𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥 (𝐦𝐱𝐦𝐱𝐦)

tw// Attempted Suicide⚠️

SOLACE

dragged his hand over his cheek as he attempted to dry the tears now cascading down. Crying was not allowed in the kitchen - not when all that saltiness could get in the food. He was sure to get some sense beat into him if his mother caught him. Except she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She lay still in a vase under the earth, while he stood hunched over her precious batter.

It should’ve been her flipping through that cookbook, just as it should’ve been her slapping his hand away as he stuck his finger in the icing for the hundredth time. And it should’ve been her under the scorching heat of the oven as she removed the cake, decorated it and cut those strawberries she had so delicately grown.

But instead, it was him - her worthless son. No degree. No car. Not a penny to his name. She had given him everything, yet he couldn’t even give her the satisfaction of taking embarrassing yet memorable pictures with him on his graduation day, or crying tears of joy as her baby boy said his vows in front of the congregation.

Instead, he was stuck. Stuck working as a waiter, paying off loans for a degree he never finished, alone as it gets, and living in his dead mother’s home.

This wasn’t the life she’d wanted for him. But, the truth is, he never deserved that lavish and comfortable life she had wished for him. And here was the proof - he’d never got it. Not even close. No matter how hard he’d tried. No matter how many hours he’d spent studying, working, planning. Not everyone was born to thrive. Not everyone was born to be happy, and he just happened to be one of those people. And that was okay.

What was not okay was this behaviour of his.

You’re not allowed to feel this way. There are people out there that have it much worse than you.

You should be thanking God for the fact that you’re not in a hospital bed hooked up to a machine.

Be thankful for the roof over your head and the clothes on your back.

You have no right.

There are people that would kill to be in your situation.

This is pathetic.

You’re pathetic.

I’m pathetic.

Maybe you could finally do something useful with your life and exchange it so someone else could live. Or maybe your organs could be donated to some child in need... if they’re even worth anything.

Yes.

That’s it.

Just a little more pressure.

Yes, that’s it.

“Drop the knife, human,” it boomed.

And so it clanged onto the floor, but it had already left two noticeably deep traces on Solace’s wrists. The dripping was the least of his concerns, though. He looked to the source of the sound.The cookbook.

No way.He must’ve been hearing things. Maybe this was a sign he was finally passing on. Like he wanted.

His heart stilled.

He was close. Maybe he would see her again, maybe he wouldn’t. But at least he’d finally be free.

Free from the stares.

Free from the contempt.

Free from the thoughts.

For the first time in months, he smiled. But not up to Him - no, He had screwed him over too many times. Up to her. He dropped onto the stool in front of the counter. And, for the last time, he thought of his mother. His rock.

He plunged his hand into the cake and took his final bite. The bitter taste of iron invaded his mouth as it was stained red, but it didn’t matter.

He could feel himself slipping, and for the first time, he felt content.

——

Solace’s head was pounding. And he felt cold. More so than usual.I thought hell was supposed to be hot, was his first thought. Needles. Needles all over. And he swore he could hear the clattering of dishes. Maybe he was to be a busboy in the afterlife as well.

That feeling he had so longed for, - the stillness - was fading. Quicker than he could grasp. Maybe if he kept his eyes shut and focused he’d have a few more seconds.

Then, the dropping of porcelain.

“Shit,” it grumbled again.

Solace was still alive.

No. Please.

A new rage boiled in him. The one time in his life he wasn’t calling for help. That’s when they decided to pull him out of a good thing. Never. He could never have anything he wanted. Not his rock, not his peace.

Even through his anger, he’d have to be careful of what he said. No doubt had the doctors already placed him on watch. But when his eyes creaked open, he wasn’t staring at a white ceiling and a blue robe. He was still home. Comfortably laid on the couch, like the previous events simply did not take place.

“Well, lookie here. You’re finally awake,” the voice spoke again.

It walked until it was within Solace’s point of view, and my God, was he splendid. If his body hadn’t been shutting down just a few minutes ago, Solace’s stomach would’ve been swarming with butterflies.

The man’s blonde waves dropped closer as he carefully studied him through his blue eyes. His smirk dropped. “When was the last time you actually ate?”

The man’s words were going straight through Solace, as the only thing he was focused on were the cake bits on his mouth. Her cake. On this filthy stranger’s mouth.

As if reading his mind, the man lifted his hand up and wiped the remains off. “Oh, this?” he taunted, “Just something an old friend of mine used to make. Tastes better every time.” He then propped them into his mouth and savoured the dessert one last time.

Solace’s eyes moved to the kitchen counter, where the plate now sat empty. Completely crumb-less. Gone.GoneGoneGone. It was all gone.He tried to raise his voice in protest, spit the painful fire brewing in his heart, but it only came out as a dry shriek.

“The blood on top was a very bold choice. Absolutely succulent. A little messy, though, so next time just throw it in the icing.”

He chuckled to himself as he sat on the coffee table before Solace. He brought his hand to Solace’s cheek, now remembering what had taken place in the room.

“This isn’t what Jasmine wants for you, Sol,” he whispered.

Jasmine. Did he know his mother? He wanted to ask about her. But he was still too weak to formulate any sentences.

“I’m Melchior, but call me me Mel. You summoned me, so I came.”

Solace’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Summoned?

“The cookbook?” he questioned.

Solace shook his head.

The man reached his open hand out in the direction of the kitchen, and Solace definitely did not have enough blood flow to his brain to comprehend what happened next. By some invisible force, the book lifted itself off the counter and flew over to Mel’s hand.

He flipped through its pages, up to where his mother’s recipe for strawberry shortcake was written, then put it on display. “It says here ‘Mel’s favourite dessert.’ Strawberry shortcake. Doesn’t ring a bell?”

Solace shook his head.

“Well, I’m already here, so you might as well ask away.”

Solace attempted a weak shrug.

“Listen, sugar. This is how it goes: Me, demon. You, human. Me, grant wishes. You, give soul and food in return. Me, consume soul and food. You, consume riches.”

“R-Riches?” he was finally able to manage out, though he was surprised at the coarseness of his own voice.

“Yes. Anything, within reason, I can grant. The binding’s already started, with you summoning me and whatnot, so you don’t really have much of a choice.” He came closer. Solace could feel Mel’s breath on his nose. It was intoxicating. “Letmebeyoursolace. I can make the pain go away. Let me turn your life around, love.”

Even though he thought of it a mere hallucination, Solace couldn’t help but be drawn in by the promise. Who wouldn’t? If this ‘demon’ could remove the void, or at least fill it withsomething, anything,who was he to decline? He was out of options.

He tried to imagine what life would be like without the voice in his head. Without the constant hatred... But he couldn’t. It had become such a normal part of his life that he no longer remembered what it was like to wake up every morning and feel thankful, or sit on the couch at night crying because of a sad scene in a movie, and not because it’s the only thing your brain allows you to do.

His choked sobs echoed across the dark house. Even though he didn’t deserve it, he still wanted it. “I just wanna be happy.”