The Love I Never Gave-Maylor

Happy

I reached John's house and knocked, making sure my jacket covered up the bloody shirt I wore. He wouldn't be amused to see me, but I had to tell him about Roger's death. The door opened and a face peeked out before laying eyes on me and contorting in distaste, slamming the door to close it. I put myself in between the door and doorway, preventing it from closing. He gave up and opened it all the way, rolling his eyes at me.

"Oh, what a "pleasant" surprise, what the fuck do you want, Brian!?"

"I—"

"What are you doing here!? Looking for Roger so you can abuse him!?"

"No, I could never!"

"Shut the fuck up, Brian! I saw him, all bruised up and beat up because of you. Made the poor man so afraid he escaped the hospital just to get away from you! You animal...

"John! I'm trying to tell you something serious, but you won't let me!"

"Okay, what is it!?"

"This," I said and took out the suicide note, handing it over to him.

His face dropped when he read the name and he opened the note up, hesitating in his actions. His expression changed into worried, about to cry look.

"Brian, please...don't tell me this is what I think it is."

"What do you think it is?"

"Is this...a suicide note?"

He nodded weakly, full of hopelessness.
"You knocked the sense back into me at the hospital, and I went over to his house, intending to fix things, but it was too late...I found him in an overflowing bloodbath...both wrists slit, losing blood. I-I ran him to the hospital, him dying in my arms, doctors cared to him, taking him away from me on a hospital bed. Hours later, I got the worst news of my life, he died...He went into shock from the blood loss and his heart stopped...He did it because of me. I took his life with my actions. I'm guilty of this and everything. You're furious at me, I understand. I just want to say, I loved him, I really did. That trip to America changed me and I wasn't the same. Nothing clicked for me until our argument and seeing the effects it had on him. I wanted to apologize, but it was too late, he was gone...I'll never stop loving him, never. Bye for now."

I turned around and walked away, leaving my real thoughts.

I was back at Roger's house, staring at the bloody and blood stained bathtub, right where I found him without his life. Finding him in that state was the worst feeling in the world. Something you could have prevented from happening and a part of you dying, Irreplaceable. Losing something you can't replace. I did an unforgivable thing. I couldn't imagine the pure agony he went through to take his own life, gashing into his wrists with some sharp implement. The panic when he saw the blood flowing out of him, into the water, painting his death. The utter release of knowing his last moments of life were close, he wouldn't have to live in pain anymore.

All because of me...the things I did...That time I cheated on him, the look on his face, he looked so hurt, confused, lost. And me, all I did was scream out how worthless he was. Right in his face, made him feel like he was nothing, which he wasn't. After the woman left, I got upset with Roger, so I beat him, whipped him, punched him. Not too long after that, I tried raping him. His cries of help and for me to stop echoed in my head. Brian, stop, please!...Help! I gave up and let him go. He was huddled up in the corner of the room afterwards, crying, shaking, red marks and bruises all over his body. When he peeped up at me, that expression, his eyes, they looked worried, horrified, broken...Then, it happened, I raped him for real, he had run away from me when I was sleeping, so I hunted him down and found him in barren parking lot. That's when it happened, pinned him down, stuffed a gag into his mouth, and sexually assaulted him.

His muffled screams, him struggling in my grip. When we were walking back to my house, I looked him in the eyes and that same expression again, this time, deeper. He really couldn't take it anymore... I looked back towards the bathtub, this is what all of this lead to. I killed him, I stared at the bloodbath contemplating whether to clean it up or not. I couldn't just leave it here, I had to clean it, no matter how much it hurt. I mustered up the willpower and pulled the plug, watching what was left of Roger go down the drain. A rattling sound came out, something that was blocking the drain. I bent down, picking up a glass shard as I first saw it. I put two and two together, this thing, this killed him, this is what took him away from me...This stupid thing! Hand clenched around it, ready to crush it, but something inside stopped me.

I carefully set it down on the sink, got the cleaning supplies out, and scrubbed the inside of the bathtub clean.(A/N) Yes, I know that this isn't how it goes for real-life situations. There are special types of cleaners that are called to do the cleanup, but just bear with me for this story

Eventually, it was sparkling white again and that was when I stopped. I took the glass shard, suicide note, and went over to Roger's bedroom. I placed the things down on the bed and stared at them. I eyed down at my shirt, covered in blood, Roger's blood. This was it, this note, shard, and his blood. This was all I had left of him...I refocused my attention and cleaned his room, saddened with sharp stings of pain by his belongings, bringing back memories of him. I received a stab in the heart when a photo collage of him and the rest of the band. We all looked so...happy. Too bad things weren't like that anymore...

I got around to doing his bed and found a big stash of letters, picking one up and reading it.

Dear John, Freddie, and Brian

This is my final goodbye to all of you. I've come to the conclusion and decision that it would be for the best if I weren't around anymore. I'm only an emotional annoyance to all of you. Don't waste your time mourning, I'm not worthy of that, I'm worthless, as Brian said many times to me, I lost my purpose in life, why should I keep living? I'm always in pain and numb, hole in my heart, the rest of me is broken to pieces. Self-esteem is nonexistent, nobody would care if I died, everyone hates me. I'm a waste of space. I just want the pain to stop, everything to stop...

— Roger

At that moment, a ping of regret went on inside me. He thought of himself so lowly, as an emotional burden, worthless, a waste of space. Eyes watered up and tears fell onto the paper, rolling off it. It was all me, I made him feel this way. I put the letter down and finished making his bed, sniffling, trying not to think about the letter. After I was done, I took a small box that I found while cleaning, which had pictures of him with the band, and put all the letters, shard, and closed the box. I made my way out of his house and back to my own house, going into one of the rooms. I placed the box down on my bedside table, took a photo of Roger and put it in a picture frame, setting it up next to the box. These items will always remind me of him, never letting me forget that he once existed. I took one last look at my shirt, drenched with Roger's blood. I took the shirt off and laid it on my bed, still viewing it. The only part of his physical state that remained. I carefully folded the shirt up and stored it in a hidden drawer, safe and sound. I would never wash the shirt. It will always remind me of this gruesome day and how my mistake cost Roger's life...

I lay in bed in tears all night, crying my soul out. Part of me died along with Roger, emptiness filled me and created a void that couldn't be fulfilled. Anger built up inside, lashing out at myself and crashing into the walls of my room and other times, missing him so much that I fell to the ground in tears. I couldn't stop, breakdown after breakdown that night, screaming, crying, wishing this was all a nightmare. But it wasn't, this was real life.