The Longest Note (Genji Shimada's Diary)

Chapter Seven

A/N: This chapter holds a triggering scene involving suicide, if you are disturbed by the actions of it, I have bolded the first and last sentences of the scene start and end for you to skip. Or just skip the whole chapter altogether. 

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The door opens just as quietly as it shuts; a soft *click* sounds in the foyer and carries through the expansive room. It bounces off walls until there is no more to bounce off of and then is lost in the air, no longer.

He drops his bag to the middle of the wooden floor, eliciting a *thunk* much louder than the soft *click* just moments before. Then, he makes his way up the spiral stairs; his hand slides up the well polished and spotless banister as he drags his feet; left step, right step, left step, right step...

This process continues until he is standing at the top, slightly out of breath; It had been a while since he last had a good cardio workout. He huffs out a final, breathless puff and reaches foreword. The handle seems too far from his grasp, like he was reaching for an eternity.

His hand grasps the polished silver knob. It had been cleaned recently, most likely just before he stepped through his family homes' gates. Someone else -someone unrecognizable- stares back through the stainless reflection. Caked on the strangers face is makeup smeared from a rough night of thrashing and grinding on a fluorescent floor; black smudged under his eye, worn from more than one rough hand, and under his jawline, a deep, red bruise, created from too harsh grips.
This was a man he knew not of; a man he once knew. A broken man.

His hand twists, the veins showing through too-thin wrists, abused from many nights hunched over his toilet regurgitating the dinner he ate because it was too much, and he felt too sick.

As the knob twists, the hinge pulls from its comfortable place inside the wall and revealed a dark abyss of lies, anger and misery. He did not bother to flick on the light; it didn't matter. Instead, the man trudges through and makes a sharp right after exactly twelve steps in. To his right, an even darker abyss just aching for his presence to fill the loneliness that lie inside.

Without much thought, his clothed feet hit the tile and resonated through the dark, empty void. A hand dances along the light green paint, groping for the knob that would scare the dark away and fill his eyes with a bright enough to locate the shower.

His eyes took a moment to focus and then his feet were moving again, sliding along the floor as they make their way to the pristine shower that calls for his attention. A lonesome chair in the middle and for a moment, his heart is thudding in his chest, racing to stir adrenaline that would force his feet to turn and head to the bag in the middle of the floor, down the long spiral stairs; it aches for him to fish the buzzing phone and answer the worried caller because it was the third time with no answer and that was unlike him.

It was not enough to stop him because then the chair was speaking, light seeming to illuminate it further as the door opens. Genji stepped inside. He did not bother to strip his clothes and simply turns the knob on the opposite wall.

It sprays in twelve different directions; hits every angle and leaves no crevice untouched. The seat was slippery within seconds, but it didn't seem to phase him; his hand stretches above his head, for the blade perched on its pedestal. The wet handle slides between his fingers in familiarity, a lonesome smile tugging at his lips.
Then, he kicks his shoes onto the drenched, porcelain floor for a faded memory and places a bare foot on the wooden stool. With a simple push, both feet were safely put; by this point, his knuckles turned white from the tight grip on the blade.

Genji turns his attention briefly to the open bathroom door. The bedroom outside was still dark, but it wouldn't be long until it was chased away by a familiar southern drawl that would fill his ears.

With one, heavy inhale, the blade was pressed to his wrists, angled vertically. It slides down until the veins bulge and muscles show through; just a precaution because the rope did not seem too sturdy. Then, he glances up and in a swift moment slips into his necklace that fit so perfectly, his feet slipping from the wet stool and dangling centimeters from the porcelain floor.

There was no sound, no indication that he was in pain. Contrary to popular belief, he is elated; happy to be gone. There would be no burden for Jesse to carry, nor would his father have to worry about his dwindling progression in the family crime lore.

He could see her beautiful face, decorated lightly with accessories that accentuated her already flawless features; she smiles at him and her dainty fingers reach foreword to pull her son into a warm grasp.

He smiles for the first time in two years; a genuine smile.

For a moment, the young and beaten man felt whole and content. There was no one else around to judge or mistreat him; it was just him and his mother.

Just as quickly as it came, it was gone; her once beautiful image distorted until nothing but a vast white emptiness fills his vision. Is this what it felt like to die an agonizingly lonely death? There is no heaven, nor is there a hell. It was just emptiness; he feels more lonely than when he lived. Here in this empty white, he was cold, scared and alone. Where had his mother gone?

It is completely silent and then extremely loud seemingly at the same time. Where is this noise coming from? He tries to move his hands to his ears; it is too loud! Each time, nothing happens. When he looks down at himself, he sees nothing. His body- where had it gone?
The voice was unrecognizable; who is speaking so loudly? More than one person... no, two people. Two men. It is clear the difference in tone. One was deeper than the other and smooth, though the other was gruff, like he had been smoking for years. He sounds angry, even when the words did not match his tone. It is a natural voice... or purposeful at the very least.

Two men, both speaking a different language. Just before he had a chance to understand either, both voices stop. Then, silence. It surrounds him.
Genji begins to panic and glance around himself; it is still bright and empty. The loud voices are gone and he realizes now that he misses them. They were the only proof that he was... here, existing. With them gone, how could he believe this empty place was not his death? Perhaps Heaven is real, but everyone has been perceiving it wrong. When you die, you do not go to a bright world filled with love and perfection. You go here; no where.

Is this purgatory? Is someone on Earth praying him into Heaven right now? Does anyone know he is dead? Do they know he was battling alone in his head for two years and decided one day it was too much?

Or do they know? Did they find him and laugh? Call him a coward? *He took the easy way out* Was it easy? For months he had been thinking on this very day. The day he would end it all; and he fought with himself. It had become a daily contemplation whether or not he could do it because in truth he was scared.
Could he, would he, should he do it? And if so, how? Should it be painful, as a reminder that he was, in fact, running away from his issues, or painless because he had endured too much pain over the years and the one thing he wanted was to go out easy.

Genji was lost in his thoughts and did not hear the voice return; the deep and smooth one. It wasn't until he hears his name that he starts to pay attention. How did this person know his name, and who is it?

*God*?

His name is repeated and the words following passed through one ear and out the other. He still could not understand the language. It was not Japanese, but it also was not English.

Despite not being able to understand him, Genji still heard tone, and the voice sounds... sad, almost sorry. He can hear it breaking and holding back, like the words are becoming more and more difficult to pass through.

He feels...not happy. Sadness is not the word to describe it, more like pity. Without knowing who the voice belongs to, or the words that fill his ears, Genji understands this person is grieving. They are wallowing in sorrow because of... him. His name continues to pass through his ears; it easily becomes the only thing this voice is speaking. That and... was he finally understanding? It must be true because now he can hear and it's saying Genji, I'm sorry.