Good -- A Danti Fanfiction (COMPLETED)

Chapter 14

Dark's POV

I stayed with my back pressed against the wall, my legs sprawled on the floor, staring into the nothingness of the black slabs surrounding me. I don't remember how long I was like that. It felt like years, when in reality it had probably only been a day or so. 

I didn't want to get up. I didn't see a point. Anti made me feel things that no other demon had. He made me feel remorseful, ashamed, and tingly inside. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. 

I ran my hands through my hair, clutching my head. There was no point in trying to run from what I had done. Images of past victims were flitting before my eyes, the memoirs of their deaths haunting me. The blood, the screams, the giggles escaping my lips as I watched the life drain out their eyes.... 

I was a fucking monster. 

I needed Anti to stay away from me. I couldn't allow myself to hurt him anymore. But if he did come back, could I stop myself? I didn't know how much control I had over my urges, sadistic as they may be. I was bred to kill, to hurt, to destroy. I was not made for love. In fact, I might have been incapable of it.

I let go of my hair, which I didn't realize I was tugging at, and rested my head on the wall, staring at the ceiling. I knew what I had to do, but something was stopping me. My will to live was flickering, trying to stay aflame, while the rest of me sunk deeper into the floor. 

I gathered my strength and stood. My muscles ached, but I ignored them, heading for my room at the end of the hall. My lips were dry and cracked, and my throat burned, desperately in need of water. I shook it off. It would all be over soon. 

I opened the door and headed to a large metal file-cabinet at the edge of the room, facing my bed. I pulled a key out from my pocket and unlocked the second drawer, rolling it out. Inside, there was a small, black handgun resting on some photos. I picked up the gun, making sure the safety was on, then I tossed it on the bed behind me. The photos were old, but they were sweet. I dragged my finger softly over the bundle, memories flickering. It hurt, to try and make Mark remember when he was dead. But I gritted my teeth and prepared myself as I grabbed the stack of memories and sat on my bed, the gun beside me.

There were photos of Ethan, Tyler, Wade, Bob. All smiling and laughing, not a clue what Mark was going to do only weeks later. I wondered how they were doing now. How they handled the whole situation. 

I guess I would never know. 

I flipped through pictures of PAC, fans hugging Mark and their smiles beaming. I saw Amy and Mark dressed in the dumbest costumes, playing a cat accordion and a whistle. I saw Polaroids of them at Joshua Tree, and some scandalous ones at that. But they were both so happy. The corners of my mouth twitched, but I couldn't get myself to smile. I felt bad for what I did to Amy. She really loved Mark. They had talked about marriage and kids, and planned to spend their lives together. I, of course, knew that the relationship wouldn't last. Not just because I was going to make him kill himself, but because Mark was falling in love with Jack. 

Mark still loved Amy; he loved her so fucking much. But you can't be in a relationship that serious if you love someone else just as much. 

I continued to shuffle through the photos and notes until I ran across Sean. There weren't that many pictures of him, but he was happy in every single one them. That much happiness couldn't be faked. Sean was one of the most bubbly people Mark had ever met, and he was drawn to it. There were almost perfect for each other. 

I rubbed my temple as pain flooded my senses. I saw spots and my vision was blurry, but I pressed on. I had inflicted this pain and more onto others, so it was my turn. 

I read notes from Amy, talking about schedules and editing and cacti. There were notes from Ethan about buying milk and eggs for the office, back when things were so simple, and when people didn't have to worry about the person they loved leaving their lives forever. 

I felt tears rushing to their corners of my eyes, slipping out. I wiped them away. I had no right to cry. I had done this. I had ruined everyone's life. I glanced over at the gun next to me. The light from the open blinds shined on it, making it gleam. It beckoned me, letting me know that everything would be okay. Hell would grant me peace. 

With my hands shaking, I wrapped my hands around the handle and placed my finger on the trigger. I walked out into the kitchen, tossing the reminders of my failures on the counter, watching them spill onto the floor and float away. I took one final look out of the door. The sun was back, shining brighter than ever. Warm air greeted me, and I smelled sweet summer air. What a perfect day. I left the door open, not worried about bugs or people coming into the house. I didn't have to care about anything anymore.

I walked down the hall, returning to my place of solitude. I leaned back against the cold, smooth wall and slid down to the floor, closing my eyes and bringing the gun up to my head. This was the moment I had been waiting for my whole life. Mark had died because of my wicked, disgusting, harmful nature. I would die for the same reasons, and the same way. 

I was ready to go back to Hell. 

I put more pressure on the trigger, just milometers away from freedom.

"Don't you fucking dare," said a familiar voice, his tone menacing and laced with fear.

I smiled, my eyes still shut. I sighed. At least I wouldn't die alone. 

Without a second more, I pulled the trigger. 

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