TW- attempted suicide.

thank you for the request IALWAYCOMEBACK

THIS IS PLATONIC BTW

35

schlatt's pov

watching as he finally left, his beanie drooping to the left.

he waved one last goodbye as he shut the door.
sitting up, i slouched a bit. my back ached, i slept in a weird position last night.

i walked to the kitchen, i probably looked like an edgy 16 year old that doesn't bother to fix their terrible posture (tommy-)

'you should just kill yourself'
'they wouldn't care'
'they hate you'
'get the knife, slit your throat'
'it'll feel good'
'c'mon, you know you wanna'

i felt hot tears make my way down my face, why did they come back? i thought they were gone.
i sprinted over to the kitchen, opening the drawer and grabbing the sharpest knife i could find.

i thought i heard the door open but thought nothing of it, probably just the wind.

"hey schlatt, sorry i forgot my wall-"
"what the fuck are you doing?!"

my eyes widened, i threw the knife onto the counter.  "i-it's not what it looks like, i swear."

"then what is it? what were you doing with a knife to your throat? hm?"

"i- uh, testing how sharp it was??"

"that would kill you."

"it would? wowwww, i didn't know that!" i rolled my eyes, smirking.
wilbur stepped closer to me, i could see the tears in his eyes.

"what's your deal? wouldn't you be happy if i were dead?"

"of course not! you're one of my best friends schlatt!" he pulled me into a hug, tears fell on his beanie.

"jesus, you're making this seem like it's serious. it's fine, wilbur. i would've pussied out anyway, like i always do."

"you've done this before?!" even though i couldn't see his face, it was in my chest. i could tell he was shocked. my shirt was getting wet. i don't even know how he got his face to my chest, this man is a fucking giant.

"of course i have, but this was the first time i've done it in a while. it's fine."

"i know you're crying, you're clearly upset." he stumbled on his words, he was full on sobbing.

"there there, it's okay." my voice softer, i took his beanie off and played with his hair.

"can- can you tell me why you were gonna do it." he whispered, obviously trying not to let out another sob.

"because i deserve to be dead, pretty obvious." he pushed me to the couch and got a blanket, covering us with it. 

"no, no you don't deserve to be dead. who the hell told you that?"

"har- nobody. nobody did."

"har?" he repeated "did you screw up on your words?"

"you don't need to know who told me."

he sighed but nodded.
"why were you gonna do it today. you said you thought you deserve it, but you don't"

"because they came back, i didn't wanna deal with it so dying would be the only way"

he hugged me again, slightly laying down. "no, dying isn't the only way."

"yeah, yeah. sure."
"dying releases this thing we call 'life'." i tried holding my laugh, it didn't work. i sounded like that one green screen youtuber. what the fuck is his name, why would anybody remember such a stupid name?

i was starting to feel a bit better, not much but it was enough. i might try going to sleep

tell me if i fucked up on anything

vote bc im desperate 😉

sorry, i didnt really know how to end this one-