The love letter and the suicide note

11:45pm

Orson set his phone down on the small dresser next to his bed, ignoring the buzzing noise as someone tried to call him.

Why was she trying to call him again? She had called him two times in the same night already.

He didn't mind her calling him the other two times. The first one was obviously a mistake, but the second time wasn't and he didn't mind it. He hadn't talked to anyone in such a long time, part of him wanted to pick it up again, but he didn't want to talk to anyone anymore. Not right now at least.

Orson felt horrible that she had to find her sister. His heart broke for her, and it would take her a long time to heal from it. He didn't blame her sister though, he knew she must've been struggling so much and was in so much pain she couldn't take it anymore.

So she did what he was planning to do.

She ended it.

She ended her pain and suffering.

And he was ready to end his.

But it still wasn't fair that her sister had to find her. Who knows how horrible Astra must've felt finding her sisters body, especially since there was nothing she could do to save her.

Luckily, Orson didn't have anymore family. He had no siblings, and his parents died when he was 16. The only family he had left lived in a different country, and they never kept in touch with him. He never even met them actually, his parents never let him meet them.

He didn't know why his parents never let him meet them, but it was probably because they weren't good people. He heard more bad stories about them then good, and his parents were probably protecting him from them.

So nobody would have to find him.

Nobody would have to feel exactly how Astra was feeling.

Nobody would have to suffer because of his decision and actions. Nobody that knew him at least. Eventually somebody would find him, and then all these strangers who hear about the story of the broken boy who committed suicide would fake their sympathy and pretend they cared.

That's just how the world worked. Nobody listens to the broken people, nobody believes them when they're struggling. Not until it's too late.

And then they have the audacity to say things like 'oh we didn't see the signs' and 'they never told us' when really, they just didn't want to see it.

Everybody was the same.

He didn't have anyone close to him, so the only people who would give him fake sympathy were strangers. He didn't care.

It's not like he'd be there to tell them to shut up and scold them for being that way. He wouldn't be there to tell them to stop faking it, so he wouldn't care if they faked their sympathy.

He'd just roll his eyes from wherever he went after death. He'd know the truth, he'd know how they really felt, and that would be nothing. They'd feel nothing for him, yet, they'd pretend to feel sad.

It was pathetic. The world was pathetic. The people in the world were pathetic.

That's one thing he didn't like about the world, the people. Just the people. There was not enough love in the world, and not enough good people that actually did care. Most people only cared about themselves and didn't care if someone was struggling or needed help.

There was one in thousands who would stop and help out a person in need, and that wasn't enough.

If everyone knew about him, only a few out of the billions of people would actually care. But he didn't want to stick around long enough to find them, it'd be too long. It'd be forever.

He didn't want to stay there any longer. One more month and he'd leave. One more month and then he'd finally be happy again.

He had no time to wait and see if someone would come into his life that actually cared. He didn't even want anyone to care, he didn't want anyone to love him. If he had someone like that, it'd be so much harder leaving.

It was already the easiest decision of his life and he didn't want anyone to ruin that. He was perfectly fine without anyone knowing. He was perfectly fine by himself. He didn't need anyone to stop him.

He needed to complete it. He needed to be happy again, and that was the only way.

Orson ignored his phone as it started buzzing once again, and he stood to his feet to walk to the bathroom across his room.

Why was she still calling him? Did she actually care? He didn't want anyone to care, because if they did, and he got too close to them, it'd be harder for him to leave.

But he needed to go. He was in too much pain and staying any longer would just make it worse. He didn't need anyone who cared about him, because that would make the pain worse.

He wasn't someone anyone wanted to care about. He'd just hurt them, and he didn't like hurting people. He didn't want to hurt anyone, so he stayed away from people. He stayed away from anyone who tried to get close to him, because he would hurt them and he didn't want to.

He'd hate himself even more if he hurt someone.

Orson opened the bathroom door and walked inside.

He was tired. He wanted to sleep.

That was his only escape.

When he turned the lights on in the bathroom, his eyes met the tired brown eyes staring back at him in the mirror. Dark bags were underneath, and his face was so much paler than the last time he saw his reflection.

His brown hair was a huge mess on top of his head, and as he stared at his reflection, he had to lean on the sink for support as he nearly fell over.

A sudden dizziness hit him out of nowhere.

Orson didn't bother brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed. He was too tired. He was too weak. So, he turned the light back off and left the bathroom to walk back over to his bed.

He fell asleep almost immediately after his head hit the pillows.