❝In which a celebrity dials a random number in hope of finding one last thing to make him smile before he commits suicide at the end of the month.❞
"I'm going to commit suicide in one months time."
"I think you have the wrong number."
"It can't be t...
I originally didn't put it in because I thought it would be too emotional but you wanted it so here it is :)
This bonus chapter takes place after Shane has had the phone call that Cleo is dead. He then realizes that he has one more voicemail. This chapter occurs after he has listened to the voicemail in which Cleo explains why she died.
I hope you enjoy :)
*hands out tissues in advance*
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Something snapped.
Everything that had been previously blurred came into focus; sharpened. Too sharp. Sharpened to the point of everything forming in such clarity that it was painful for the eyes to see.
Each object he saw became a weapon to his eyes, painful needles stabbing at his features until they were finally healed by the burning tears that rushed past each wound. Everything was just so whole. So complete.
There was no rupture in the glass that lay on his desk. There was no fracture in the window. There was no crevice in the mirror. There was no chink in his coffee mug. There was no slit in his duvet.
Everything was fine.
Everything was perfect.
Except- it wasn't.
It wasn't.
And Shane hated it.
How dare the world remain intact when he was falling to pieces with each second that the clock pushed forward. How dare it.
The glass was the first to break.
It shattered against the wall in a captivating display, now broken shards glinting in the harsh daylight that escaped through the panes of the window. Shane did not care for its beauty. That beauty was held in custody by the fact that it was broken. It was broken. Broken. That was all that mattered.
The mirror was the next to go, pierced by blunt bullets that split his reflection into splintered pieces. Shane watched his expression falter as it split into reflective fragments, wishing that he had the willpower to fire at the coward rather than his mirror image.
He couldn't.
He couldn't.
The gun dropped to the floor once more, his tears following in rapid succession.
