Work Text:
What would you do for the man you love?
“Oh my god, Gavin, what the hell do you do?”
Would you hold a knife to your neck? Would you?
“Jesus Christ, Gavin, where’s the phone? I have to call a fucking ambulance!”
I told you, over and over again. He made me do it.
“Oh my God, oh my God…”
I didn’t want to. He told me to. He told me. And I did it.
“Oh my god, are you…is he dead?”
He told me to slice my neck open. He told me to and I did it.
“911? I need an ambulance.”
I didn’t want to scare you. He made me do it. I did it.
“…blood everywhere…no, I…I think he’s still alive…we’re at 328…”
I never thought I’d experience the feeling of your mouth filling up with blood.
“…Okay I’ll do that. Thank you so much.”
But he made me. He told me to. That’s what he wanted.
“Gavin, why? What the fuck were you thinking?”
I wasn’t. He whispered in my ear. I followed his command. I did it.
“Thank fucking Christ they’re here.”
Ray, I didn’t mean to scare you.
“He’s bleeding out. Gimme two units of…”
I had to listen to him. I did it.
“…blood. ‘Ey, make a right here, it’s quicker.”
I never told you this, Ray, but I love him. I loved him then, I love him now, and I will always love him.
“We need a room!”
God, he means the world to me.
“Gavin, hang in there, buddy…”
It hurts.
“…was successful, but he probably won’t be very responsive.”
They saved me. Where is he?
“Hey, Gav. How you doing?”
Where is he?
“Oh, uh…here’s a pen and paper. Use it if you need to say anything.”
I’m not kidding around. I need to see him. I need him to know that I’m okay. That I did it.
“Gav, why’d you do it?”
I write the only thing that was on my mind at the moment, the only word my shaky hands will scribble down: his name.
“…Michael?”
Michael.
“Gavin, stop fucking around, I want to know why you did this. What the fuck drove you to slice your fucking neck open?”
I slam my pen on the paper.
“…What the hell does Michael have to do with anything?”
I scribble a few words after what I’d written before.
“…’Michael made me.’ Gavin, I…that makes no sense.”
I scratch those words out and replace them with others.
“’Michael told me to.’ Gavin, that makes no sense. Do…do you not remember?”
Remember what? What am I not remembering? Why would that change anything?
“Gav…Michael killed himself three months ago.”
No, no, that’s not true. Michael’s still alive. He didn’t kill himself. I write that word on the paper over and over again.
“Gavin, stop! Michael’s dead!”
I keep writing. No, no, no, no. Michael’s not dead. He’s not.
“Gavin, stop. Please, write something else.”
Three more words.
“’Look behind you’…Gavin, stop, you’re scaring me. There’s nothing there.”
Two more. Two final words before I threw the pen against the wall.
“’Michael is’…?”
I saw him. I saw the blood on the wall, saying ‘I’m sorry, Gavin’. I saw his body slumped against the wall, the gash on his neck leaking onto his shirt. I saw the pained look on his face, the last expression he wore before he died.
I saw my shadow behind him, the outline of the knife I held as sharp as the knife itself.
I did it.