That Day

Every day was the same now.  Empty.  Every morning when he woke up, reality was somehow worse, with its blank, black emptiness, than the nightmares that filled his sleep.  The world was... lonely.  No, more than just lonely.  It was barren, pitch-black, worthless.  Devoid of anything – the one thing – that made life worth living.  He was alone.  The one person for whom he had continued breathing was gone.

Forever.

He tried not to become too depressed, to keep himself out of the black depths that beckoned.  But.... it was like the sun was gone.  Without that one central, guiding light, who could anyone stay away from the darkness?

During the day it wasn't quite as bad.  At least people made sure he was never left by himself, and they tried to cheer him up.  Even if everyone involved knew it was hopeless.  

At night, though.... at night he was alone.  When at last he managed to fall asleep, the memories of that day that had broken him came rushing on him like a flood.  A hundred times a night, a thousand times worse than it had actually been.  Sometimes the dreams changed it a little, and he was the one disappearing with no one able to save him, but every night, without fail, some torment would come.

And when he woke up in the morning, life was always worse.  No matter how horrible the dreams were, the reality was always, always worse.

Sometimes he hoped that the reality would turn out to be a dream, some unimaginably awful nightmare, and that he would wake up and find everything fine again.... but he knew that wouldn't happen.  He knew he was trapped like, forever.  

He knew Tomi was gone.  Irreparably, impossibly, unattainably.... gone.  Forever and ever.

They had once been so close, completing each other, each even able to tell what the other was thinking or feeling.  They had always been together, never leaving each other's sides, unable to imagine living without the other.  They had always assumed it was impossible, that they'd die together, happily, after being together all their lives.

And then it had all been torn away from them in one second, the same second that ripped Tomi away and to where he never come back.  That one car, that one stupid careless drunk driver... did he know what he'd done?  Did he know that, when he hit the one boy, he'd plunged another into endless, fathomless, depths of despair?

If he could, Bill would go back and change it.  He would save Tomi, or, if that was impossible, at least let himself be killed as well.  Death would be so much better than this, this that couldn't even be called 'life.'  He would do anything, travel a thousand oceans or give up the world, just to catch a single glimpse of his twin's face again.

He dreamed one night that Tomi wasn't dead, after all, that he was still alive and here and perfectly fine, and unhurt, and then.... Bill woke up.  After such a flawless vision, reality was harder and colder than before.  He gazed into the bathroom mirror at his own reflection.  How thin and pale his face was made him shiver, but if he looked closely and imagined a little.... he could see Tomi's face instead of his own.  He smiled at the sight and stretched out one hand, at which his twin vanished again.  The world became utterly black once more.

The rest of the day grew worse from there.  He continued to see things that weren't really there; the blood splatters burned on his retinas from that day appeared again and again.  A constant reminder.  

They stayed for the next week.  Everywhere he looked, the crimson stains appeared and wouldn't go away.  They danced at night behind his eyelids, always calling up those memories he wanted to erase, to make as if they'd never occurred.  

He knew it was no good, no mater what he did or what doctors he saw.  People tried to help him, tried to make him feel better, but it didn't do anything at all.  He fell deeper and deeper into the dark inside him, the empty space that nothing now could fill.  He could never come back; it was a descent from which there was no return.

"Help me, Tomi," he murmured at night, and could almost feel his twin's gentle touch, and hear the whisper, "Of course, Billa, I'm here..."  

It got so that during the day, he held conversations with Tomi.  He knew his twin wasn't really there, but at the same time, he grew clearer each day.  At last Tomi was always there, and Bill spoke often to him, softly.  "Don't leave me, Tomi...."

"I won't," Tomi assured him, whispering in his ear.  "I promise."

Talking with his twin helped him to ignore the voices in his mind, the ones that hissed at him to cut himself and give up and eventually die.  These voices grew stronger and stronger each day, til not even Tomi's gentle words could drown them out.  They grew louder, and the blood splatters appeared more and more frequently, but he tried to pay them no mind for as long as he could.

Until he found one day that there was blood on his arm, dripping in a red river from a fresh cut.

He saw his own blood more often after that.  He often wasn't able to stop himself from drawing the blade through his skin.  More and more often..... at last, every day.  The cuts had no time to heal before he slashed them open again.  So much blood.... it was the only thing he could see other than the black.  Sometimes he dreamed he was drowning in a sea of blood, and he screamed and screamed for Tomi until blood got in his mouth and he could no longer breathe, but even then he didn't die.  He woke up after a long time, still screaming and with tears pouring down his face.

Where he was... was all black.  Pitch-black and blood-red, and the only good thing, the only thing that didn't hurt him, was Tomi.  But his twin was slipping away again.  Each day his image faded, and his voice grew softer, until one morning Bill woke up and he was alone once more.

He called for Tomi, desperately.  Tried to wake himself up, thinking that surely it was just another dream.  When he couldn't get himself to even a slightly more bearable place, he didn't even consider.  The voices were still in his mind, louder than ever, and the black, spattered with red, pressed in closer and closer.... "I'll find you, Tomi," he whispered.

His fingers wrapped around the familiar handle of his knife.  The blade gleamed silver for a moment before cutting deeply into his wrist.

This time, the blackness welcomed him into its inescapable embrace.