![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
A week ago, Flynn had sold his guitar and now the money was gone. Without his guitar, Flynn felt like he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t make music and he couldn’t see a time in the future when he would ever be able to afford another guitar if he stayed in this dreadful, dead place in Liverpool. He had sold the one thing that made him feel alive, and all he had left was a tiny room that barely heated up, a hungry belly which was rarely sated for long, and a landlord who repulsed Flynn and regularly demanded sexual favours in exchange for Flynn’s continued roof over his head.
It wasn’t worth it. The inevitable conclusion that Flynn came to was that it never would be worth it, either. He had effectively ruined his life the night he had shot his brother to save Quinn and now he had lost everything. He had one person in his life who cared for him, and he was fairly sure she would recover from his loss quickly. Susan cared for him because he was there. When he went, she probably would hardly notice. He would never be the kind of man Quinn deserved and therefore he had no reason to continue to try.
Flynn couldn’t bring himself to let Ray enter him again. He always felt violently ill afterwards. But the thought of going back out onto the streets filled him with dread. This situation was supposed to have been better. This having a roof over his head was supposed to mean that the shit that came with being homeless didn’t get to him. But the roof over his head came with sacrifices and he couldn’t stand them. He couldn’t go home. He couldn’t go back to his parents.
He had nothing and no one. And he no longer had any will to live. When once he would have considered this unfathomable, now it seemed like the best course of action, which only served to show how far he had fallen.
Flynn had managed to collect a few things over the months he had been living in Liverpool. And one of those things was a kitchen knife that was slightly dulled; though he had a feeling he wouldn’t have a problem cutting through flesh with it. He collected the knife and before he used it, he bundled up his clothes and his blankets and he set them on the mattress of his bed so someone could use them. Waste not, want not. Then he moved into his shower and he turned it on.
Flynn didn’t want to be a bother. He hated being a burden to anyone and while he despised his landlord, but he had a feeling Ray would not be the person who cleaned it up if he made a mess. So, fully clothed, he stepped into the running water and he sat down. He would make as little mess as possible. He would be as little bother as he could manage to be.
There, on the floor of his shower, he cried for a long time. He cried about the people in London who had been his family. He wondered if they would ever know what had become of him. He cried because he didn’t believe any one would ever care that they had lost him. And when his chest ached fit to break and his head was pounding, and he was soaked to the bone, Flynn picked up the knife and he used it to open the flesh of his right wrist first as he was left-handed. The pain was startling and Flynn had to fight his instinct to stop. He gasped loudly as the blade cleaved through flesh. The skin parted and bright blood flowed out of his veins and down the drain. He opened his left wrist then, the cut deeper and more uneven, more painful, and then he curled up in the floor of the shower, shaking and growing weaker, waiting to die.
**********
Susan had heard Flynn come home and she sat in her apartment alone for a little while, trying to decide if she should go disturb him. She didn’t really want to, she knew about needing one’s space, but she also knew that he hadn’t eaten for a while. It was hard to forget when she was the one taking care of him.
So she cooked up a quick meal of spaghetti Bolognese with a pathetic amount of meat in it before making her way over to her new friend’s flat. She knocked lightly on the door and then opened it, peering in. Silence except for the shower and while she certainly didn’t want to go in there and jump him, she didn’t want to just leave the food without telling him it was there.
So she tapped lightly on the bathroom door with her knuckles. “Malachy, it’s Susan. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude. I just brought over dinner for you. I’ll just leave it on the table, alright?” He didn’t reply and she knocked again. “Malachy?”
When there was still no answer but the water Susan had a bad feeling, a bad, sick, wrong feeling. She pushed open the door with breath held and then spotted him lying there in the bottom of the bath, blood still gushing from his arms despite the steady stream of water. She screamed in horror and ran to his side, grabbing him and trying to shake him awake. “Malachy! Wake up! Please, just wake up! Oh god, oh god, Malachy, just wait! Just hold on!”
She ran out of his flat and back to hers, water dripping off her now as she grabbed the phone and dialled for an ambulance.
**********
The ambulance arrived and Flynn wasn’t awake to know. He had gone dizzy and lost consciousness well before Susan ever entered his flat. And by the time the paramedics showed, Susan wasn't anywhere to be found either. She didn't want any part of this and who could blame her?
Flynn was taken to the nearest hospital where he was treated for his wounds and the blood loss, though Susan had gotten to him quickly and the damage, considering the situation, was relatively minor. Flynn would live to see another day.
Much to his disappointment.
**********
When Flynn finally awoke, it was hours later. His wrists ached and he was confused until he remembered what he had done. He had meant for the blackness he had finally experienced to be the end of everything, but here he was in a hospital from the looks of it, his arms in bandages.
His blood still in his veins, pumping away by means of his shattered heart.
Flynn lay back against the pillows, feeling helpless and weak. He didn't want to be here, but he couldn't even die correctly. He couldn't try again. He had to have gotten here somehow, which meant someone had found him and called an ambulance.
With dawning horror, Flynn realised that there was a very good possibility that it had been Ray who had saved his life. The disgusting landlord could have come into Flynn's room, expecting payment and found Flynn in his shower, trying to die. The man could have decided he would not let his sex on tap lose his life to a drain hole and called an ambulance.
Whomever had done it, it didn't matter now. He had failed. Trying again was clearly pointless. This was his life now. He would have to live it. He would resolve himself to it. He deserved no better and it was pure selfishness to believe he did.
He was still dizzy and weak, but Flynn knew that if he stayed in the hospital, it was likely they wouldn't release him until they were sure he wouldn't try to off himself again. He already knew and he didn't feel like being submitted to their questions and screenings. He had felt worse. He could handle it.
It was easy enough to take some clothes which weren't being watched from one of the doctor's dressing rooms. He would return them later. He wasn't stealing, only borrowing. And, once dressed, he walked away from the hospital as if he had simply been visiting, and he hadn't tried to take his own life not seven hours earlier.
It wasn’t worth it. The inevitable conclusion that Flynn came to was that it never would be worth it, either. He had effectively ruined his life the night he had shot his brother to save Quinn and now he had lost everything. He had one person in his life who cared for him, and he was fairly sure she would recover from his loss quickly. Susan cared for him because he was there. When he went, she probably would hardly notice. He would never be the kind of man Quinn deserved and therefore he had no reason to continue to try.
Flynn couldn’t bring himself to let Ray enter him again. He always felt violently ill afterwards. But the thought of going back out onto the streets filled him with dread. This situation was supposed to have been better. This having a roof over his head was supposed to mean that the shit that came with being homeless didn’t get to him. But the roof over his head came with sacrifices and he couldn’t stand them. He couldn’t go home. He couldn’t go back to his parents.
He had nothing and no one. And he no longer had any will to live. When once he would have considered this unfathomable, now it seemed like the best course of action, which only served to show how far he had fallen.
Flynn had managed to collect a few things over the months he had been living in Liverpool. And one of those things was a kitchen knife that was slightly dulled; though he had a feeling he wouldn’t have a problem cutting through flesh with it. He collected the knife and before he used it, he bundled up his clothes and his blankets and he set them on the mattress of his bed so someone could use them. Waste not, want not. Then he moved into his shower and he turned it on.
Flynn didn’t want to be a bother. He hated being a burden to anyone and while he despised his landlord, but he had a feeling Ray would not be the person who cleaned it up if he made a mess. So, fully clothed, he stepped into the running water and he sat down. He would make as little mess as possible. He would be as little bother as he could manage to be.
There, on the floor of his shower, he cried for a long time. He cried about the people in London who had been his family. He wondered if they would ever know what had become of him. He cried because he didn’t believe any one would ever care that they had lost him. And when his chest ached fit to break and his head was pounding, and he was soaked to the bone, Flynn picked up the knife and he used it to open the flesh of his right wrist first as he was left-handed. The pain was startling and Flynn had to fight his instinct to stop. He gasped loudly as the blade cleaved through flesh. The skin parted and bright blood flowed out of his veins and down the drain. He opened his left wrist then, the cut deeper and more uneven, more painful, and then he curled up in the floor of the shower, shaking and growing weaker, waiting to die.
Susan had heard Flynn come home and she sat in her apartment alone for a little while, trying to decide if she should go disturb him. She didn’t really want to, she knew about needing one’s space, but she also knew that he hadn’t eaten for a while. It was hard to forget when she was the one taking care of him.
So she cooked up a quick meal of spaghetti Bolognese with a pathetic amount of meat in it before making her way over to her new friend’s flat. She knocked lightly on the door and then opened it, peering in. Silence except for the shower and while she certainly didn’t want to go in there and jump him, she didn’t want to just leave the food without telling him it was there.
So she tapped lightly on the bathroom door with her knuckles. “Malachy, it’s Susan. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude. I just brought over dinner for you. I’ll just leave it on the table, alright?” He didn’t reply and she knocked again. “Malachy?”
When there was still no answer but the water Susan had a bad feeling, a bad, sick, wrong feeling. She pushed open the door with breath held and then spotted him lying there in the bottom of the bath, blood still gushing from his arms despite the steady stream of water. She screamed in horror and ran to his side, grabbing him and trying to shake him awake. “Malachy! Wake up! Please, just wake up! Oh god, oh god, Malachy, just wait! Just hold on!”
She ran out of his flat and back to hers, water dripping off her now as she grabbed the phone and dialled for an ambulance.
The ambulance arrived and Flynn wasn’t awake to know. He had gone dizzy and lost consciousness well before Susan ever entered his flat. And by the time the paramedics showed, Susan wasn't anywhere to be found either. She didn't want any part of this and who could blame her?
Flynn was taken to the nearest hospital where he was treated for his wounds and the blood loss, though Susan had gotten to him quickly and the damage, considering the situation, was relatively minor. Flynn would live to see another day.
Much to his disappointment.
When Flynn finally awoke, it was hours later. His wrists ached and he was confused until he remembered what he had done. He had meant for the blackness he had finally experienced to be the end of everything, but here he was in a hospital from the looks of it, his arms in bandages.
His blood still in his veins, pumping away by means of his shattered heart.
Flynn lay back against the pillows, feeling helpless and weak. He didn't want to be here, but he couldn't even die correctly. He couldn't try again. He had to have gotten here somehow, which meant someone had found him and called an ambulance.
With dawning horror, Flynn realised that there was a very good possibility that it had been Ray who had saved his life. The disgusting landlord could have come into Flynn's room, expecting payment and found Flynn in his shower, trying to die. The man could have decided he would not let his sex on tap lose his life to a drain hole and called an ambulance.
Whomever had done it, it didn't matter now. He had failed. Trying again was clearly pointless. This was his life now. He would have to live it. He would resolve himself to it. He deserved no better and it was pure selfishness to believe he did.
He was still dizzy and weak, but Flynn knew that if he stayed in the hospital, it was likely they wouldn't release him until they were sure he wouldn't try to off himself again. He already knew and he didn't feel like being submitted to their questions and screenings. He had felt worse. He could handle it.
It was easy enough to take some clothes which weren't being watched from one of the doctor's dressing rooms. He would return them later. He wasn't stealing, only borrowing. And, once dressed, he walked away from the hospital as if he had simply been visiting, and he hadn't tried to take his own life not seven hours earlier.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}