AROK
His marriage was over. It was a fact he had to face. He had finally managed, despite his best efforts, to destroy his marriage. Sitting on the dark balcony, he stared out over the horizon. The view was beautiful, but it didn't touch him. The crashing waves, the beaches, didn't phase him. How could they? The phone call he'd just finished had shattered what was left of his world.
She said that he didn't love her. That she'd known for a while now he'd loved another. What kind of person was he that he couldn't deny it. What kind of husband had he been, that his wife had known he'd loved someone else? Not only that, but that it was another man. He hadn't been able to deny her accusations. They all rang too true in his mind.
Disgusting, she'd said. A pervert against nature. Those were what his religion had taught him to describe people like that. People like him. They were wrong, and sick. He had tried so hard to make it go away. To throw himself into a normal life, marry a beautiful woman. But she never made his heart stir the way he did.
She was going to file the divorce papers tomorrow. She'd told him she couldn't stand being married to him a day longer than necessary. Even as she'd insulted him, he'd stood and took it, knowing he deserved that and so much more.
The world he'd worked so hard to build was crashing down around him. He'd erected the image of a perfect life, doting husband, perfect boy next door grown up. It was expected of him. The fans, the band, his family, they had all expected perfect little Brian Littrell to grow up, marry a woman like Tiff, start a family. When the band was done with, he was to settle down in a little house with a dog or two, and raise his children with her. Grow old with her. Now, it was all gone.
Everyone would be so disappointed with him. His family would disown him. His band mates would never be able to look at him again. Kevin wouldn't be able to stand the sight of his disgraced cousin. An him, well, if he found out, that didn't bear thinking about. But, without him, they could salvage things, brush it all under the carpet like the shameful secret it really was. They would move on.
He looked down at the small razor gripped in his hands. It wouldn't take much. A few moves, and he could lay here in the evening air and wait for release. No one would come to check on him until the morning. Even if Nick or AJ came for one of their late night visits, they'd find his door locked and think he went to bed.
Before he could lose courage, his gripped the razor tightly. It was quicker and easier than he thought, to drag it from wrist to elbow. There was a sharp burn, then a blessed numbness. He watched with a curious detachment as the blood pooled down. Who knew there was so much blood in a person?
He sank down to the ground, suddenly dizzy. But he couldn't take his eyes from the blood. It would all be over soon. He wouldn’t have to live with the shame. No one would ever find out his dirty little secret. No one would know that he'd failed his wife so much that she left him. Maybe the bible was right, and he would be punished for his suicide, but it would be worth the punishment to save his friends and family the shame of his life on earth.
Vaguely he heard an odd sound. It took him a moment to place it as knocking. Oh well. They would soon go away. Dizzy and tired, he laid his head down on the ground. The cool floor of the balcony felt wonderful. His mind spun, and a smile curved his lips. He could see the puddle of blood growing, knew that he was almost there. So close.
A voice broke through his haze. He felt a surge of annoyance. Who was that? It came again, louder this time. “Brian! Shit!” A pair of hands were on him suddenly. “God, oh my God. Brian!” Whoever it was took their jacket, wrapped it around Brian's arm. He tried to pull away, tried to stop them, but the weakness had spread through is whole body. They're too late anyways he thought.
“Don't you dare leave me, Brian. Don't you dare. We're gonna fix this.” That voice came again, and this time Brian recognized it. If he could have laughed, he would. How ironic. The man who was the cause of all this, rescuing him? This man was the reason he had been unfaithful to his wife to begin with. Even in the depth of all his pain, it still registered in him that he felt his arms around him, holding him close. It felt so nice. He was dying anyways. What would it hurt to enjoy, just for a bit, the feel of the man he loved.
He was half lifted into a pair of warm arms. It had been the voice, yes, but the tattoos as well that gave away his wannabe rescuer.
“Dammit, Brian. Help! Someone help!” shouted AJ. There were tears in his voice. Through the growing haze, Brian felt them dripping onto his head. “Help! Please, somebody!”
Those arms tightened around him, one hand holding the coat around Brian's arm. “Don't you dare let go, Bri. We'll fix this. Dammit, we're going to fucking fix this. Don't you dare go anywhere on me, you hear? I need you. We all need you. Who's going to make me laugh when I want to kill someone? Who's gonna help me not drink? Who am I gonna talk to? You've become my best friend, Bri. I'll be damned if I'm going to let you go."
Something in him wanted to respond. Really, it did. But he felt himself sliding underneath the darkness. Even as it started to pull him under, he heard the footsteps pounding through his room. Too late he thought. He wondered if it was true. Had he succeeded, or had he failed? He drifted in and out of consciousness, always knowing that AJ's arms were around him, that he was being protected.
New voices pulled him back up for a moment. Voices speaking in clipped tones, moving him in ways that brought the pain back. “Lost a lot of blood” “Gotta get him in fast.” “Start an IV now!” and behind them all, AJ's voice. “I'll follow to the hospital, Brian! Just hang on! I'll be there!” He wanted to answer, but this time the blackness came stronger. It sucked him down to the blessed place where nothing hurts, where nothing is real. He was safe.
She said that he didn't love her. That she'd known for a while now he'd loved another. What kind of person was he that he couldn't deny it. What kind of husband had he been, that his wife had known he'd loved someone else? Not only that, but that it was another man. He hadn't been able to deny her accusations. They all rang too true in his mind.
Disgusting, she'd said. A pervert against nature. Those were what his religion had taught him to describe people like that. People like him. They were wrong, and sick. He had tried so hard to make it go away. To throw himself into a normal life, marry a beautiful woman. But she never made his heart stir the way he did.
She was going to file the divorce papers tomorrow. She'd told him she couldn't stand being married to him a day longer than necessary. Even as she'd insulted him, he'd stood and took it, knowing he deserved that and so much more.
The world he'd worked so hard to build was crashing down around him. He'd erected the image of a perfect life, doting husband, perfect boy next door grown up. It was expected of him. The fans, the band, his family, they had all expected perfect little Brian Littrell to grow up, marry a woman like Tiff, start a family. When the band was done with, he was to settle down in a little house with a dog or two, and raise his children with her. Grow old with her. Now, it was all gone.
Everyone would be so disappointed with him. His family would disown him. His band mates would never be able to look at him again. Kevin wouldn't be able to stand the sight of his disgraced cousin. An him, well, if he found out, that didn't bear thinking about. But, without him, they could salvage things, brush it all under the carpet like the shameful secret it really was. They would move on.
He looked down at the small razor gripped in his hands. It wouldn't take much. A few moves, and he could lay here in the evening air and wait for release. No one would come to check on him until the morning. Even if Nick or AJ came for one of their late night visits, they'd find his door locked and think he went to bed.
Before he could lose courage, his gripped the razor tightly. It was quicker and easier than he thought, to drag it from wrist to elbow. There was a sharp burn, then a blessed numbness. He watched with a curious detachment as the blood pooled down. Who knew there was so much blood in a person?
He sank down to the ground, suddenly dizzy. But he couldn't take his eyes from the blood. It would all be over soon. He wouldn’t have to live with the shame. No one would ever find out his dirty little secret. No one would know that he'd failed his wife so much that she left him. Maybe the bible was right, and he would be punished for his suicide, but it would be worth the punishment to save his friends and family the shame of his life on earth.
Vaguely he heard an odd sound. It took him a moment to place it as knocking. Oh well. They would soon go away. Dizzy and tired, he laid his head down on the ground. The cool floor of the balcony felt wonderful. His mind spun, and a smile curved his lips. He could see the puddle of blood growing, knew that he was almost there. So close.
A voice broke through his haze. He felt a surge of annoyance. Who was that? It came again, louder this time. “Brian! Shit!” A pair of hands were on him suddenly. “God, oh my God. Brian!” Whoever it was took their jacket, wrapped it around Brian's arm. He tried to pull away, tried to stop them, but the weakness had spread through is whole body. They're too late anyways he thought.
“Don't you dare leave me, Brian. Don't you dare. We're gonna fix this.” That voice came again, and this time Brian recognized it. If he could have laughed, he would. How ironic. The man who was the cause of all this, rescuing him? This man was the reason he had been unfaithful to his wife to begin with. Even in the depth of all his pain, it still registered in him that he felt his arms around him, holding him close. It felt so nice. He was dying anyways. What would it hurt to enjoy, just for a bit, the feel of the man he loved.
He was half lifted into a pair of warm arms. It had been the voice, yes, but the tattoos as well that gave away his wannabe rescuer.
“Dammit, Brian. Help! Someone help!” shouted AJ. There were tears in his voice. Through the growing haze, Brian felt them dripping onto his head. “Help! Please, somebody!”
Those arms tightened around him, one hand holding the coat around Brian's arm. “Don't you dare let go, Bri. We'll fix this. Dammit, we're going to fucking fix this. Don't you dare go anywhere on me, you hear? I need you. We all need you. Who's going to make me laugh when I want to kill someone? Who's gonna help me not drink? Who am I gonna talk to? You've become my best friend, Bri. I'll be damned if I'm going to let you go."
Something in him wanted to respond. Really, it did. But he felt himself sliding underneath the darkness. Even as it started to pull him under, he heard the footsteps pounding through his room. Too late he thought. He wondered if it was true. Had he succeeded, or had he failed? He drifted in and out of consciousness, always knowing that AJ's arms were around him, that he was being protected.
New voices pulled him back up for a moment. Voices speaking in clipped tones, moving him in ways that brought the pain back. “Lost a lot of blood” “Gotta get him in fast.” “Start an IV now!” and behind them all, AJ's voice. “I'll follow to the hospital, Brian! Just hang on! I'll be there!” He wanted to answer, but this time the blackness came stronger. It sucked him down to the blessed place where nothing hurts, where nothing is real. He was safe.