Ranboo doesn't know what Dirk is doing. No, that's a lie-- they know exactly what Dirk is doing, but not where he is in the process. Part of him isn't sure why he even wonders about Dirk. Why think about him at all? He's just another in the list of terrible things to happen to Ranboo.
From the control of one exploitative owner and into the control of another.
This isn't freedom. Not really.
Ranboo hears movement, opens his eyes for a moment to see Dirk passing by the door-- calm, focused, soaked in a stranger's blood. It's as if they've glanced up to watch a scene from a horror movie playing out in a familiar hallway.
This is hell, right? Or a bad dream. This can't be real. Then again, Ranboo can't remember the last time anything truly felt real to him at all.
(That isn't true. They were with Dirk. Laying peacefully in bed together, in the quiet, comfortable, resting. That feels like another lifetime now.)
Ranboo rolls over limply, sits up to open a drawer near the bed. He knows it's full of condoms and lube. He also knows what else Dirk keeps there. They dig until they find the pill bottle, lift it carefully to avoid making too much noise and alerting Dirk to what they're doing. There's a partial bottle of water on the night stand-- Ranboo can't remember whose it is, but it doesn't really matter now.
He looks over the label. He feels... a lot less and a lot more at once than he thought he would if this were ever to happen. Relief, some agonizing form of it that makes his gut feel cold and hollow, and grief, grieving the person they used to be and can never be again. They wished they knew what name that person had. They wonder what name they'll be buried beneath.
He can't swallow all of the pills at once, so he takes a few at a time. It gives them time to think, to wonder what they could've been, who they could've been if only they'd never been taken. In another life, what could he've been? Happy? Loved? Maybe even normal?
Well, it doesn't matter now. And the pain won't last much longer, the unbearable point that it's come to making their hands shake as they take the last few pills left in the bottle and set it aside, then fall back onto the bed, curling up tightly again to wait.
They hope that it won't hurt. It would suck if the last thing he ever got to feel was pain.
Tw suicide
Date: 2024-08-05 06:35 am (UTC)From the control of one exploitative owner and into the control of another.
This isn't freedom. Not really.
Ranboo hears movement, opens his eyes for a moment to see Dirk passing by the door-- calm, focused, soaked in a stranger's blood. It's as if they've glanced up to watch a scene from a horror movie playing out in a familiar hallway.
This is hell, right? Or a bad dream. This can't be real. Then again, Ranboo can't remember the last time anything truly felt real to him at all.
(That isn't true. They were with Dirk. Laying peacefully in bed together, in the quiet, comfortable, resting. That feels like another lifetime now.)
Ranboo rolls over limply, sits up to open a drawer near the bed. He knows it's full of condoms and lube. He also knows what else Dirk keeps there. They dig until they find the pill bottle, lift it carefully to avoid making too much noise and alerting Dirk to what they're doing. There's a partial bottle of water on the night stand-- Ranboo can't remember whose it is, but it doesn't really matter now.
He looks over the label. He feels... a lot less and a lot more at once than he thought he would if this were ever to happen. Relief, some agonizing form of it that makes his gut feel cold and hollow, and grief, grieving the person they used to be and can never be again. They wished they knew what name that person had. They wonder what name they'll be buried beneath.
He can't swallow all of the pills at once, so he takes a few at a time. It gives them time to think, to wonder what they could've been, who they could've been if only they'd never been taken. In another life, what could he've been? Happy? Loved? Maybe even normal?
Well, it doesn't matter now. And the pain won't last much longer, the unbearable point that it's come to making their hands shake as they take the last few pills left in the bottle and set it aside, then fall back onto the bed, curling up tightly again to wait.
They hope that it won't hurt. It would suck if the last thing he ever got to feel was pain.