He lied.

He wasn't getting any better.

He isn't going to stop.

Russian Roulette had somehow become his favourite game. It was... thrilling knowing that at any second, he was able to take his one life.

That THRILL of being at the mercy of the trigger and lady luck.

He played it not enough to truly die... yet enough for that possibility, that hope to always persist every single time.

When people were out clubbing Friday night, he was hurting.

Quite literally.

He was tracing down old scars with his knife, reopening them, going so far as to rub salt right into the wound. It hurt.

Yet it made him feel so alive, so real and reminded him that he existed.

Reminded him of-

What was his name? He couldn't remember. What did it matter anyway? That lover was long dead.

(You loved him too. That annoying voice reminded him. This isn't what he would have wanted-)

He no longer cared. He just wanted to know that he was alive. He existed.

(And that somebody loved him, once upon a time.)

Every cut that was made into his skin was a physical representation of the state of his mind, heart and soul. He wasn't able to think straight now, all that he knew was that copper tang in his mouth.

He reached out for the rope.

The ribbon that had been adorned on the church that day of their wedding.

(And that man was laughing, smiling and insisted on wrapping the thing all the way round the small house they had it at.)

He wanted to hang himself.

Drowning was indeed another option, in his mind's eye he was already taking those pills that would end his life and falling into that deep slumber he would never wake from.

He contemplated slitting his own throat. It would be so easy. Just an instant and he would be gone. He imagined the looks on their faces when they saw his lifeless body on the floor. They could cope, he was only dragging them down, they were better off without him.

(Yet a part of him still reminded him that there were still people that loved him, trusted him and he didn't want to leave them.)

They were better off without him.

He was going to go, it was for the better. Why the hell was he dragging it out?

He stared at the knife.

He took his life.

The end.

Life wasn't a fairy tale. It never ends happily ever after.