i saw the devil today , this is what he said

[michael alexander cecil]

wesley hated his nightmares. they were always the same too. they always consisted of wesley's uncle laying in bed with wesley, his fat, ugly face looking down at wesley. it was always the same scenario where his uncle molested him, but what wesley always remembered from the nightmare was his uncle's sweat. the way that it would drip down and off of his forehead onto wesley. the way that it had when wesley was molested by his uncle. and it never failed that wesley saw the santa suit that his uncle was in, and then at that point wesley snapped awake. he nearly always screamed when he woke up from that dream. the first couple times he did that, his neighbors called the cops, thinking he was being tortured. where were the neighbors the other night when his long lost friend had raped him? friend? wesley hissed in his head what a great fucking friend he was.

wesley stared into the mirror at himself, not recognizing the person in front of him. the person in front of him looked sad, tired, and empty. almost like he was defeated. then wesley took a closer look and saw the lines and dark circles under his eyes, and for the first time he acknowledged how much sleep he had missed. ever since tommy had told him that he was in the mafia, he hadn't been able to sleep. what if some one came after him? he had his suspicions before tommy had told him, but that didn't make a difference when he had found out that it was true. tommy hurt people for a living, but wes could tell he didn't like doing it. but this person in front of him, wesley, or so that's who he assumed it was, found pleasure in hurting people. he occasionally fantasized about that kind of thing, but he quickly shot it down. he would never turn into that kind of person. that's not who he was. "you disgust me," he croaked at himself in the mirror.

ten minutes later, wesley was laying in the bathtub in the hotel room that he had bought for the night. laying next to him was a razor. his best friend outside of anyone else... wait. he didn't have anyone else. that's right. that's why he was here. no one cared enough about him to ask how he was, and to really ask. no one cared enough to look at him and see that there was something wrong with him. no one cared enough to save wesley like he did for so many others. no. people never liked wesley. they always looked down on him. so when he took the razor and cut it against his wrist, he smiled. smiled because it was a familiar feeling. smiled because he was going to leave the world. smiled.. because he wouldn't be a burden to tommy anymore, or anyone else.

the bathtub was slow to fill with blood, but wes could tell when he started to lose too much blood, because he started to feel light headed. the music that he had played in the bathroom was starting to fade in his head, johnny cash just barely audible to him. you are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey. wes sang along with the song in his head, having put it on repeat so that the song played over and over again. he sank a little more in the tub so that his head was the only thing outside of the water. you'll never know dear, how much i love you, please don't take my sunshine away.

tears silently fell down wes's face, because for once in his life, he could finally admit to himself that he was useless. there was nothing he could do for others. nothing at all. wesley's chest rose and fell as he cried. whether wesley could tell that he was dead when it happened, or whether it felt more like falling asleep, it didn't matter. his body laid in the bathtub, the water a red color from his loss of blood. along the wall of the hotel room, he had left a message. one that said i'm sorry for never being good enough.


tag; none. closed.
music; you are my sunshine by johnny cash
notes; none