Downfall

Prologue

  Will watched as his little sister organized her crayons into a rainbow, pushing the hair from her eyes and adjusting her left sleeve, it would never stay bunched up at her elbow. Will heard his mother come through the front door, on the phone, voice hushed, the crinkling of a paper bag. She tapped on his back, her phone balanced between her ear and shoulder. Will helped take the groceries out of the bag and placed them throughout the kitchen accordingly. His mom mouthed the words "thank you" and walked down the hallway to her room. 

"Willie, will you get me a drink please?" Rosalie smiled at her big brother, her sleeve falling down again. 

  Will retrieved a plastic cup from the cupboard, but was interrupted. Little Rosalie wanted a big girl cup. Now, the glass cup filled with cranberry juice, surprisingly his sister's favorite. The deep red liquid swished up the sides of the glass as Will walked over to his sister. 

  The noise of something hitting the floor down the hall made his body freeze, spilling the juice from the cup, the cool liquid on his hand startling him, causing the glass to fall and shatter, shards of glass poking out of the deep red pool, like rocks near a coastline. The brother and sister ran down the hall, to find their mother with her head in her hands and her phone broken apart across the quaint bedroom, the curtains peacefully swaying at the open window. Tears, shoulders shaking and uneven lipstick described their mother's current state.

"I don't know how to tell you this..." her voice trailed off, taking a deep breath, looking up from her mascara stained palms.

"Did you get fired?"

"Are we not getting a dog?" 

The kids questions varied.

"Your father was attacked..." Her eyes met with Will's. 

  Rosalie looked over at her big brother, never having seen him cry before. Will knew what the news was, the rest of the words not needing to escape from his mother's mouth. His hopelessly opiate addicted dad had finally died, probably under a bridge somewhere or perhaps on the side of a not-so busy street on the wrong side of town, attacked by some other addict. His little sister was lucky, with the good dad and all. Well paying job, nice teeth, nice hair, attractive assistant he was involved with behind their mother's back. Maybe not so perfect actually, but better than Will's dad. Will's father dying was just the start of the end for him.

  Will was sat in the bathroom a few nights later, box cutter in hand, the cabinet above the sink with a few of his mother's prescriptions stored inside just in case. His suicide note was on the countertop, written to his mother and sister who were currently watching a movie out in the living room of their cramped apartment. After everything had built up for so long, for so many years, Will was ready for everything to go away.

  His hands were shaking, perhaps out of fear or dehydration, and tears were forming in the corners of his eyes. He was in the same clothes he had been wearing and sleeping in for the past three days. Hair greasy, nails uneven, bad breath. He had planned it to be this way.
Dragging the box cutter against his left forearm, watching the beads of red appear like a bracelet, running down his skin, falling to the floor like rain. It didn't hurt yet. Will did this multiple times, in all directions, unintentionally making shapes sometimes, the bathroom floor slowly adopting red polka dots. Will heard the apartment door creak open, lifting the box cutter from his arm, ready to slide it into his pants pocket to hide.