Chapter Text
Barnaby stood, facing the mirror. Was that him? Good god, what had he let himself become? I mean, just look at him. His eyes had a vacant look to them, was he even real anymore?
Good question.
Fuck.
“Am I- is this- is this what I am-?” He looked in the mirror, bringing his talons to his face to feel it, to see if this was what he was now.
All he saw in the mirror was a monster, something unworthy of love. No wonder he had to go as far as killing to get others to bother with him. As he stared for longer and longer an achingly horrible question began to bubble up.
Was it possible for him to die again? Could he be granted the sweet release or was he just as undeserving of that as he was love?
He wished he could remember when he was normal, he desperately clung to whatever memories of the past he had, constantly repeating the stories as to never forget but, they were slipping, he was losing them, losing memories of his daughter, of who he once was, little things he used to know so well, gone within a moments notice.
He began to sob, curling up on the floor, and melting as he normally does when overwhelmed by emotion. Why was he like this? He was so fucking tired.
He stayed there, sobbing for what felt like hours. He eventually got up and sauntered out of the bathroom where he had been, checking the time on a clock hanging on the wall. It had only been mere minutes. He went to his room and just laid down on the floor rather than the bed, he felt undeserving of a bed.
As he lie there, he stared up at the ceiling and got to thinking. Would anyone miss him if he disappeared? The only person who he could think of even slightly missing him was Fantoccio. He loved Fantoccio. Fanto was his reason to keep going, he loved the wooden puppet with every fiber of himself. Utterly smitten would be the only way to describe Barnaby’s feelings towards the thespian. He worried that he was beginning to annoy him, he wondered if he was being a bad influence like so many others had told him he was. He had been pushed away so many times on account of “being a bad influence.” It was true, he’d give them that, but it still hurt.
“I want to be normal.” He sobbed, clinging onto himself knowing he could never let anyone see him sob like this, he knew he couldn’t allow anyone give him the comfort he was so desperate for. He was undeserving of it or, at least that’s what he thought. No matter how many people tell him that he matters and that he deserves to be loved he knew it could never be true. They were lying, if not to him then, to themselves.
As he sobbed, a stray barnaboo approached, attempting to see if he was alright. Seeing the barnaboo only proved to make him sob harder. We’re any of the barnaboos real? The barnaboo floated away wordlessly as the owl sobbed harder, not wanting to disturb him.
It took a while but, eventually, his sobbing calmed down and he got up, beelining to the bathroom yet again, he knew what he wanted.
He began to rifle through the drawers until he found what he was searching for. Melatonin. He was looking for fucking melatonin. He dumped like sixteen of the gummies into his mouth, hoping that it would be enough to mentally numb him for the rest of the day. To his relief, it worked, he felt numb and his limbs felt heavy. He blinked slowly before rifling through the drawers again. What was he looking for now? He eventually found it, staring at the object. It was a razor blade. Where in god’s name did he get that? Who knows, all that matters it that he was going to test something. He attempted to glide the blade through his thigh, desperately hoping that this would work.
It didn’t.
Rather than cutting him, it simply passed though him. He through it across the room weakly before beginning to ponder, why would melatonin work but not a simple blade? It baffled him. It baffled him to his very core as he slumped down on the floor, tears brimming his eyes again.
“Why can’t I just die? Let me die! Please! I’ve been trying my hardest to give everything my all! Just let me die!” He sobbed, begging to whatever was listening to give him the sweet release he was desperate for.
Eventually, the mix of melatonin and sobbing tired him out.
“I hope I don’t wake up..” he murmured to himself before conking out on the bathroom tiles, half empty bottle of melatonin tipped on its side next to him and a razor blade half-way across the room.