Chapter Text
Ivan hadn’t come out of the bathroom that night. Not that you could’ve seen, anyway. He felt trapped in his own mind as he cowered in the corner, trying to calm himself down before he did something drastic. He tried to reassure himself that you both were just overreacting. You hadn’t meant anything by it.
He looked at the claustrophobic walls of your bathroom as a sudden sense of dread overcame him. The situation, in a way, was ironic. He could remember nights where he was on the opposite end of the door. He could remember nights where Andrew was in his place, cowering in the corner of the bathroom in hopes that he wouldn’t be spotted. He could remember putting his hands on Andrew as soon as he’d managed to unlock the door.
…God, Andrew…
He wanted to reach out, but he knew that his apologies would fall upon deaf ears. He’d always known. That was why he hadn’t gone out and found him in the first place. His former best friend didn’t want anything to do with him–and honestly, Ivan couldn’t blame him. Having a new perspective on the situation forced him to think long and hard, and thinking was the last thing he needed to be doing.
When he thought, he started getting into his own head.
Thinking had caused him to break down countless times before this.
Thinking had caused him to jump off of the apartment’s roof.
Thinking had caused him to start reminiscing about it again–the moment that led him here. He both hated and loved you, because you saved him. You’d given him a secondary perspective. You’d forced him into Andrew’s point-of-view. He could finally understand, if he really THOUGHT about it.
But thinking wasn’t something Ivan liked to do. Especially in moments like these, when he was a shaking mess who couldn’t quiet his racing mind. He wanted to yell, to scream, to break something, but he couldn’t muster up the courage to do anything but sit. After all, this still wasn’t his property. This was YOUR bathroom he was sitting in. He could break things when he was back in his own apartment.
Speaking of, he heard about the damages done to his old place. He still needed to pay off those fines, lest he wanted to get sued by his former landlord. He couldn’t help but continue to think, despite how it pained him. There was nothing else left to do.
He couldn’t go back out there and apologize. He hadn’t done anything wrong, why would he apologize for a figure of speech?? It was YOUR fault for getting so worked up over it, not his.
Ivan stared down at his palms, watching with rapt attention as his arms quivered before him. He couldn’t calm his racing heart. He needed to do something. He NEEDED to get out of here.
He abruptly stood up, his legs shaking as he struggled to regain his bearings. He needed to escape. Fuck it all. He was like a caged bird, his clipped wings beating against the bars of his enclosure in desperation. All that he could think about was freedom as he finally unlocked the bathroom door, making a beeline for the axe on the wall. His axe; one of the only things he himself owned. That, and his computer—the same one you snooped through. In all honesty, it felt like the axe was the only thing that couldn’t be altered by you.
His axe wouldn’t feel dirty, because you couldn’t learn any of his secrets through it. To you, the axe was nothing more than memorabilia of his father. To him? It meant much more,
Ivan moved swiftly, his brain on autopilot as he grabbed the axe from its mount on the wall. He knew he wasn’t thinking, he knew he wasn’t in control of his own body, yet he didn’t have the willpower to stop himself. Something needed to change—and he didn’t care if his actions were seen as drastic.
His fists quivered harder as he inched towards your bedroom, weapon held tightly to his chest. Your door was slightly ajar—enough to stay silent as it opened, revealing you: a lump in the sheets. Your chest moved up and down rhythmically, eyes closed.
You looked peaceful.
Ivan clutched the axe tighter, his body continuing to shake. What if you woke up? What if, when you did, you started fighting him? His eyes narrowed, fear overriding the last of his senses as he adjusted his grasp—
—and swung.
Your eyes stayed closed as the blade made contact with your neck, head separating from your body in one foul swoop. Your chest ceased all movement within a second, and your blood stained the bedsheets—the crimson being a stark contrast from the pure white of the fabric under your corpse.
The deed had been done.
He stood over your body for a brief moment, merely observing your final moments. He finally dropped the axe, the severity of his actions finally catching up to him. He’d just killed you. He ACTUALLY killed you without a second thought. What a way to show his gratitude to you, he thought to himself.
He reached down, cupping your cheek and observing your peaceful expression for one last time. What was he supposed to do now? You were the sole provider, he still didn’t have a job. All it had taken was one movement, and you were gone. Just like that.
He needed to get away. His freedom was right in front of him: he couldn’t let it slip through his fingers.
He continued to tremble as he ambled towards the bedroom door, out of the apartment, and to the roof of the building. The irony of his situation hit him like a bullet—hadn’t he been doing this mere months before? Preparing to take his own life?
There was no time to dwell on his past anymore. All of it would be thrown away. It was too late for him—he’d taken a life, and his own no longer held value. There was nothing else for him to do.
As he stood on the roof, he let the wind drag through his hair, still messy and unkempt. Things really hadn’t changed, had they? He was still a pathetic excuse of a man—and that title had stuck with him ever since he turned 18.
He ambled towards the edge, staring down at the roads below. Due to how late it was, there weren’t many signs of life outside—a few cars here and there, but nothing more. Thankfully, there were no conveniently-placed cars with a mattress strapped to the roof. All he saw below was the concrete, painted a yellow hue from the illumination of the street lamps.
Ivan stared up at the sky, watching with rapt attention as the stars glowed bright. The moon wasn’t present in the sky—and in all honesty, to him, it felt as if it was ashamed. He couldn’t blame it, though. He’d be disgusted by himself as well. His eyes stayed glued to the blackened void above him as he inched forward, standing upon the precipice of your apartment building.
With a final breath, his heart heavy and his body heavier—
—he jumped.