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My hands shake as I try and pick up the pen for the third time. I know I shouldn’t do this-somewhere in the back of my head, I know. But it’s all too much. I can’t handle it anymore. I-I don’t want to. I drag in a shaky breath and wipe my face, now a mess of snot and tears-too many tears. This should be easy. Why am I crying? I want this.
All I can think of is her face. The way she will crumple in on herself, landing on the floor with a thud as the sobs wrack her body. She will blame herself, I know she will. And it hurts me so much, more than I can say, to leave her like this. But it hurts more to keep on living. To get up every day and have to grind through, each breath a challenge in and of itself. I’ve tried-I really have, but I’m just done.
I think of all the things I’ve messed up over the years, all the relationships, lives, PEOPLE I’ve ruined. And I hate myself for it. With each passing memory, I know that the world will be better off, everyone will be better off, without me. I want to stop thinking this way, but nothing helps. I’ve come to my last resort, there’s nothing more to do. I can’t keep living this way-so I’ll just stop living.
I pick up the pen with much steadier hands now, ready for what must be done. I take out a fresh piece of paper with the Stark Industries logo at the top; I’m not going to write my suicide note on the soggy and crumpled piece I had been previously trying to use. And then-I stare. What can I say? Actions speak louder than words. No matter what I say here, Pepper will still blame herself. I just hope to anyone who will listen, that she moves on. She deserves so much better than me, she will benefit from my passing. I put the pen to paper, deciding what I’m going to write, and scrawl out the last five words the love of my life will hear from me.
I toss the pen aside and fold the paper neatly, scribbling the name of my lover on the front and placing it on my desk. I had cleaned the entire workshop; I didn’t want anyone to have to deal with a mess. Ironic, Stark I tell myself, I’m leaving them with the biggest mess of all. I feel guilty, but not enough to stop myself as I pick up the 9 mm semi-automatic I’d been saving in my desk for quite some time. My eyes are dry as I load in a single bullet. Calm down, Tony. You want this. I tell myself, breathing in and out five full times before bringing the gun up to my temple. My hands aren’t shaking as I accept the imminent truth-that I am going to die. I close my eyes and breathe in and out one last time, reveling in the feeling of air rushing into and then leaving my lungs. Then, I pull the trigger.