It had been three weeks since David had stormed out of Pierre’s house. A lot had happened since then. David ignored Pierre at school, and only hung out with Seb (much to Pierre’s dismay). David had been skipping band practice and glaring at Pierre whenever he had the chance.
Pierre was now sitting in Art, at the back of the room, while Seb and David sat two rows in front of him. He looked down at his desk, trying his hardest not to cry.
“Hey, gay boy, you’re emo now, too?” Rob Tillman snorted at him, looking down at his wrist.
Pierre sighed and pulled his sleeve down to cover up his cuts. He knew that the guys were worried about him-well, all of them except for Seb and David-because they knew how Pierre got when he was down. In fact, he’d never self-harmed so much before. He was hurting too bad.
He looked up somberly when he heard David giggling.
Pierre looked at the teacher’s desk and saw that she was turned around. He quietly shut his sketch pad and stood up and walked out of the room, hearing Rob Tillman yell to the teacher that he’d left.
He walked lazily to his locker, cursing the warmth of the day, when his phone started buzzing in his pocket. He dug it out and looked at the caller ID that read: Tom.
He sighed; Tom had been calling and texting him nonstop for the past three weeks. Knowing he’d have to face him eventually, he decided to drop by.
He got even sadder as he opened his locker and found that no note was there; no note had been there for the past three fridays. He swung his backpack on his shoulder and took a long, sad look at the pictures of him and David that decorated his locker door. He slowly shut it and walked down the stairs, enjoying the sound of his footsteps echoing.
After he exited the school, rummaged around for Pat’s keys, and finally got the door open, he was on his way to Tom’s. As he drove, he started crying. That’s how each day had ended since David left him; him crying and missing David more than anything.
His tears cleared up as he parked in front of Tom’s brown house. He shut off the engine and stared at the garage door where he knew Tom was practicing, before walking slowly to the front door. He knocked hesitantly and waited, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets.
After a few minutes of waiting, a short woman with brown hair answered. “How can I help you?”
Pierre fake smiled. “Can I speak to Tom?”
She nodded, stepping aside. “Mmhmm, he’s right in the garage. Are you a friend of his?”
Pierre stepped inside. “Yeah, I’m Pierre.”
She hugged him, catching him off guard. “Well, Pierre, it’s nice to meet you! I’m Connie.”
Pierre patted her back awkwardly before walking into the garage. He sat on a nearby milk crate and waited for Tom to notice him. After two minutes of Tom soloing, he finally looked up and smiled. “Pierre?! Hey!”
Pierre faked a smile. It was beginning to hurt his face to smile. “Hey.”
Tom sat on a milk crate across from Pierre’s. “What’s up?!”
“Nothin’ much. You?”
“Same. Hey, I wanna ask you something.”
Tom clasped his hands together and licked his lips, looking nervous. “I-uh-well…I was wondering if..y-you’d, uhm-“
“Spit it out, Tom!” Pierre snapped, shocking Tom and himself.
“Nevermind, then.” Tom stood up and started walking inside before Pierre grabbed his arm, spinning him around.
“No! I’m sorry. Tell me.”
Tom studied his face for a few moments, debating, before he quietly said, “Will you go on a date with me tomorrow?”
Pierre stood there, absolutely shocked. He looked Tom up and down, then focused very intently on the cement floor. “No.” He said finally.
Tom gulped. “W-why? Is this about David?”
“Of course it’s about David! My whole LIFE is David!” Pierre shouted, surprising Tom again.
“Why don’t you just forget him?” Tom asked, sounding bitter as well.
“I don’t want to! I love him, so much!”
“Well clearly he doesn’t love you!” Tom yelled.
Pierre was silent a moment before yelling at the top of his lungs, “WHY DON’T YOU LET ME GO?! STOP CALLING, STOP TEXTING, JUST STOP! I LOVE DAVID MORE THAN I COULD EVER LOVE YOU! AND I KNOW EVENTUALLY HE WILL FORGIVE ME AND WE’L GET BACK TOGETHER! SO FUCK OFF, TOM!”
Tom looked Pierre dead in the eye before punching him, sending Pierre flying backwards. Pierre put a shaking finger to his nose, feeling the thick blood, before he lunged forward and socked Tom in the eye.
The two stared each other down for a few minutes before Tom said in a harsh voice, “I don’t need you. I don’t need this shit. Plenty of people would be interested in me.”
Pierre laughed. “Don’t be so full of yourself, DeLonge! Face it-nobody wants you. After all, Mark left you. Why would anyone want YOU?”
Tom’s tough-guy demeanor melted away as his face softened and a few tears rolled down his cheeks. “Get out.”
“Gladly.” Pierre said unnecessarily rudely, walking out and slamming the door behind him.
He began crying as he climbed in the back of the van and slammed that door, too. He buried his face in his hands, crying hysterically.
“What..the…h-hell…is wrong with me?” He sobbed, curling into a ball.
He sobbed uncontrollably for a few minutes, his arms wrapped around his torso as if he were going to break if he didn’t hold himself together. He hastily unlocked his phone, typing in the password ‘David’. He scrolled through his contacts until he found the one he wanted, and pressed ‘dial.’ He waited impatiently as it rung five times before a voice recording came on.
‘Hi, this is Chuck, leave a message.’
“Chuck, it’s Pierre. I’m sorry, but I h-have to. I love you.” He hung up and sobbed some more.
He undid the back of his phone, the sharp razor sliding into his palm. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw as the tears spilled out. He sighed and let the tears fall. He gripped the blade and positioned it above his forearm and then pressed as hard as he could, the thick red fluid immediately pouring out. He went down, then a curve. Three straight lines, two more straight ones, one long straight one. Another curve and vertical line. He grasped the blade in his hand and watched the red liquid pour out. He clenched his jaw and threw the bloody blade.
He climbed in the driver’s seat and began speeding down the street. He scrolled through his contacts again, pressed ‘dial’ much more forcefully. He refocused his eyes on the road, glad that Tom lived close to him.
“Hello?” David’s beautiful, angelic voice chimed in from the other line.
“D-David?” Pierre squeaked with happiness.
“Pierre? What’re you calling for?” His tone became harsh.
“I-I love you. Can we please talk?”
“I don’t want to talk to lying, dumbass cheaters. I have better things to do than talk to a pathetic bastard!”
David hung up.
Pierre let those words race through his mind, the fact that the love of his life had said them making it much worse. He pulled into his driveway and ran through the front door. He raced up the stairs and into his room. He paced about a few minutes before he punched the wall, crying even harder. He grabbed his belt and tightened it around the bar in his closet.
He smiled to himself knowing that no one was home, so no one could stop him. He slid his head through the belt loop and stood on a chair. He looked at the picture of David and him that was on his bedside table for what would be the last time. He let out one last heartbreaking sob before he stated his final words, his voice cracking. “I love you, David.”
He stepped forward, everything seeming like it was going in slow motion. He closed his eyes as he felt himself falling, and the belt was soon tightening around his neck. He began to see funky colors and shapes swarming his eyelids. He felt his lungs become desperate for air, desperate for life. He thought of Chuck, Seb, Jeff, Pat, and David one last time, thinking he was doing them a favor. He opened his eyes slightly, looking down at his arm, which in big bloody letters said “David.” He closed his eyes once again, feeling his airways giving out. Then, everything went black.