When: Evening, October 16th
Where: Gilbert's apartment
Rating: T [Massive angst and other such dark things]
Summary: Gilbert has closed himself off this last while and as such, too much time to think. When the Distortion hits this time, it's taken too much and he tries to end his life.
It was another dark, gloomy and lifeless distortion, huh?
Golden eyes turned up to the window of his room darkly and stared out at the dark surroundings that only yesterday had been bright and lively. Not that he really did a lot lately. Aside from watching over Vincent, avoiding a cat-girl and trying to track down Oz to make sure he was alright, he really didn't do a lot. Heck, he didn't post on the comms at all anymore and the thought made a small sigh leave his lips as he took another drag from the cigarette clutched between his fingers before exhaling the smoke that next instant. There was a far-off look in his eyes as he continued staring at nothing in particular, his thoughts slowly starting to wander off for a moment and for once, he let it happen.
That incident with Vincent had been a long time ago and he still remembered it. On top of that, the events before leaving home still plagued him even now, his mind recalling what he'd done and how he'd acted. He'd failed then, hadn't he? To be a proper servant to the master he served, with all that doubt and hatred in his mind.
He had left Oz there all alone after what Zai said to him.
When he should have been there and stayed and... maybe Oz would have been alright. He was.. probably was like.. how he'd seen him that one cold Distortion; manic, crazy and holding a scythe that shouldn't belong to him at all. Oz had become that when he'd run off and he was sure of it... after all. Gilbert had never seen Oz like that any other time and the timing fit with what he'd done. So.. that was technically his fault, wasn't it? Failing then like what he did to his younger brother who had done nothing but help him all this time, by not accepting help, being stubborn and allowing his own flesh and blood to feel entirely useless, which was an empty, familiar feeling to him in more than one way than he'd care to ever admit aloud. Yet... that was not all who he'd failed, was it?
There was also Jack, way back then.
In the end.. he'd lost him because of his inability to properly protect his master like he was supposed to. The man meant the world to him at the time; Vincent as well. Gilbert had only disappointed them both and made them go through so much hardship because he was there and he really hadn't been strong enough to protect them, and even though he'd been there for Vincent as a child, he had done nothing to repay the man for what he'd done all these years for him while he had been unable to remember any of their childhood til now. So pathetic, wasn't he? Maybe what everyone said was true and he really was as useless as they said, too blinded by his stubbornness, he hadn't thought twice about it and pushed it to the back of his mind all this time and now it made his chest and head hurt when he thought about such painful thoughts like that.
Just like with Oz only ten years ago.
He'd lost him to the Abyss and had been hopeless to save him and was barely lucky to get him back when he did. A hand came up to his chest and he touched at the scar on his chest softly as a guilty look crossing his features a second later, the memory of the sword cutting across his flesh clear on his mind. Then he'd woken to Oz not being there and that pain he'd felt of losing the one closest to him had nearly killed him and he'd been so lost; so hurt without him as he hadn't been able to stop the Baskervilles from taking Oz from him right at that time. Once again, that feeling of pain and sadness overwhelmed him and he held his head in his hands, the cigarette falling from his lips to fall to the floor a second later with a pained look on his face until the moment passed but his expression never changed.
Would the world be better off if he was not here? Maybe then.. he would stop hurting; stop worrying over every damn thing. If he was doing the right thing or whether he couldn't help them or not. Whether or not he was being the right kind of person for everyone.
It was those thoughts, lack of sleep and the last few Distortions Gilbert had experienced that left his thoughts erratic and wild as such, and real coherency or consequences on the matter meant nothing now. In that next second with everything getting too much for him to handle and to the point he almost couldn't breathe, he reached over onto the table where his pistol lie and he let himself feel the cold metal beneath his ungloved fingers before he fully gripped it in one hand and shifted in his chair a little as he closed his golden eyes slowly. He exhaled a soft breath as he raised the muzzle of his pistol to rest beneath his chin shakily and a finger on the trigger, ready to shoot.
In a moment or two.. he'd be able to forget it. No worries of disappointing anyone anymore. They'd be all gone...