I do not expect everybody to read this.
If it's an issue, please just scroll on. It will be dealt with vaguely enough in follow up paragraphs and threads that the main points will be clear without it.
This para, and the one that follows, are a bit depressing and deal with some very triggering topics that not everyone will want to read. That's completely okay and I understand if you scroll past. And whilst I know this is role play and it's supposed to be an escape where people don't have to deal with this shit, writing about it is important to me. But I do so fully understanding it's not for everyone's consumption. So please do what's best for you.
I never intended to become this attached to Berat, but I also never intended him to be such a reflection of myself. The combination of depression and addiction that I put into his biography is devastating and life ruining and a difficult hurdle to overcome, and the reason it's the most personal and painful one I've ever written is because I understand how that feels. I also understand how the pain of loss compounds it day after day, and makes dealing with both almost impossible.
I don't want to not write about this, because the struggle is so fundamental to his character that avoiding it would feel like a cop out. Not everything has a happy end. Not everybody makes it out the other side, because life isn't always as kind as it should be. That said, I want to make clear before the para, because the end is both vague and obviously foreshadowed: his upcoming death is not intentional on his part. The heroin is laced with fentanyl and he has no idea. But in a way, that seemed an even more fitting end than making it a purposeful choice.
Still, proceed with caution for these two please. Next one will be from Ayaz later.
Thank you.
Date: March 16th, 2024.
Warnings: Implied future drug use, severe depression, thoughts bordering on un-aliving oneself, precursor to overdose, precursor to character death. I tried to keep it vague, but it hints at a bad time.
How little would she think of him now?
It wouldn’t be unwarranted, of course, after all he’d done. After the pain he’d caused those he would so vehemently say meant the world to him.
Didn’t mean the idea hadn’t hurt, though.
“I missed you a little more today.”
It’d been a consistent routine; for those words, that admission, to be the last to leave him before he sought sleep. Survived one more day without her. This time, though, as Berat ventured further into the rundown and disorganised mess of a flat, he picked up the photograph of the woman in question from its home on the mantelpiece. Even the most beautiful smile in the world, the kindest eyes looking right back at him, couldn’t stop the hurt today. Neither were a match for the gnawing in his chest, and the guilt buried so deep in his gut he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d eaten…
It’d been three weeks since Kerem had found out about him and Nevra.
Three weeks since he’d dared leave his home.
Three weeks since even Nazli had stopped trying.
And he deserved that, you know. He deserved to lose the only person who’d stuck by him through his darkest moments, because eventually, everyone had to run out of chances. Berat didn’t know whether it was the personal betrayal of Kerem that’d pushed her over the edge, or the fact he’d chosen the woman who’d been indirectly responsible for his downfall in the first place—a Rutherford sympathiser, to twist the knife—but she’d drawn a line, and he’d heard it loud and clear.
This time, he wasn’t worth the struggle.
And that was okay. And Berat didn’t blame her. And maybe it would have saved them all a whole lot of pain if she’d just made that same realisation a few years earlier.
The man flipped the pristine wooden frame he now held in his hands, carefully turning the clasps at the back so he could remove the photograph held within. Berat wasn’t sure he’d ever been bold enough to do so since he’d put it there; so scared of damaging one of the few tangible reminders he had left that he could only ever want to observe from a distance. Maybe that was a lesson he should’ve carried through into life, too. To not risk irreparably marring precious and beautiful things he’d never fucking deserved in the first place.
He was holding it, then. A piece of paper in his hands all he had left.
And he was glad today that she was gone so she didn’t have to see him like this.
They all told him they wanted him to be happy, but he’d never asked it to find him the way it had. Life was cruel like that, he supposed. With one hand it gave, and the other, it took away so much. So why didn’t happiness ever seem to be an ultimatum for anybody else? Berat had never sought out Nevra expecting to love her the way he did, and he’d sure never done so with the intention of hurting his best friend. But for a man whose life had been so devoid of meaning and good and anything worth trying to be a better fucking person for, how could he not want for it?
You won’t let yourself be happy. And for a long time, that was because he didn’t feel he deserved to feel happiness in a life without Ceren.
But now he wanted for that relief with the only person who’d made him feel worthy since, and the brutal reality was that it meant walking all over somebody else’s in the process.
Did Kerem have the same dilemma when he’d found Emine?
Ayda, when she’d left him?
The slow, year-long retreat he’d made from them hadn’t been an accident, and surely they must have realised that by now. It hadn’t been because he didn’t care, or because he was so scared one of them would pick up on the signs that they’d catch him in a lie. It wasn’t self-preservation, it wasn’t self-pity, and it wasn’t a choice to move on. It was because he couldn’t fucking stand himself anymore. The mere sight of what looked back at him in the mirror fucking repulsed him. So why should they have been forced to endure him, too?
Even his mother felt the sting of distance. Because where his conscience apparently lacked so far as Kerem was concerned, he couldn’t put her through the pain of witnessing her son descend into yet another downward spiral.
The woman had suffered his poor choices for long enough.
Berat removed his phone from his pocket. Replaced it, slowly and carefully so as not to damage the edges or risk a fold, with the photograph of Ceren.
Oh, she deserved so much better than where they were going.
But he didn’t want to do it without her.
Didn’t want to do any of this without her, really.
He finally glanced down at his phone. The lock screen was littered with messages from people he was too ashamed to respond to; friends, family, people who’d been waiting for him to fuck up again. Because they all were. Even the ones who’d never admit it aloud because they liked him just enough to pretend they had faith he could do better. Kerem was one of them. Whilst he might’ve loved his friend, Berat could always see it in his eyes; gaze somewhere between disappointed and pitying. But none of them had expected something like this.
But neither had he, and that seemed to be lost on them.
One name stood out from all the others, and for a brief moment, he smiled. He smiled in spite of all that’d happened, in spite of his nausea, in spite of the exhaustion, in spite of feeling so trapped that he still couldn’t see a light at the end of the tunnel he’d forced himself into.
Nevra.
Wondering where he was, no doubt.
‘I love you.’
And that message he carefully typed out with unsteady hands wasn’t a warning sign in itself when he told her as much every chance he got. Told her with the sincerity and gratitude of a man who’d never thought he’d say the words again and mean them like this.
Because Berat did love her.
Hadn’t meant to. Hadn’t wanted to. Couldn’t help it, though.
A part of him had known from the start that there was never going to be a happy ending for them. Never going to be a ‘them’ for the long haul at all and he’d tried to make her understand that before they got too deep. His reluctance to deal with their situation, to be open about what was happening, to speak with Kerem so they didn’t have to keep living a lie had been frustrating for a woman who deserved better. Certainly, deserved more than he could ever give. But his aversion to confronting his choices had less to do with cowardice and more to do with fear of losing the one person in his life who made breathing a little easier.
Fear of losing this beautiful and unexpected thing he didn’t deserve, but was too selfish to give up.
Yet now, he realised none of it mattered. He was going to lose it all, regardless.
Maybe that was okay, though. Maybe he’d just deal with it like he always did.
Maybe he’d just fucking suffocate under the weight.
Maybe he’d die.
Berat reached into a glass dish to grab a handful of fifties. The Turk could hardly be ashamed of stooping so low as to pawn a sentimental watch after all he’d done. It was too small a guilt to scratch the surface. A small mercy, he supposed.
He put out extra food for the dogs. Extra water, too.
Left the television on so they’d at least have the illusion of company until his mum showed up to take them for breakfast in the morning.
Berat didn’t know when he’d make it back, but he was hoping it’d be a while.
Long enough to take the edge off. Long enough to stop feeling.
“I’ll be there soon,” he reminded her out loud as his hand slipped in to feel for the photograph in his pocket.
"first, don't talk to me like I'm fucking stupid, Berat." Kerem cut him off, his frustration bubbling over. As if a kettle had been left on the stove, close to boiling point. "Talk? No, Berat." The words came out clipped. "You talk now. Right here. Right now." His gaze shifted to Nevra, who stood in a conversation with someone else and his blood ran cold. "And you, Nevra. What exactly did you mean? Hm?"
He fucking knew the answer, but he kept talking himself out of it. It shouldn't be a shock, but it was. Berat had been quiet for some time now. He'd felt it in their friendship. Honestly, he'd assumed it was more to do with Nas or fucking Ayda.
But this?
The noise of the surrounding party became distant echoes, like a long-lost memory, drowned out by the realization that his best friend, the person he trusted most, might not be who he thought he was. Kerem's anger intensified to an almost point of no return, but he reined it in.
"I mean, in my defence, if you didn't say stupid shit I wouldn't talk to you like you were stupid. I don't really think I'm at fault there..."
For everything else, though? The fault belonged entirely to him.
There was a humour to the accusation in Kerem's tone. The rest of them—the very same who called themselves family—looked at him like he was a certifiable liability. Treated him as though they expected him to fuck up in a way as dramatic as the last any moment. Yet when he did mess up? Shock. Horror. Amazing, truly.
Unlike all the mistakes of his past, though, this he didn't regret. Would never.
"Fine," he conceded, albeit with an expression that said he still wished they could deal with this elsewhere. Kerem's anger was blatant, and confirming his suspicions was hardly going to temper it. Berat took a breath, steeling himself before he finally dared admit it aloud. Dark eyes followed his friend's to the woman in question, where they remained, like a coward, as he replied: "It's been going on for over a year, Kerem."
Berat: I was there not that long ago. They're dramatic.
Berat: Not rescuing you from customs. Not even for food.
Berat: It's going how it always goes. Considering casual murder every time someone breathes near me.
Berat: Speaking of casual murder, how's Kerem? Surprised you're even messaging me.
"I have not. But she's fit, so I'm sure I'll manage to enjoy myself."
"Didn't you get landed with Lara Rutherford's boyfriend..? All I keep hearing is about this Commandant getting whacked by Vorshevsky, but it might be you by the angry British dwarf. I'll make sure your funeral service is nice, don't worry."
The words didn't register instantly. The smile on his face prolonged as he swept the crowd and finally found Berat. He stared unblinkingly for a moment before realization began to set in. Blocks were falling into place, although he didn't know what for — yet.
Nevra. Here. With Berat.
The sinking in his gut was telling enough that if he'd eaten, he might've felt nauseous at the overwhelming thoughts that were beginning to vignette the edge of his mind. Kerem didn't realize how long had passed before he spoke, his voice sounding unlike his own. "Think you might need to backpedal for a sec," Kerem held his hand up in the air. "What d'you mean? You drove here together?"
This wasn't how this was supposed to happen, and yet, he couldn't think of any other way that he wouldn't inevitably try to weasel out of. Berat didn't want to hurt Kerem; a man who meant the world to him. He didn't want to open up what he and Nevra had built over the months to outside scrutiny and judgment when it was the only thing that'd kept him sane. Kept him going at all, honestly... Berat knew it was wrong. Knew that Kerem would see it as betrayal where he saw one last chance at happiness.
So whose feelings were worth more? Oh, he already knew the answer.
"Why the fuck would I mean that? No. That's not what I mean."
"Look, we should probably talk about this later. Privately. Let's not do it here."
FOR: @berat-yalaz
WHEN: 23rd of February, 2024.
WHERE: Barbican Centre - Pre-auction.
"I didn't see you come in, look at you -- suave, or what" Kerem grinned, feeling more at ease around Berat instantly. Those tightly coiled muscles slowly released one by one, until his back found the wall and he sighed, heavily. "Nevra's here."
The exchange was inevitable, and still he was avoiding it.
They'd been avoiding it for almost a year. This wasn't how Kerem deserved to find out, nor was it how Berat wanted to tell him, but every other time he tried to be honest with his brother, he backed out like a coward and he just couldn't anymore. It could hardly be classed as ripping off the band-aid given how long things had been going on, but it would certainly clear things up once and for all.
And at least the setting was public enough Kerem couldn't kill him...
Emine could see the tension in her brother's shoulders, sighing inwardly she glanced around the room. She was about to answer his question when she felt her phone vibrate, pulling it out to read the text message, group message, that was sent.
"Seems we are leaving anyway." It was easy to tell they weren't really welcomed. "I need to find Kerem." She gives him a smile. "I'll see you at Ayda's bar."
The petite Turk turns to walk away before stopping. "Love the costume by the way." Berat did like to piss people off, seemed they both had that in common, she disappeared in the crowd looking for her fiance.
"That's not the point. Why were we here in the first place?"
Without even waiting for the answer, he waved his hand in the air, as though physically dismissing his question. What was the point? Calls were being made in the borough and they were going right over his head because since his last relapse, he'd shunted himself into a position of less involvement than ever. Berat didn't know what was going on between the Turks and the Russians, and frankly, tonight, he didn't fucking care to stress himself out with the details.
The Turk offered his sister a half-smile before he left, parting with:
"Actually, I'm going to head home. Enjoy your night, though."
Ayda: I get this odd feeling they don't want us here.
Ayda: I am game if you all want to head to the bar.
Ayda: I can throw some food in the oven and drinks on the house.
Ayda: I can see if Kemal wants to join us.
Emine: Dumbass, she owns a bar.
Emine: Being the brother of a bar owner probably gets you free drinks.
Emine: I still manage to get free drinks.
Emine: Let me find Kerem.
Ayda pushed all thoughts from her head, finding herself on the dance floor, letting her body move to the beat of the music. She loved to dance. With the switch of song to a slower beat, she decided to take a rest, moving out of the crowd. Coming to the outside of the floor, her eyes locked onto ones she wasn't expecting to see here, of all parties.
"Berat?" A hand rubs along the other, slowly making her way over to him. The last time she saw him, she wasn't in the best head space.
No, Berat was not enjoying himself. Whilst he was at least smarter than to say as much overtly in a room full of glorified serial killers, his expression made his feelings more than apparent. They were not good company. They were not good people, period. The fact they had come to the party at all was a fucking insane move to him. Akin to painting a target on their own backs that'd look especially appealing to the French and the Italians, he was sure. There wasn't enough vodka in the world to scrub that from his mind as he watched the others dancing without a care.
And then, there was Ayda. Berat hadn't even realised she was coming.
For somebody who wanted out of the life, she sure could pick her company...
The last time they'd crossed paths, he'd lost his temper, and whilst he felt badly for the extent of his rage, he didn't feel bad about telling her she was a fucking idiot. All of the guilt trips he'd been thrown through for his addiction, and she was so ready to turn to the same damn needle? As if the night wasn't dire enough:
Emine knew Berat was coming, the few text messages they shared, and promised herself that they would have a good time. Catching sight of him through the crowd, she made her way over, bumping her hip against his.
"What is the plan for tonight?" Chocolate hues look up at him.
prguitarman
dededos
izzy806
ellievsbear
pixelskylines
