Osamu Dazai | Heartbeat

His tongue was ablaze with the fiery sting of alcohol, just as the weight of his sins seared into his skin.

The fiery whiskey surged through his veins, injecting a potent dose of adrenaline into his bloodstream.

A soft, soothing purring sound filled the air as a contented cat lounged on the bar stool to his left. On his right side, there was only emptiness.

It wasn’t right.

The alcohol failed to sear deep into his flesh, incapable of providing the necessary distraction.

His hands were icy, so cold that they felt as if they were drenched in blood.

As his heart thrummed silently in his empty chest, he poured down another glass of whiskey into his raw throat. The bartender cast worried glances in his direction as he raised his hand for another refill, but said nothing.

No matter how many glasses he empties, the feeling of hopelessness never leaves him.

He’s gone.

There was no goodbye, just an absence, sudden, abrupt, and louder than any voice could be.

From time to time, he would steal a quick glance at the vacant space next to him, causing his emotions to surge and unleash a group of tears to form in his eyes.

You did exactly what you said you wouldn’t, didn’t you? Odasaku.

As another glass of whisky disappeared, he felt a subtle vibration in his back pocket. With a lazy stretch, he retrieved his phone and hastily scrolled through the notifications.

13 Messages from Slug

His face contorted to a soft grimace, now not really being the time to focus on another man besides the vacant spot lingering beside him

His eyes quickly scanned over the messages, most a mix of aggravation and fury expected from the small man, others sending death threats.

His lips turned up at the corner, only to quickly droop back down.

With a click, he shuffled the phone back into his pocket. Replacing the device with a glass of whisky, he took another tilt of his head.

He will remember him far longer than the time he got to spend with him.

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As he staggered into his apartment, his shoulder collided with the door, eliciting a sharp hiss of pain.

With each step, his feet scraped along the floor, and as he let the door swing shut behind him, the weight of his body, his heavy-lidded eyes, and the burden of everything else weighed heavily upon him.

He doesn’t really remember it, but at some point he ended up in the bathroom stripped of most of his clothes.

His body remained adorned with bandages along with his pants and shoes.

He sat on the toilet seat lid, observing as the bathtub gradually filled with chilly water. The room's humidity mixed with the cold water, producing an unusual steam.

His phone, resting on the bathroom sink, buzzed occasionally with notifications that he chose to ignore.

The room was bathed in a gentle, ethereal glow as moonlight filtered through the window blinds, casting a soft, blue hue over everything.

After turning the handle and allowing the water to shutter to a stop, he quietly opened the cabinet and reached for a small black box concealed at the rear.

He now sat on the edge of the bathtub, carefully using his chewed nails to peel off the tape from the box. As he did, tiny metallic sharpener blades tumbled out and clinked onto the tiled floor.

Tossing the box aside, he reached for a blade from the heap on the floor and leaned back until his body slowly submerged into the water.

The cold water embraced him cruelly, biting at his pale skin and sticking to his clothes until they had uncomfortably attached to his skin and became one.

As he rested his head against the edge of the bathtub, his vacant gaze fixated on the peeling ceiling. His hands moved automatically, tracing the sharp edges without any conscious intent.

The sharp sting of the blade blended with the cold rush of water, just as the relentless buzzing of cicadas merged with the frantic vibrations of his phone on the counter top.

His hands did not pause until his body was satisfied. The nauseating warmth spread through his stomach as his trembling hands struggled to retain their grip on the cold, metallic blade.

The clear water surrounding him gradually transformed into a soft, pale pink hue that did not waste to turn into a deep red.

His tired, heavy eyes reflected the toll of the alcohol coursing through his liver like a wildfire, as his body gradually grew lighter.

His forehead glistened with sweat as the pounding pain at the back of his head intensified, causing his eyes to slowly close shut.

He didn’t even feel it, the slam of a broken door, the old lights flickering on and somebody crying out.

The unexpected sensation of something dragging his lifeless body out of the tub jolted him back to consciousness. His brain struggled to process the unfamiliar sensation until he felt hands pressing against his chest. Confusion turned to shock as he realized they were.. hitting him?

No, he was dying, wasn’t he?

His clothes clung to his skin, the color red blurring his vision as he caught glimpses of other vibrant hues before tilting his head to the side.

Oh, more red.

With a trembling hand, he lifted his torn arm and gently ran his fingers through the soft, red hair. A pained smile appeared on his lips as he savored the familiar texture of his partner's hair.

“Let me die.”

He croaked.