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That night, Harry du Bois picked up the bottle again after days. As he chugged cheap wine and felt the alcohol once again entering his system, he could not help but think he was the most pathetic, sorry cop to ever walk the streets of Revachol. How could he do this to himself once again? He loathed the taste of it, he despised the way it made him feel like he was coming back home, the one place he did not have. He hated his room in the Whirling-in-Rags, he really did. The walls painted with vomit, the broken window, the torn pieces of random shit he had found on the streets in a drunken stupor, all of them reminded him just how much of a monster he really was.
He stared at the bottle with such disgust that he had no idea why he decided to drink from it again. Maybe it was just out of spite, to prove a point to himself - he really was an animal. A dirty one, at that. There was nothing graceful or wild to him, he was a lost dog that bit and was infected with rabies, he was something repulsive and angry that no one would even dare to touch him.
With a long sigh he finished the bottle and fell to the ground on his knees. He felt the need to pray, to whom he did not know. He just needed to feel like someone was watching, like all this had some sort of a meaning, like he wasn’t a hopeless man in a hopeless world. He needed to feel something, anything really. Just not this, not the comfort of being drunk again. He wanted to punish himself, to make this hurt so he wouldn’t again.
The world kept spinning slightly as he laid down onto the dirty floorboards. He could not force himself to stay up any longer, he was just too fucking tired of all this. Should he have acted instead of threatening everyone he was going to kill himself? He felt so unbelievably pathetic it made him want to vomit. The sorriest cop who couldn’t even kill himself.
He sure could try though. Why hasn’t he thought of this before? He might not have his gun on him, but surely there would be a razor in the bathroom he shared with Kim. Oh god, Kim. He’d probably be the one to find him in the morning. Harry wanted to spare him the sight, he really did, but he could no longer stand this. He could no longer be this type of animal anymore.
He got up and stumbled into the bathroom, thrashing everything in his way without even trying to do so. The bathroom was in a less tragic state than the rest of the habitation, probably because Kim has been keeping it at least a little clean. God, sweet Kim. He really was a monster for doing this to him, wasn’t he? But then again, the Liutenant would be so much better off without him. No one to hold him back, to be a fucking loser while lives were at stake. It was better this way.
After a bit of digging, Harry found a shaving razor. It was dull after dozens of times of being used, but it would have to do. Shooting one last glance at Kim’s bedroom door, he returned to his room and began disassembling the razor. He has done this before, many times, something in his head tells him so. He’s always hated himself, hasn’t he? He’s always been this fucking miserable.
He stares at the blade and the edges of his visions blur out into something abstract. He’s drunk, he shouldn’t do this, but he has to. He’s obligated to feel something, anything that could tear him out of this. Harry slides the blade down his arm once, twice, thrice. A slight smile finds his face as he feels the blood oozing out of him. This is the venom, the poison in him. He’s getting it out, he’s making himself cleaner. The alcohol is leaving him through every single one of his wounds and he can feel the pain sobering him up. Would Kim be glad? Would he think Harry deserves this for drinking again? Would he find the same comfort in this that Harry does? He hopes so. Either way, the thought of Kim doesn’t make him stop or slow down. The Lieutenant must be sick of saving him, even if it’s only in Harry’s mind.
With one final cut he slits his wrist and as blood pulses out of the open wound, he laughs quietly. The end of him, isn’t it? Of stupid fucking Harrier du Bois, the biggest asshole to ever walk through Martinaise. At the end of the day, he’s worse than all the racists, bourgeois, rapist scum of this city. He is the worst person in the entire world. But not any more. He’s slipping out of consciousness, he’s escaping this hell. He’s going to be gone and everyone will cheer. It’s all going to be fine.
And then, just as his eyes were closing for the last time in all of eternity, there was a knock. Quiet, rhythmical, but urgent.
“Harrier?” he heard the voice with a distinct French accent.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Kim was here. He was going to walk in and laugh at Harry as he’d bleed out. He can’t let that happen, the last thing on his sight mustn’t be the bitter grin on the Lieutenant’s face as he realises his burden will finally be gone.
“Yes, Kim?” Harry forced out words in a voice so strangled it could barely be heard.
“Are you okay? I heard some noise and thought I might check up on you,” the Lieutenant responded in a firm voice.
Harry wanted to say something, wanted to reassure Kim that everything was okay, but all that came out of his throat was a muffled sob. God, he hasn’t cried in so long.
“Respond to me, Harrier,” said the Lieutenant in a voice that was supposed to be calm and authoritative, but instead sounded just… worried?
“I’m fine,” whispered Harry.
“That’s it, I’m coming in,” was the response from the other man.
“No, don’t…” Harry’s voice trailed off into silence as the door burst open. And there he was. Light from the corridor behind him made it so that only his silhouette could be seen and at that moment, to Harry he seemed like an angel coming to take him. For a split second, he saw a deity. Then the door closed and Kim was just standing there, in his fucking pajamas, Harry couldn’t help but notice. A twitchy little man with shitty eyesight and horrible haircut, but at that moment, to Harry he seemed like a holy being.
“Harry. What the fuck did you do?” came out of that angel’s throat.
“What I needed to do for so long,” Harry mumbled back.
He could feel himself slipping away, turning into the Pale, becoming nothing more than a bad dream. He was at peace, finally.
And then it all broke. A sharp flash of pain tore through the numb pulsing of the wounds as Kim slapped him. “You will not leave me, Harry. You fucking can’t.” He felt hands on his shoulders, shaking him away from his quiet sleep.
“I am going to tend to your wounds and you will stay awake, is that clear?” says the Lieutenant and his voice is shaking, oh god, why is it shaking? How come Kim seems upset? This was not what Harry had planned, he was supposed to be cold and mocking, not… scared. But deep down, he always knew. He always knew his Kim could never be cruel to him.
“You’re not supposed to…” he whimpered towards the Lieutenant, who had in the meantime grabbed tissues and bandages and started inspecting his wounds.
“I’m not supposed to what? Care that you’re bleeding out? Harrier, you are my partner. Of course I care. We’re in this shit together and you can’t just leave me here. Not after all this.”
Harry winced as Kim touched the deepest wound with a cotton swab. “Now shut up and hold on. I’m gonna have to stitch you up.” The pain that followed was not comforting anymore, it was like a hot flash tearing through him, but he still knew it. This was something he had lived through before and he probably will again. He understood this, this was a language he spoke, a language of agony.
Suddenly it was over. Back to the good old pulsing. He opened his eyes, just a tiny bit so he could see what was going on - when did he close them? He had no memory of doing so. Whether it was the alcohol or the pain, he knew not, but everything surrounding him was a blur.
“You’re going to be fine. You have to.”
He had no idea how it happened. How come suddenly Kim was holding him in his warm embrace. He could feel himself melting into the other man’s body, turning into nothing but a puddle of rainwater or a cloud of fumes, something light, still dirty, but unbounded, free, lovable. The warmth coming from Kim’s body was true, nothing like the hot waves that the alcohol brought him. This was real, honest warmth of another human being, which he hasn’t felt in eternity.
“Don’t ever do this to me again, you hear me, Harrier? I can’t lose the only man I…” the Lieutenant’s voice trailed off into silence only broken by the humming of the ceiling fan. Harry didn’t ask, didn’t push him to continue talking. He just pulled Kim a little closer. His best friend, his brother, his… saviour.