Maylor One Shots

💫 Fade To Black

(A/N: ok so, this needs a TON of trigger warnings. Mental health issues, suicide, self harm, cheating, medical stuff..you name it. So please don't read if you're sensitive to anything that might be in this. It's SUPER angsty, but it has a happy ending. And it's really long too..)

Words: 7007

Brian's POV

What is the point? What is the point if the one person that really matters doesn't love you anymore? There isn't a point..I don't see a reason to go out, to eat. I don't have a reason to keep myself alive anymore. People would say that I should do it for myself. But what if I hate myself? What if I am my own greatest enemy, greatest hater? The one person that loved me, really loved me, isn't with me any more. It's all my fault, I shouldn't have been so clingy. I shouldn't have been so anxious.

Just because he was flirting with a woman, it doesn't mean anything. Just because he danced with her, put his hands on her hips. It doesn't mean anything. Just because he kissed her..it doesn't mean anything. He was just being polite, and I went and talked to him about it. I asked him not to. He just..he yelled at me. Told me I was being stupid, told me I was being over protective. Told me I didn't give him any freedom. I just watched in hurt as he kicked the table, broke a glass and stormed out the door, slamming it hard enough to make the windows rattle.

He does this sometimes. He gets terribly mad and then comes crawling back with his tail between his legs a few hours later. So I cleaned up the broken glass and re adjusted the table leg. But when he didn't even come back for a whole day..I knew. I knew he was gone, and it was all my fault. I'd pissed off the one person who I loved for good.

So I haven't left. I haven't done anything. I haven't eaten in two days. The numbing ache in my stomach was blinding for a bit, but today marks the seventh day that he's been gone. And in that week, all I've eaten is a few sandwiches, some biscuits, and several apples. The hunger is insistent: gnawing at my insides and searing through me. Yet, I deserve it. I'm just laying here, laying in my bed. Our bed. However, today, I feel something. I know what it is, it's the urge to create. To create music.

So, for the first time in a few days, I actually get up. I don't shower like I should, I don't eat like I should. I don't drink like I should, either. Instead, I go straight over to Red Special. I haven't touched her in a week. I sling her over my shoulder and pick up my amp, taking them downstairs. The singal is fuzzy in the bedroom so it's a must.

My legs are cramped and weak from their lack of use, and I stumble down the stairs, careful not to hit Red on anything. I don't care about anything else. I make it to the living room and plug the amp into the wall socket, gently leaning Red against the wall while I sort out my wire. I manage to plug her in with shaky hands, and pull her strap over my head. It feels nice to have her against me again, her weight familiar on my shoulders.

I warm up my fingers with a few scales, and I find that my fingertips haven't softened too much, which I'm glad of. I can already hear words forming in my head, so I grab some paper from the kitchen and a pen, before getting to work.

My hands just flow as the emotions come pouring out of me. All the pain, sorrow and loneliness translates into a song, and I feel the pieces of my heart scattering further as I dwell on the situation. I've never gone more than a week without talking to him, and today is the seventh day. It's a new record. Brilliant.

I don't bother to wipe the tears that stream down my face, little shards of broken heart contained in the salty water. The crying does no good to ease the pain, all it does is blur my vision. My hands are shaking violently as I desperately try to scrawl down the words that are all I can hear in my head.