Night sits heavy on my shoulders, the kind of heavy that doesn't rush you, just leans in slow, breathes down your neck, and waits for you to notice. I'm sitting on the edge of my bed with my elbows on my knees and my face in my hands, trying to breathe, trying to think, trying not to think too much at the same time. The room around me is still. Too still. The soft lamp glow reflects off the mirror across from me, but it doesn't touch the corners, it never does. The shadows hold their ground, stretching out like they know something I don't.
The air feels thick, almost physical, like I could reach out and grab a handful of it if I really tried. I breathe in, slow, but every breath feels like it turns around halfway and presses back into me. Like my lungs are trying to push the world out.
My phone buzzes.
A small vibration against the blanket that sounds way louder than it should in all this silence. I grab it without thinking, anything to get out of my own head for a second. I scroll through stories, Drinks. Flashing lights. Bored smiles.
And then I see her.
Kate.
On Jessica's story.
Some guy's arm around her shoulders like he has the right. She's laughing, the kind of laugh I can feel even though I can't hear it. Her eyes look relaxed, her body leaning toward him. It hits me low, in a place I don't like to admit exists.
I close the story fast, drop the phone beside me. I stare up at the crack in the ceiling, the same crack that's been there for years, and for some reason tonight it looks back at me like it knows exactly what's going on.
It's not about Kate.
Not just about her.
It's about everything.
All those years of trying to be the guy who makes everyone laugh, the guy who keeps the noise going so no one hears the quiet underneath. All the nights I told myself tomorrow would feel better. All the times I let people believe I'm fine.
My mind starts playing old memories like someone hit rewind on a broken projector.
mom in the kitchen,
Lara singing, Tommy's cute laugh,
Peter keeping me together even though he's falling apart.
Kate smiling at someone else like it's the easiest thing in the world.
It all stacks on top of itself, heavy, and that pressure in my chest starts building, old familiar squeeze like something inside me is cracking quietly, just enough to spread a little bit more each time. I breathe, slow, but it doesn't do anything. The thoughts keep coming. Every day. Every stupid moment I wished I could disappear and didn't. Everything I've stuffed down for years comes up like a wave.
And somewhere inside all that chaos, a strange calm slips in.
Still.
Cold.
Final.
Not the kind of calm that comes from peace, but from exhaustion so deep it feels like it's hollowing me out from the inside.
I stand up.
The house is quiet when I walk into the hallway. Everyone's asleep. My footsteps sound distant, like they're coming from someone else's body.
When I open the garage door, The darkness inside doesn't feel empty, it feels familiar. The single stripe of streetlight leaking through the blinds catches dust in the air, floating slow like it forgot how gravity works.
The smell hits me first: gasoline, cold metal, old wood, something faintly metallic like dried blood or rust.
It's colder here, the kind of cold that seeps into your ribs and settles there. I breathe it in, and it burns a little. My thoughts start dissolving one by one until all that's left is a blur of faces and sounds. Kate's laugh, Peter's voice, mom's hand on my shoulder, the twins yelling somewhere in the distance of my memories.
My fingers trail across the workbench. Cool metal. Wire. Tools. Nails. Random objects that mean nothing and everything at the same time. And then I see it.
The rope.
Laying there like it's been waiting.
I step toward it, slow, like I'm approaching something alive. It's normal, rough, nothing special. And yet the moment I touch it, something tightens in my chest. I lift it up, let the coils fall over my arm. It's cold. Heavier than I expected. Or maybe I'm just lighter.
The chair creaks when I drag it across the floor.
The sound travels up my spine.
The beam above me looks solid. Old, but dependable. I toss the rope over it. It lands with a dull slap and falls halfway back down. I pull it tight, tie the knot. My fingers aren't steady, but they're determined. They know what they're doing even if I don't want to admit it.
I slide the noose over my head.
The rope scratches my neck, rough and cold, sinking into my skin with each breath. I pull it tighter, slow, feeling it settle.
Then I climb onto the chair.
One foot.
Then the other.
For a moment, everything is still. No thoughts. No noise. Just the pulse in my throat pushing against the rope, slow and steady, like it's checking if I'm sure.
I let my hands fall to my sides.
Stare down at the floor.
The shadows look deeper now, like they're moving even though nothing is.
I tilt my head back, feel the pressure trace the lines of my neck. My heartbeat slips into a strange rhythm, slow and loud at the same time.
I take one last breath.
It fills my chest, then sinks.
Everything goes quiet.
Like the world is holding itself still.
And then—
nothing.
Not darkness.
Not pain.
Just... nothing.