The love letter and the suicide note

8:12am

A/N

Trigger warning.

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Orson sat on his bed, holding the blade in his shaking hand, ready to use it. Ready to feel anything. Anything that would bury the emotional pain.

The only way to get rid of emotional pain was to physically hurt, and even if the emotional pain didn't go away all the way, it still got buried underneath the physical pain for a few seconds. Emotional pain was the worst pain in his opinion. It broke people more than physical pain. It hurt more than physical pain.

That's why he needed to bury it beneath physical pain. It only lasted a few seconds, but a few seconds was better than none.

A few seconds away from all his emotional pain was better than feeling a sting on his wrists for a few seconds. He wished he could cut so deep and so much that the physical pain would hurt more than the emotional pain all the time, every second.

But he couldn't, he couldn't do it yet. He had to wait a month. A few seconds would have to do for now.

Orson pressed the blade to his wrist, ignoring all the other scars from the previous times, and he cut. The sting made him flinch, but he kept cutting. He didn't stop, he didn't want to.

Blood was already sliding down his arm and landing on his lap by the time he got to the fourth cut. It stung. It hurt. But that's what he wanted.

He wanted to hurt physically to bury the emotional pain. He couldn't take it anymore.

His phone started buzzing and he looked up from his bloody wrists to see that Astra was calling him. Again. For the fourth time this past almost 2 days.

He ignored it.

His wrists were stinging so much now, it made him feel better. He felt better for a few seconds, but after those seconds were over, the emotional pain won over the physical again.

He cut one last slice on his wrist, and he made sure to make it longer and deeper than the others, to make sure the physical pain stayed longer than a few seconds that time. He gasped as he cut so deep that blood poured out of the cut immediately. More than the others.

Orson dropped the bloody blade to grab the cloth on his drawer and pressed it against the deep cut. He must've cut too deep, he wasn't paying attention to what he was doing.

He was in too much pain. He wanted the pain gone and wasn't thinking.

Orson stood up to walk to the bathroom and wash his wrists off, but as soon as he stood up, his head hurt, and he stumbled forward as his vision started turning dark.

He felt dizzy.

He stumbled towards the bathroom, holding the cloth to his wrist tightly, but he only made it a few steps before he fell over onto the floor.

His head was killing him.

He couldn't see anything.

He accepted the darkness that kept getting closer and closer, and before he knew it, everything went completely dark.