Work Text:
Ivan rolled over on his bed the phone screen glowing a brighter hue. So tired and yet… He could not sleep.
he lazily rolled off the bed and sat at his computer, reading the newly written words of a script, the words dazed and mocked him.
Ivan squeezed his hand into a fist bashing his head into the desk “Why me, why me why ME!?” he asked himself.
the more his computer scrolled through the pages the lazier it felt, Ivan knew he was an extraordinary writer but it all felt so much like a mosquito, sucking his blood all for nothing but bother. The words felt all so different than his earlier writing spree which he was usually quite proud of.
Frankly, Ivan didn’t know why he was still writing, there was no point. It would never be good enough, not for Andrew. The audience would read the lines and chuckle “This is so ass!” One would say “Did they ever find anyone that wasn't in a dumpster?”Another person cackled. Then there would be popularity all for the damn writing, and it would be horrible, dreadful, disgusting. Just like him.
Oh and the spiral.
The spiral down hill, the world just all seemed so fake didn’t it?
Especially when he thought about Andrew, his perfect smile, structured body, well arranged clothes. It made Ivan want to vomit how he thought of his good friend, he was so disgusting, and such a failure. His father would’ve pulled a trigger to his head if he was ever alive to find his only son a disgusting freak of nature.
Andrew was too, gay as to say, but this was different. Andrew was better than him, they experienced the same feelings but Andrew was just better. Ivan couldn’t explain it.
Down the stairs of the building up the ceiling.
Andrew.
Andrew, why didn’t he try harder to keep him? They could’ve been happy. Perfect for each other and, hell, Just after high school when they met, everything was going well for their friendship. Somehow though Ivan figured it would be more than smart to fuck everything up! It was his fault and though he could’ve chosen to reach out to Andrew… He didn’t.
All their promises to each other like “We should get married and tell everyone we’re siblings!” Or the classic “Don’t worry, when they ask why two underage people are drinking, we’ll just say we don’t have the ability to age as quickly! Or I’m blind and you speak Russian.”
Promises, broken, all because he couldn’t keep his shit together.
Ivan swallowed his breath “Don’t waste your tears!” His Father always said.
When Ivan was fixing his Mothers vase for Valentine’s Day, yes, the old thing that had crumbled ages earlier, it shattered into pieces.
not even one thing had changed between those years.
Everything created, to be created, or a body was ruined the moment Ivan had came in contact with it, all broken with crumbled pieces.
Why was Ivan even still here if all he would do on this awful green earth was just to break, only thing he could do right was dissociate.
The clock donged the midnight hour in Ivan’s house, new year celebrations that were held were just about to end and while crowds of people would be gathered with family and friends, Ivan was in his gusty apartment all alone.
4 maybe 5 months ago, Ivan would’ve thought he’d be dead by now, dust collected all over his things and his funeral planned if anyone had even bothered. It was all planned then, the calendar marked when the definite date had to be. Before the 25th of December so people could return their gifts of patronization. Yet, Ivan had another potted plant and many more writing books he didn’t even need on his shelves because even the stores knew he needed to be better.
11 times and more had Ivan counted his death, he started to keep count after maybe the 3rd by then it’d only get worse. Ivan had no one to blame but himself because, hell, sure, other people in his life did play a role too but he was the main cause in the hell of his own making. Because of himself, Ivan was in hell, he was in hell staring up at a heaven above; a Mere hope that he could escape it was a lie.
Ivan knew, everyone knew, the tick marks on the headboard of his bed, how in the quiet of the night there was always someone else awake.
Everyone knew, and they did not a thing about it except for maybe Andrew, the only morally good thing to happen in his life and the only person to catch him (literally) red handed.
The gun gripped tight in his fist that it made his knuckles turn white finger paused right at the trigger and the gun in question kissing his own forehead it left a mark. This was the fool proof method, not the meds, nor the makeshift rope out of a pair of pants that Ivan would sometimes find himself laughing on about now and again, it was straightforward and fool proof, a gun he purchased for self defense. Ivan was using it right, it was for his own defense, so he wouldn’t be able to see the look of disappointment and dissatisfaction on his family when they heard of his sinning.
That might’ve been the only time Andrew was careful and… hesitant with his words, the flow of his voice would’ve made Ivan forget all about the gun and make his stomach flutter freely without thinking “I’m so disgusting.”, someone actually cared about him enough to keep him alive. The way Andrew cradled him and pampered him murmuring sweet nothings to him just like an everyday thing while forcefully shoving saltine crackers into his mouth with a side of boxed apple juice.
Ivan, for the first time in a very long while, thought maybe everything in this game named life wouldn’t be that bad.
If someone had planned his funeral, Ivan would be the only one to sob over his own dammed demise, and when his soul would go up to the heaven above for judgment, The lord and God above would look upon him and shake his head at his (hypothetical) file (if heaven even managed to have those). “My son,” the lord would say “you are so vile and have no place in my kingdom! Go to Satan and repent your soul to him!” But the truth was even the lord was afraid of Ivan’s disgusting and sinful soul. In Satan’s cavern, the Devil would spare one look at him and shriek sending him deeper than Lucifer’s pit, the first sinner, because Ivan was just that bad. All the while, Andrew would still be on earth, away in his lovely home his arm wrapped around his husband’s neck and would forever remain his husband since they wouldn’t fight, not once, if Andrew married Ivan, they’d fight all night til the birds sang their sweet songs. Andrew and his Husband would look at their lovely child, maybe a little girl, 5 years of age, adopted and adorable and she’d be all cheerful and full of joy just like Ivan (when he was her age) and she would have that same range of love for the world.
Andrew would find a way to make her less vile than him.
Less vile than a sinner who rots alone in hell.
All for now Ivan must wait at his computer writing nonsensical things for his imaginary audience in hope of a nonexistent fame.
(btw most of the vent sort of ended after the mention of 11 times and don’t worry now I’m mentally stable ^^)