What ravages of spirit conjured this tempestuous rage? Created you a monster broken by the rules of love and fate has lead you through it you do what you have to do and fate has led you through it you do what you have to do ~* Sarah McLachlan - "You Do What You Have To Do" ~*
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He sat on the edge of the bathtub, his feet resting on the cold tile floor. He looked at the faux marble pattern and wondered how every hotel had the exact same cheesy tile in it.

Do they get some sort of rule book when they decide to build a hotel that specifies that this tile has to be in every bathroom?

He shook his head and got unsteadily to his feet, feeling the effects of the alcohol starting to play with his sense of balance. Leaning on the gaudily wallpapered wall, he made his way to the window. He rested his forehead on the cool glass and watched the palm trees sway in the breeze. It was a picture postcard scene with the palm trees and the beach just beyond, the blue foamy waves of the ocean and the sunset spraying hues of orange and lavender across the sky as the sun bid this day farewell. He clenched his eyes shut and turned away from the scene. If he was going to do this, he told himself, now is as good a time as any.

She gripped the blankets that surrounded her, the heaviness of the sadness making her feel that she couldn't breathe. He head tossed on the pillow as she tried to make it ease up on her. Her hands clawed out into the darkness as tears built up beneath her eyelids. Sweat broke out on her sleeping skin as she felt the bed spin beneath her. Oh God, she thought, let it stop. Please, let it stop.

The wind howled outside her window, adding to the melancholy that surrounded her. The soft swish of snow across the panes sounded like waves crashing on the shore of some far away beach. She tossed in the bed and caught onto the image in her mind. Concentrating on it, she imagined palm trees, a beach, the ocean and the distance, a beautiful sunset. A picture postcard in her mind. With a sigh, she relaxed against the warmth of the blankets and drifted deeper into sleep.

Sitting back on the bathtub he stared down at the dark liquid in the glass. Courage. Liquid Courage. He lifted the glass to his lips, his breath fogging the transparency of the glass as it rested there on his lips. With an unspoken toast he tipped it back and opened his lips, letting the thick liquid inside. He leaned forward, his arm outstretched, placing the glass on the edge of the sink. He stayed in that posture, leaning his temple on the crook of his elbow, staring once again at the floor. He had come full circle.

This time he would finish it. He lifted his head and brought his hand away from the glass and to the small plastic container. He brought it closer to him, cradling it to him like a jewel. With trembling fingers, he slid the lid back and reached inside delicately, pulling a rectangle of steel out between his fingers. He held it in front of him, letting the container clatter to the ground now that he had gotten his treasure from inside. It glinted in the light as he turned it around in his fingers. It was almost beautiful in it's simplicity. He peeled back the sticky paper that covered the cutting edge and let the useless strip flutter to the floor between his feet.

He readied the sharp edge over his wrist, his hand pausing as he closed his eyes and sent out a silent prayer for forgiveness to those he loved.

I'm so sorry. But I can't. Not anymore.

She felt the sadness increase, the desperation coloring the edges of it. Why couldn't she break free? Why was she being held prisoner in her mind? She knew it was useless to struggle against it. It was too powerful, she had learned that long ago. The mist of despair washed around her once again, but this time she could make out a shape in the chaos. Bent over, one hand poised above the wrist of the other hand. So intense. Concentration. But she saw the tremble of fingers, the hesitation.

She could feel the coolness of the steel like it was between her own fingertips. The rush of blood in her ears as the adrenaline started to take over. She could taste the cold metallic of fear in the back of her throat. But the fingers were not her own, as hard as she tried to stop them from their task, she couldn't

Flashes came to her, of a family, younger siblings, a girlfriend. Friends that were a surrogate family. A best friend that was the older brother so craved for in youth. There was so much love around, how could he not see it? It nearly enveloped him like a cocoon.

She knew why. A shattered heart. Pieces of it clung together loosely in his chest, ready to shatter at the slightest touch.

Panic washed over her. He had so much, why couldn't he see that? She had to let him know this was wrong, that this isn't what he truly wanted. He had too much. She couldn't let him lose it all. She'd seen it happen before, she had to make him stop. Her breath drew in, a deep gasping breath. Oh God, no.

His fingers trembled against the steel, almost silently asking him of his confidence in what he was doing. He gripped harder as a silent answer to his subconscious. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to calm himself.

Come on Carter, don't fuck this up. Do something right.

He took in a breath and held it in unconsciously, bringing the razor's edge to his flesh. He felt the sting of the blade sinking slowly into the tender skin. A gasp came from his lips as his fingers froze.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

The cry screeched through the air, scaring Nick so much, that his hand jumped and the razor blade flew out of his hand, clattering to the floor, leaving drops of blood across the tiles.

His hand clamped over his wrist, trying to stop the blood flow, the thick redness of it oozing between his fingers. A cry of pain left his lips, but it wasn't alone in his ears. Another voice, a softer cry, joined his. He could feel his own torment in that voice.

But how?