Author's Note: I really don't know what possessed me to write this, I wasn't even in a depressing mood or anything, but this is what my mind created at about four in the morning. The title of the story and the summary are lyrics from the song Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd.
Disclaimer: I do not own Dead Poets Society or Pink Floyd.
Neil doesn't think about much when he lifts the gun from his father's desk drawer. In fact, the only thing he really thinks about is how everything is going to be over soon.
All the pain and expectations and every club and league and society and class he had been forced into by his controlling father who just didn't, no, wouldn't, understand. All of it would be gone. Replaced by black nothingness where all he'd feel was numb, if he felt anything at all once he was dead, and he'd no longer have to deal with any of it.
Not his father's constant nagging. Not his mother's spineless fear of confrontation. Not Nolan's constant looks of expectation or condescension. Not Keating's reminders to "seize the day". Not Charlie's sexual innuendos about everything. Not Meeks' perfection. Not Pitts' quirky ways. Not Hopkins' sarcasm. Not Cameron's snide remarks. Not Knox's incessant obsession over Chris. And not Todd's love.
That last one. That's the one he wants to escape more for Todd's sake than for his own. Because Neil can never return that love, no matter how much it kills him not to. But when everything else in his life is trapping him and keeping him locked up so tightly, even from himself, there's just no way that he can love Todd. Because that would be wrong. Sinful. Against the grain. Detrimental. Whatever-the-fuck anyone and everyone who frowns upon it wants to label how he feels.
Because Todd's the only thing that really matters in Neil's life. He matters more than acting, more than Charlie, more than pleasing his parents. And if Neil can't even make the one person in his life that actually matters happy, then what is the point in living?
He doesn't give any warning, he doesn't leave any motes, he doesn't think. He's thought over things more than enough already, and there's no use in rehashing what he already knows. He just lifts his hand and pulls the trigger.
And everything is gone.