Julius Caesar

Julius's POV.

The way I thought of it- there were three degrees of pain.

There were my scars, where I lost my self-respect. There were Audrey and Samantha, where I lost my heart. And there was this. This, where I lost myself.

And this wasn't how it was supposed to end.

It wasn't supposed to end by me realizing that everyone was lying.

Everyone was lying when they said that our bodies can fight gravity and that we can stand straight because I couldn't really keep my footing. They were lying about our body's anatomy because I felt hollow, empty. No. No. This body of mine didn't carry a brain or a heart or bloody intestines. It carried air. Helium. Heavens, I thought I was going to float away. But hell, I wasn't. I was crashing down to the ground, full force on my knees. My eyes widened, and I shook my head as I felt Father collapse next to me.

This head of mine, I thought, couldn't be carrying what they call as eyes as I watched Father yell that they call some ambulance or something. It just couldn't. It couldn't be carrying those shiny, emeralds people said I got from Mom. No, it couldn't.

Eyes don't trick their owners.

They don't show them, for example, their own sibling choking on their blood as a result of a dagger lodged in their neck. That's bullshit. Scientists all lied to us.

We see none other than illusions.

But I was falling, you see, and I was gasping, and I was staring at Augustus' blood that oozed out of his neck. I was looking at Father, and crying as I pulled my brother close to me, swapping my father's arm away. I was putting my fingers on the fatal wound, and the bloodied dagger. I was pulling my hand back, and staring at the blood that slithered down my fingers. The blood that stained my already bloody shirt, and my heart with something black, and sticky. It must've been sticky, I remember thinking, because my heart wasn't quite beating right.

His blood covered his overalls, platinum-white hair, and hands that were reaching for his bobbing throat. It was like he couldn't believe it. It was like he was touching his throat, and asking himself, really? This is it? I die sacrificing my life for my ridiculous brother?

His fastly paling lips part as he fought to not roll his eyes to the back of his head to look at me. He was trying to say something, and I was shaking my head at his pale visage. Staring into his electric blue eyes that swore to contain so much joy and love. Staring at the lopsided smile he married ever since he was born. Staring, and dying.

I was holding him in my arms, pulling him closer to me, and trying not to think of what really was happening. Trying not to think in the chaos of my father's whispering/prayers as he grasped onto his dying son's arm. I was holding his bloody, bloody hand, I was bringing it to my c.h.e.s.t, and I was telling him that he was the best thing that ever happened to me. But I was probably imagining that because I remember the silence. I remember how it wasn't broken by his snide remarks or weird jokes.

I remember seeing him kick his legs against the pain before they just stilled soullessly. I remember him looking in my eyes. Eyes that held galaxies in their depths. I remember him limply hold out his pinky finger, and make me promise.

"Promise. Plan-" he sputtered before he wheezed, and spat out a lot of blood. My guts turned, and my eyes widened in painful realization. This was really it, wasn't it?

He was dying on me, wasn't it? Like everyone I ever cared about did. Like Audrey. Like my baby. Like my mother. This. Was. It. This was the third degree, wasn't it?

His breaths were short and fast, and I could tell from his sad, teary eyes that he was in so much pain. But I remember putting my pinky finger in his as tears filled my eyes, and stumbled down his pale, lifeless cheeks.

I remember as if it was just yesterday.

"Shit, bro-" He coughed, squeezed his eyes, then opened them with a wheeze as more blood drained out of him. And I wondered why wasn't he shutting up. Wasn't he aware that it was the death of him?

But I was crying because he couldn't talk more. And I wanted him to talk. To insult me. To give me migraines that I knew -God if he gave me one more chance- I wouldn't complain about.

I was surprised at my inability to speak to tell him what a 'normal' person would tell their dying, bleeding brother. I mean, what was wrong with me? Why wasn't I blathering on how much I love him like my father was doing? Why wasn't I, before it was too late?

But I wasn't breathing right as I held him tighter. My tears had no end, I realized.

Hell, I never thought that was possible. A moment where I'd never see him smile. Dammit, a moment that'd be our last. And I had to constantly remind myself that. That no, this wasn't like any other time. That this wasn't like when I used to kick him out only to find him at my door the next day, lowering his sunglasses, and blowing a gum bubble. This wasn't what was happening.

And God, I hated him. I hated Augustus so f.u.c.k.i.n.g much for lying to me when he said that he'd always be there for me when I was breaking down that time when I was in the tub. Because for once, I dared believe. I bet my life on him. And what was he doing?

He was dying on me.

I wanted him to feel the depth of my love for him, but I couldn't because I swear to you, Sharon, I wasn't breathing. It was like I was a pocket that its owner emptied, but instead of coins, I was empty of words when I stared in his dying, ocean eyes.

There were a million things going through my mind. A million memories, and fading smiles as I watched him clench his fists against the pain, and shake his head against my c.h.e.s.t. My aching, non-functional c.h.e.s.t.

I wanted to ask him if he regretted it. If he regretted this. If his soul would curse me. Because this? This was all my fault, and I should've known better than to involve someone like him with a person like me from the very beginning.

I hated myself so f.u.c.k.i.n.g much. And I realized if time would go back, I'd personally kill myself a hundred times because it would still be nothing like this insurmountable pain.

Augustus looked in my eyes, tears filling them, and my heart- I couldn't. I couldn't because have you ever? Have you ever seen an angel die?

"Annoying-" He panted out as if it exhausted him. Like it exhausted him to do what he was best at. Talking. "-love you." His eyes fluttered, and I shook my head.

"Shut up-" I forced out with a weak smile as my tears fell. Stop killing me, was what I wanted to say, stop it. But it'd kill him if he stopped. Because, how can I die without delivering my farewell, mate? Do you even know me? - was what I guessed he'd have on mind. And that brought another brittle smile on my face.

He was leaving me, and for once I was begging him to stay. Begging fate not to take him away.

"Don't-" was all I managed to splutter uselessly as I forced his face toward me. I was pleading the universe to hold up as I planted my face in his hair. "Come on. Gustus."

But I felt it, just like you'd feel that your day is about to turn sour. I felt death, smelt its rancid coat as it hugged my only brother away. I felt it spit in my face, and stick out its tongue as it pulled him away from my waning grasp. I felt it through Augustus' slow, long breaths. Felt it when his body stopped shivering from the pain. Felt it when his pinky slid from mine.

Augustus died. He died. He died, died, died. He died loved.

And no words followed. Nothing could stop me from hugging his dead body to mine. Nothing. Not Father's screams of sorrow. Not Lucien's ricocheting laughter. Not Ledger handcuffing him, and sending him away. Not even the paramedics trying to pull me away.

And not even Samantha when she called out my name and asked me to let him go in the name of life, and love. She didn't understand. She could never understand this fire that blazed in me. That here, this lifeless, pretty boy was another consequence to who I was.

There was no end to this. This. This grief. This pain, and pang in my heart that I might've mistaken for a heart attack. This was grief in its purest, rawest form. Grief that had no bounds. This grief couldn't really be expressed even in tears. Because I was no longer crying as I rocked his lifeless body in my arms, with his still warm blood caking my c.h.e.s.t, and neck.

And nothing was more difficult, I realized, that trying to prove your heart the truth. The truth that no, he is dead. That no matter how loud his laughter and perverted jokes were in my heart, and head, he was it. He was dead. But I refused to believe as I imagined his soul hanging around somewhere. Imagined his ghost holding my shoulder, and telling me, 'Holy blueberries, mate, you gotta stop crying. What will your chick say?'.

And yes, it all happened so fast. So damn fast. It literally stole my breath away. Stole my words away. And in return, I stole his ring. I stole his sapphire ring, and slipped it on my pinky -his last touch-, and closed his glassy eyes with my bloody, shaky fingers.

Augustus was right. He wasn't the death of Father.

He was the death of me.

And when his body got too cold to hug, I let him go, stood up, glanced at my whimpering Father, and staggered out of the room, staring at Augustus' blood on my hands. I remember rounding a corner and throwing up on the plush, crimson carpet. And God, ugh, did I hate the colour red.

And when Samantha, yes it was her, called my name, I faintly turned to her and collapsed.

Here. I wrote it, Sharon. I'm not crazy. I swear I'm not. But sometimes I miss him so much, Sharon. You won't understand. You haven't met him.

You haven't basked in his sun.

You weren't the one who killed him.