Goodbye: A Losers Fic
So I was in a really bad place last night... the type of place where it isn't hard to write a suicide letter.
Sorry for the sad, but I thought I'd share it anyway
The first thing I should tell you is I’m a wonderful liar.
I hide behind my mask of humor and goofiness. My jokes and witty repartee are the shades and whispers of my defenses. My smiles and meaningless facts are the shield that I cower behind, hoping you never see the real me.
And you don’t.
No matter how much you try to tell me you love me, you never see how badly I hurt, never notice the grief I hold onto, waiting for that moment I can release it.
You all have it, share it, with me. Clay fucks, Roque drinks. Pooch stares at his damn wedding ring and thinks of his wife and the kid on the way. You pray.
Me?
I joke, and play around and wait for the moment that I might be able to let go. I want to, so bad.
The pain is getting worse everyday. I can’t ever make you smile anymore, not the way I used to. You’re so caught up in your own guilt that I can’t even have you with me, the cool whisper touches of your calloused fingertips, the wiry brush of your beard, the heat of your body against mine…
That’s all gone now.
Every day, I grow a little colder; my mask gets a little thinner. I feel just a little more exposed.
I don’t even care anymore.
I don’t have it in me, this ability to pretend that the clusterfuck of our lives is anything but what it is. I can’t pretend to care anymore, about our lives, the mission, my country.
I don’t care if I live or die anymore, because as far as I’m concerned. I died the moment you grew cold, the moment those kids died.
I wanted kids with you, to have a family when all of this was over.
I still have the ring I was going to give you after the Bolivia mission.
I’m sitting here, at my computer, staring blankly at the screen. This letter is written to you, will you even see it?
I feel the cold heavy weight in my lap, my grace, my… escape.
Will you even miss me? Will you even notice if I put this gun up to my head, like it is now? The cold round barrel against my temple as my arm shakes in tension? What if I pulled back the hammer, letting it click into place like it is now? You’re sitting there, in the other room, blankly staring at the wall as you always are. Poor Cougar, doesn’t even realize the world is still living without him… without me. I think I’m ready now.
I love you.
autosaved at 10:49PM
"Jensen? ningún amante, por favor no te mueras, por favor no me dejes! Te amo! Te necesito! Por favor, por favor ... no ... no ... JENSEN! Está bien, mi amor , ya voy ... estoy casi allí. Espérame! "
"Cougs? Jensen? We heard gunsho... Oh Jesus... CLAY!"
END
Sorry for the sad, but I thought I'd share it anyway
The first thing I should tell you is I’m a wonderful liar.
I hide behind my mask of humor and goofiness. My jokes and witty repartee are the shades and whispers of my defenses. My smiles and meaningless facts are the shield that I cower behind, hoping you never see the real me.
And you don’t.
No matter how much you try to tell me you love me, you never see how badly I hurt, never notice the grief I hold onto, waiting for that moment I can release it.
You all have it, share it, with me. Clay fucks, Roque drinks. Pooch stares at his damn wedding ring and thinks of his wife and the kid on the way. You pray.
Me?
I joke, and play around and wait for the moment that I might be able to let go. I want to, so bad.
The pain is getting worse everyday. I can’t ever make you smile anymore, not the way I used to. You’re so caught up in your own guilt that I can’t even have you with me, the cool whisper touches of your calloused fingertips, the wiry brush of your beard, the heat of your body against mine…
That’s all gone now.
Every day, I grow a little colder; my mask gets a little thinner. I feel just a little more exposed.
I don’t even care anymore.
I don’t have it in me, this ability to pretend that the clusterfuck of our lives is anything but what it is. I can’t pretend to care anymore, about our lives, the mission, my country.
I don’t care if I live or die anymore, because as far as I’m concerned. I died the moment you grew cold, the moment those kids died.
I wanted kids with you, to have a family when all of this was over.
I still have the ring I was going to give you after the Bolivia mission.
I’m sitting here, at my computer, staring blankly at the screen. This letter is written to you, will you even see it?
I feel the cold heavy weight in my lap, my grace, my… escape.
Will you even miss me? Will you even notice if I put this gun up to my head, like it is now? The cold round barrel against my temple as my arm shakes in tension? What if I pulled back the hammer, letting it click into place like it is now? You’re sitting there, in the other room, blankly staring at the wall as you always are. Poor Cougar, doesn’t even realize the world is still living without him… without me. I think I’m ready now.
I love you.
autosaved at 10:49PM
"Jensen? ningún amante, por favor no te mueras, por favor no me dejes! Te amo! Te necesito! Por favor, por favor ... no ... no ... JENSEN! Está bien, mi amor , ya voy ... estoy casi allí. Espérame! "
"Cougs? Jensen? We heard gunsho... Oh Jesus... CLAY!"
END