"If Only" ficlet
Nov. 22nd, 2004 10:58 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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nickngregAuthor: xkacie
Title: If Only
Pairing: Nick/Greg (who else?)
Rating: PG-13, reference to homosexuality, drug use, self-mutilation, character death. Dark story.
Summary: Guilt wracks Nick as he stares at Greg's tombstone.
A/N: Wrote this doing a fifteen minute ficlet thing for the word "consumed." For warnings, see rating. Nick's POV.
Disclaimer: Story's mine, but unfortunately the two lovely boys are not.
Comments/criticism welcome and appreciated.
---
I stared at the wind-worn tombstone. I knew this was my fault, all my fault, and I knew that if only I'd shown just a little bit more sympathy or if only I'd told the younger man I'd loved him with all my heart just one more time -- I knew that this would never have happened. I knew that it didn't have to be this way, but I'd known that before it all happened.
Guilt consumed me. Greg had always been there when I needed him, whether I needed a hug, a shoulder on which to cry, or simply someone to care. Greg had always been my savior.
Why wasn't I there when Greg needed me?
The police tell me that Greg had been depressed, based on the records given by a psychologist whose number had been pulled out of his cell. The police tell me that he'd been taking all sorts of pills for the past three months, and that it wasn't my fault.
I know better.
For the last five months of our relationship Greg was depressed. He was constantly asking me to tell him that I loved him, to hold him through the night. I was constantly shrugging it all off. I didn't ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, he was trying to reach out to me. I was supposed to be his wall, his guiding light, his support. I was supposed to be the one to tell him that it was okay, that he just needed to cry for a little while, that it would all be fine in the morning. Yes, I did tell him that. But I never really believed it myself.
Greg's autopsy showed that he was a chronic self-mutilator. I knew that he'd done it when he was a teenager, once he'd told his parents that he was gay. I knew that he thought about doing it sometimes. I knew that he tried hard not to "accidentally" nick himself when he was shaving; I knew that he wanted me to be in the bathroom with him when he shaved; I knew that he had fits and wanted desparately to cut himself.
I didn't know that I'd lost him.
I just . . . if only I'd known. If only I'd taken the time to wrap my arms around him just once every day; if only I'd kissed him each morning and night, and every time I wanted to; if only I'd held his hand when others were around; if only I'd let him know that I was comfortable in his presence, comfortable in our relationship.
If only I'd said I love you.
end.
Title: If Only
Pairing: Nick/Greg (who else?)
Rating: PG-13, reference to homosexuality, drug use, self-mutilation, character death. Dark story.
Summary: Guilt wracks Nick as he stares at Greg's tombstone.
A/N: Wrote this doing a fifteen minute ficlet thing for the word "consumed." For warnings, see rating. Nick's POV.
Disclaimer: Story's mine, but unfortunately the two lovely boys are not.
Comments/criticism welcome and appreciated.
---
I stared at the wind-worn tombstone. I knew this was my fault, all my fault, and I knew that if only I'd shown just a little bit more sympathy or if only I'd told the younger man I'd loved him with all my heart just one more time -- I knew that this would never have happened. I knew that it didn't have to be this way, but I'd known that before it all happened.
Guilt consumed me. Greg had always been there when I needed him, whether I needed a hug, a shoulder on which to cry, or simply someone to care. Greg had always been my savior.
Why wasn't I there when Greg needed me?
The police tell me that Greg had been depressed, based on the records given by a psychologist whose number had been pulled out of his cell. The police tell me that he'd been taking all sorts of pills for the past three months, and that it wasn't my fault.
I know better.
For the last five months of our relationship Greg was depressed. He was constantly asking me to tell him that I loved him, to hold him through the night. I was constantly shrugging it all off. I didn't ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, he was trying to reach out to me. I was supposed to be his wall, his guiding light, his support. I was supposed to be the one to tell him that it was okay, that he just needed to cry for a little while, that it would all be fine in the morning. Yes, I did tell him that. But I never really believed it myself.
Greg's autopsy showed that he was a chronic self-mutilator. I knew that he'd done it when he was a teenager, once he'd told his parents that he was gay. I knew that he thought about doing it sometimes. I knew that he tried hard not to "accidentally" nick himself when he was shaving; I knew that he wanted me to be in the bathroom with him when he shaved; I knew that he had fits and wanted desparately to cut himself.
I didn't know that I'd lost him.
I just . . . if only I'd known. If only I'd taken the time to wrap my arms around him just once every day; if only I'd kissed him each morning and night, and every time I wanted to; if only I'd held his hand when others were around; if only I'd let him know that I was comfortable in his presence, comfortable in our relationship.
If only I'd said I love you.
end.
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