back into the hole? Or pointing his shotgun at himself? Or overdosing on his antidepressants? He has so many ways to die laid out in front of him. Regect tried to take Ze’s words at face value, yet his thoughts still delved into the terrifying possibilities of what could happen if Ze left.
“It’s a bad habit, I know.” Ze followed up, attempting to ease some of Regect’s nerves-to no avail. Regect piped up “I doubt they even taste good or feel good, so why do you do it?”
“It does feel good, at least to me. It’s a little cold every inhale.” Ze exhaled, spitting out some more smoke. “It also feels sightly scratchy, like something’s itching the inside of your throat. You get used to that after a while too.”
Regect looked at Ze. Ze hated the concerned look in Regect’s eyes, yet knew it was warranted. If Regect knew the full extent, Ze would hate himself even more. He only smoked to stop the cutting, yet kept both as a “bad habit.”
“You know you can tell me if anything’s wrong, Ze.”
“THERES NOTHING WRONG!”
Regect went silent for a moment, before shaking his head.
“I don’t believe you. There’s something wrong and I know it. I’m anything but stupid, Ze.”
“YES YOU ARE! YOU’RE A FUCKIN’ IDIOT WHOS TAKING EVERYTHING WAY TOO FIGURATIVELY! IM FINE FOR GODS SAKE! WHY, ARE YOU ASKING BECAUSE YOU’RE SCARED I’LL END UP LIKE MICHA?!”
Regect went silent at that.
Very, very silent.
The only thing that was able to be heard in the still air is the croak of crickets, the soft butting of the rain against the ground, the scream that just echoed out of Ze and the unbearable tension. This wasn’t good tension, no. It was the tension of a person who fucked up really bad.
“Fuck you, Ze. I try to offer help and you act like a bitch. Fine then, go die for all I care!” Regect shouted back, tears and snot conjoining as one like two lovers on where his face would be.
Ze has logged off.
In Ze’s room, he attempted to go to sleep. He stared at the ceiling. His tank top showed the gruesome story on his left arm. Thousands of lonely nights, thousands of nights to come. Tonight was one of those nights. He probably just fucked up his relationship with Regect. Regect’s gonna tell Moe, who will tell Wakafante, who will tell Dice. Dice will tell everyone “I told you so, he is an asshole!”
Ze stared at his dresser. There was a jewelry box on it. It’s one he bought for his graduation ceremony, which he didn’t end up going to. He walked up to the box, opening it and taking out the paper holder. Inside was a collection of razor blades. Most were dull and used to the fullest capacity, blood crusted all over. However, there were a few that were sharp enough to use.
Ze picked the sharpest one he could see, put the plastic back in and stared at it. He didn’t deserve mercy. He deserved the stinging pain. Ze sat on his bed and put the blade to his skin
The sound of his arm ripping apart like a zipper played through the room like a broken record. Cat scratch, styros, styros, beans. He repeatedly slashed his wrists down to the hypodermis. The pain wasn’t enough. It was never enough. Ze deserved worse.
The night flied by as Ze chopped himself into pieces. Both arms and both legs stinging like a thousand bees pricked them. He finally decided to join onto Minecraft to apologize. What he said was wrong, and he knew it. He just didn’t want Regect to feel bad about it.
Ze has joined the game.
Ze put in chat “Sorry, Regect. I fucked up.” He walked back to Wakafante’s house to be greeted with the four standing around the door with their arms crossed.
“Dude, you’re such an asshole?! Why would you say that to Regect!? You know the stuff he’s been through! I knew I had a reason to hate you!” Captain Dice shoved Ze, making him stumble a few steps.
“Honk honk!” Moe said in agreement, looking disappointed.
“Yeah, dude. What you said really hurt my feelings. Fuck you. You aren’t welcome here.” Regect scolded. Ze closed the door and walked away.
Part of Ze wanted this. Nobody to love him meant nobody to write notes to when he does die. Yet, something in him still grabbed at the hope of change. A part of him was screaming for someone to understand him. A fraction of his heart wanted him to stay. Would he ever listen to that fraction? Hell no! He stormed away, feigning anger, however all he felt is empty and a slight sense of relief.
A week passed by. Ze has still been logging on from time to time, building himself his own base far away. Every time he joined, he got cursed out by at least one person, but this is what he wanted? Isn’t it? He’s picked up smoking more and more. Along with this, it’s now all over his legs, arms, hell-even chest! Any place he could cut, he has. They didn’t need to know that, though. Showers stung like a bitch, but he’s man enough to handle that. He went through boot camp and an abusive father for fucks sake! He can get through anything! Right?
Ze tried to convince himself that he was tough enough to live through losing all of his friends. But, he never listened to himself after all. That’s what brings us to a certain night.
Ze was lying on his bed, like any other night. The ceiling was nothing interesting, but he found himself staring at it quite often. Lost in his own self-loathing he was. Every night, the same loop would play: He’d log off of Minecraft, lay on his bed, get lost in his thoughts then cut himself, but tonight was different. He had gotten numb to the cutting. Only one series of thoughts plagued his mind, spinning around like a carousel.
“They don’t care if you died.”
“Why don’t you end it?”
“You have nobody left, so it’s the perfect opportunity!”
Ze had been dreaming about this for years, but it has intensified as time flew by. Tonight, it came to an all-time peak.
Ze stood from his bed and walked over to the safe in the corner of his rooms. He punched in the code and opened it. Inside was his pristine pistol. It was in perfect condition. It wasn’t that he never used it, it was that he obsessively cleaned it every morning like a routine.
He reached in, his arm shaking. His fingers interlocked around the gun, his pointer resting on the trigger. He fiddled to turn the safety off, frantic movements and thoughts riddled his body alike.
He put the gun in his mouth, moved it. Pointed it at his head, moved it. He kept shifting positions, crying to nobody in particular. He pointed the gun at his heart, his lung, his head, and his throat before giving up and throwing it.
“I CAN’T DO IT!”
Ze stood up, walked out of his room, grabbed his prescription antidepressants, went back into his room, and took all of them. Soon after, he regretted it, putting two fingers down his throat to make himself throw up. He started foaming out the mouth, feeling himself lose consciousness.
In his last moments, he saw a person he knew very well poking out of his computer. Regect watched in terror as he lost his best friend for a second time.