The True Color of Death
Title: The True Color of Death
Pairing: Eli/Kevin (Elvin)
Rating: R
Wordcount: 570
Warnings: angst, attempted suicide
Summary: Short piece inspired by the MV for A Shared Dream, a quote from the book Blue Bloods by Melissa de la Cruz, and a scene from a book called The Resurrectionist (which I don't recommend).
A/N: So I came up with this around 2 in the morning and wrote it around 10, and it's unbeta'd but I wanted to post it because I'm tired of lurking Q_Q Be gentle with me.
High white ceiling. Painted white walls. White tile floor. White porcelain bathtub. Even his clothes are white, though they'll probably put him in black later, because no one understands that black is only the color of night.
He grips the edges of the tub so tightly that his knuckles turn white too, takes a deep breath and holds it, then slowly lowers his head.
He's completely submerged now, lying on the bottom of the tub. He probably didn't need to fill it so high; if he starts moving or kicking the water will slosh over the sides and someone will have to mop the floor. Right now, though, he's more concerned with doing this right than with spilling water.
A few bubbles escape his lips, and he counts them as they swim to the surface: one, two, three, four. The numbers become a poem in his head. Four is bad, three is worse, one is torture, but two is a curse.
He closes his eyes, ignoring the burning in his chest as his lungs scream for air. They're on the verge of giving out and he's close to the point where he can't hold his breathe anymore. It's okay, he tells himself. Or it will be. Just don't come up.
But the choice is ripped away from him when a pair of hands reach under his arms and yank him upward. He fights back violently, kicking and slapping at his would-be rescuer. He tries, god, he tries to stay under, where he knows he'll find his release, but this person refuses to allow it. He's forcefully pulled out of the water, and as he hangs over the edge, choking and sputtering from the water he swallowed during the struggle, he hears the plug get tugged out of the drain.
He leans back into the tub, feeling like he's being drained as well, as the water swirls away below him. Wonders which of them "saved" him this time. Wants to cry in frustration when he opens his eyes. Because of course it's him; it's always him.
Eli is angry, angrier than Kevin's ever seen him. "Damn it, Kevin!" he screams. "Why do you keep fucking doing this to me? Why? Why? Why?" For every why he punches the floor, so hard his knuckles bleed.
Kevin notes that Eli is wearing white pants. Why bother, you won't let me die, Kevin thinks to himself.
He's tired, so tired of trying to explain and being ignored, of feeling so burdened and empty, of all of it. Everything.
He doesn't have the strength or the will for another conversation that leads nowhere. He just wants it to end.
"Eli, please," he pleads, his voice coming out raspy from the effort, "I'm begging you, for the love of God, please, let me go."
Eli's steely eyes are dripping ice and Kevin knows that release is just a sad fantasy. Kevin is trapped, has always been trapped, will always be trapped.
"No," Eli hisses in a voice as steely as his gaze. "I will never, ever let you go, Kevin. I need you. I will never let you leave me."
Kevin doesn't even have the energy to cry out in despair. When Eli picks him up and carries him to his room, he doesn't fight back. This will never be over, he realizes. He curls into a defeated ball beneath the white sheets on his bed.
A/N I hate characterizing Eli as the bad guy, because I love him, and I know Kevin is Christian and suicide is a sin but that's just the way the fic turned out, I'm sorry! I'm in the middle of editing a longer Elvin fic so look forward to something a little less angsty.
Pairing: Eli/Kevin (Elvin)
Rating: R
Wordcount: 570
Warnings: angst, attempted suicide
Summary: Short piece inspired by the MV for A Shared Dream, a quote from the book Blue Bloods by Melissa de la Cruz, and a scene from a book called The Resurrectionist (which I don't recommend).
A/N: So I came up with this around 2 in the morning and wrote it around 10, and it's unbeta'd but I wanted to post it because I'm tired of lurking Q_Q Be gentle with me.
High white ceiling. Painted white walls. White tile floor. White porcelain bathtub. Even his clothes are white, though they'll probably put him in black later, because no one understands that black is only the color of night.
He grips the edges of the tub so tightly that his knuckles turn white too, takes a deep breath and holds it, then slowly lowers his head.
He's completely submerged now, lying on the bottom of the tub. He probably didn't need to fill it so high; if he starts moving or kicking the water will slosh over the sides and someone will have to mop the floor. Right now, though, he's more concerned with doing this right than with spilling water.
A few bubbles escape his lips, and he counts them as they swim to the surface: one, two, three, four. The numbers become a poem in his head. Four is bad, three is worse, one is torture, but two is a curse.
He closes his eyes, ignoring the burning in his chest as his lungs scream for air. They're on the verge of giving out and he's close to the point where he can't hold his breathe anymore. It's okay, he tells himself. Or it will be. Just don't come up.
But the choice is ripped away from him when a pair of hands reach under his arms and yank him upward. He fights back violently, kicking and slapping at his would-be rescuer. He tries, god, he tries to stay under, where he knows he'll find his release, but this person refuses to allow it. He's forcefully pulled out of the water, and as he hangs over the edge, choking and sputtering from the water he swallowed during the struggle, he hears the plug get tugged out of the drain.
He leans back into the tub, feeling like he's being drained as well, as the water swirls away below him. Wonders which of them "saved" him this time. Wants to cry in frustration when he opens his eyes. Because of course it's him; it's always him.
Eli is angry, angrier than Kevin's ever seen him. "Damn it, Kevin!" he screams. "Why do you keep fucking doing this to me? Why? Why? Why?" For every why he punches the floor, so hard his knuckles bleed.
Kevin notes that Eli is wearing white pants. Why bother, you won't let me die, Kevin thinks to himself.
He's tired, so tired of trying to explain and being ignored, of feeling so burdened and empty, of all of it. Everything.
He doesn't have the strength or the will for another conversation that leads nowhere. He just wants it to end.
"Eli, please," he pleads, his voice coming out raspy from the effort, "I'm begging you, for the love of God, please, let me go."
Eli's steely eyes are dripping ice and Kevin knows that release is just a sad fantasy. Kevin is trapped, has always been trapped, will always be trapped.
"No," Eli hisses in a voice as steely as his gaze. "I will never, ever let you go, Kevin. I need you. I will never let you leave me."
Kevin doesn't even have the energy to cry out in despair. When Eli picks him up and carries him to his room, he doesn't fight back. This will never be over, he realizes. He curls into a defeated ball beneath the white sheets on his bed.
A/N I hate characterizing Eli as the bad guy, because I love him, and I know Kevin is Christian and suicide is a sin but that's just the way the fic turned out, I'm sorry! I'm in the middle of editing a longer Elvin fic so look forward to something a little less angsty.