A Million Voices [UsUk]

Tears

Arthur was screaming.

On the inside, or on the outside, he wasn't so sure anymore. All he knew was that the second those news of the plane crash got to him, he felt... Lost. Empty, but full of rage and disturbing thoughts of sorrow.

He ran towards the bathroom, almost falling onto the floor since he was only a moment away from a blackout, barely able to reach the bathroom door. But he did, and he swiftly got in, closing the door behind himself with such power it made a loud noise which scared Arthur himself.

Finding himself soon on the floor, choking out sobs and gasping for air, he thought about how must Alfred feel.

Alfred... My dearest Alfred... Was in a plane crash. What if he was one of those who didn't survive? That means... That means...

That means I'll never see Alfred again.

He began harshly sobbing, knees on the floor and face covered with his hands, holding onto nothing, feeling dizzy and so, so broken.

And what if he survived the plane crash, but won't live for long?

What if he can't leave America again?

WHAT IF I NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN?!

And by that last sharp thought, he found himself face touching the floor, barely supporting himself with his weak arms.

I can't hurt myself. Alfred told me not to.

But I'll never see Alfred again.

At what cost am I holding back? He's gone! Alfred's probably dead by now, or doesn't remember me! Maybe he doesn't want to remember me!

He'll never come back to London again, who am I kidding?!

My only reason to live has gone away from my life.

What stops me now, tell me, dear god in which I lost faith, what stops me now?

I have no one. I am no one. Nobody loves me , nobody has ever loved me.

I... I'm worthless. And without Alfred... I have nothing to live for anymore.

The mournful thoughts got to him this time. He got up slowly, with a few troubled sighs since getting out was a difficult matter, and looked at himself at the mirror as he held his hands on the washbasin, looking at himself and inspecting how terrible he looked.

His green eyes looked dead and grey, sorrowful and dull, as if behind them there was no soul, no life, no reason to have one.
His blonde hair was damp and messy, flailing in all directions, making him look even more miserable and filthier to himself.
His cheeks were red, but his face was pale, and tears were streaming down his face as they had never did before.

He, Arthur Kirkland, was done with life.

With shaky hands, he reached for the small cupboard which stood next to the mirror, and opened it, searching for the correct thing... The only thing he needed now.

And he was glad when he found it. A small razor blade, and a bottle of anti - depressants.

Arthur wasted no more time.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Alfred felt absolutely terrible.

He was quietly crying, not being able to wipe off his tears, since moving his arms was an impossible task, and he had no idea how to get out of this mess he was in.