Chapter Text
I can’t take it, I can’t take it, I CAN’T TAKE IT.
Memories of the other sides raced through his head: the disgusted glances, the annoyed glares, their angry faces. Logan either screeching at him (FALSEHOOD!) or calmly picking apart his every sentence, explaining exactly how he was wrong. Roman’s constant insults, wearing him down day after day. Patton’s disapproving features and disappointed sigh whenever he made Thomas anxious over something that didn’t really matter. His own nightmares that kept him awake at night that consisted of the others yelling at him, telling him how absolutely worthless he was and how much better Thomas would be if he would just die already.
Virgil’s breath hitched and his fingers shook as his hands fumbled trying to tie the last knot. He was right on the verge of a panic attack, his own spiraling thoughts threatening to push him over the edge. He desperately tried to calm himself down; he couldn’t panic now of all times, after all, it was almost over.
Breathe in for four seconds, hold for seven seconds, and breathe out for eight seconds.
Virgil went through his breathing techniques as he tightened the rope and stepped back to take in his room. He had pushed all the furniture to the sides of the room in order to keep the middle clear for the noose that he had spent the last three hours setting up. His laptop was still open to the tab showing information about how to tie the noose and construct the rigging. Virgil had to manipulate his room in order to make the ceilings higher so when he fell, he wouldn’t hit the ground.
All that was left in the center of the room was a chair that resembled Thomas’s dining room chairs. Virgil would have to stand on the back of it and kick it out from underneath him.
Virgil took another shuddering breath and looked at the white note that he had placed in his traditional spot on the stairs next to his headphones. The handwriting in it was sloppy and there were a couple teardrops but it got his point across. He was useless, pointless, worthless. All he did was bring Thomas down. He made him overly anxious about tiny things that never mattered in the big picture. He shot down all of Princey’s ideas, made Patton sad, and caused Logic to be ignored. All he did was harm those few people that he loved. If that was his purpose in life… then he didn’t want to live this life anymore.
He had wondered if there would be negative effects of his suicide on Thomas. In fact, he panicked for hours over the thought while trying to come up with the answer. Virgil thought he knew what would happen. His hypothesis was that Thomas would be completely free of anxiety for a while, but not permanently. Virgil knew that no anxiety at all would cause harm to Thomas and his reputation, but it needed to be less than what he caused in order to be healthy. His reasoning was that after his death, a new Anxiety would form. The different sides formed at different times, surely new ones could form. After all, just because Thomas didn’t have a side for that particular trait didn’t mean he didn’t have it.
Virgil was counting on the others to control and regulate the new Anxiety so he wouldn’t have the same malevolent power over Thomas that Virgil had. He felt sorry for his future replacement and the existence he would live, but his misery made him selfish. Besides, if the new Anxiety didn’t make Thomas so anxious and unhappy, maybe he could be happy. Maybe the other sides would accept him.
It was time to stop stalling. He knew this, but he still had some doubts. If the sides did care about him at all…. No, that was a foolish thought. Virgil sighed, the noose was ready, and he was ready to die.
He climbed up onto the chair and reached up to grab the noose. Virgil used it to help balance him when he stepped up onto the back of the chair. He wobbled a bit, but was able to get his head through the noose. Tears ran down his face but it didn’t smear his makeup. It was one of the benefits of living in someone’s mind and not having to conform to the rules that ran reality. One of the benefits that he would no longer have.
Virgil looked around his room, trying to decide what the last thing he was going to see was. His eyes settled on his Nightmare Before Christmas posters that were set up in the corner that mirrored Roman’s spot in Thomas’s living room.
He had regrets, of course. Everybody had regrets. He regretted that he could never fit in with the other sides. He regretted that he could never help Thomas. He regretted that he could never enjoy his life. He regretted being too cowardly to tell the others his name in any way other than a suicide note. He regretted that he never showed the other sides how much he loved them.
Stop stalling you worthless coward. Virgil flinched at the thought but agreed. He took one last shaky breath, and in one movement kicked out the chair from underneath him. Virgil fell and the last thing he felt was his neck snapping before the darkness came.
Virgil felt a painful tingling in his neck and reached up to rub it but he felt rope. His eyes shot open as he remembered. He had killed himself. He had hanged himself. But he was alive. His neck was in one piece.
And he was choking.