forget me not ❛ victor polizzi
fandom: tom clancy's jack ryan featuring: victor polizzi (tombstone) x reader rating: m for mature (18+ only!), angst content warning: suicide, graphic depictions of death, lots of feels, a suicide note, my poorly written angst. writing this made me cry lol I WAS IN A MOOD summary: our reader is called to the scene of her former lover's suicide. attention: feedback & reblogs are essential to me, so please consider letting me know what you think, babes! also I did this 100% on mobile (which is extremely broken) so bear with me if there’s any issues.
“Detective?” you stand at the threshold of the apartment. how many times had you been in this very same position? your body knew the way in, and every inch of the layout awaiting you. you had spent nights here, days too, sometimes weeks at a time. there was even a stint at which you lived here more than your own place. the apartment held such warm memories. those times and the man with which you shared them kept close to your heart. usually, you would sprint inside, overjoyed to see him.
it was much different today.
you stare at the interior layout waiting for you, and you’re not overwhelmed with joy to see Victor, nor does your heart thump faster in your chest at the prospect of making love to him after a long time away. the apartment doesn’t hold any heat or light, and even carry the familiar scent of him. it’s a complete wreck, as if some catastrophe leveled the place. the lights are all off, the lamp even seems to have been kicked over, made evident by the shattered bulb and the boot print on the lampshade lying a few feet away. it’s freezing inside, void of any happiness. though the curtains have been torn down, the thunderstorm outside ensures that no sunlight pours through.
see that, Victor? even the angels are crying for you.
“Detective, you all right?” it was the second time a uniformed officer had addressed you. he stood inside the teeny, one bedroom, in the middle of the living room as if he owned the place. not only him, but every room was alive with bodies in uniform, the shutter of a camera could be heard a decibel above mixed muttering from the bedroom. if you were being honest, it offended you. none of these people belonged here.
you try to push the invasive and extremely hard to ignore urge to scream for everyone to leave to the back of your mind, instead nodding abruptly to cull the officer’s suspicion. he probably thought you were delirious from sleep deprivation, as Las Vegas detectives usually were. “All good,” you assure, although your answer is followed by the swallowing of bile. you had to come inside, you didn’t have a choice. your fingers are curled so tightly around the doorframe that your knuckles are sore, the imprint of the wood forming on your palm, as if you were trying to subconsciously push yourself away from the apartment. you clear your throat, and force your feet to unplant themselves. “You were, um, the first responder?”
he nods, looking around. “Yeah, other tenants were complaining about the noise. I showed up to tell him to keep it down, found the door ajar, and smelled blood from inside.”
your stomach flipped; you could already smell it, but now that he mentions it, the pungency was overwhelming to your senses. you step over a crumbled rug, inching your way to the bedroom. you didn’t want to see what waits for you inside, but you knew you had no choice. “Your department get a lot of noise complaints from this complex?”
“Virtually none,” he replies, seeming perplexed. “My first time out here.”
without realizing you’re doing so, you’re nodding. even as your stomach knots up and the lump begins to form in the back of your throat, your job is still second nature to you. you still soak in the information provided, even when you can feel your heart about to explode out from your chest due to the ferocity at which it beats.
“And the door was, what, closed when you arrived at the scene?”
“Yes, ma’am, that’s right. Closed, but not locked.” the officer senses your hesitancy, and instead takes the lead from you, sidestepping in order to careen around the wall that juts out to partially conceal the miniscule hallway. “When I arrived on scene, I could hear the noise the neighbors were complaining about. White noise, actually, from that TV, there.” he points to the television that was tipped on its side, the screen was cracked, however it still flooded the rest of the apartment with the sound and light from the electric snow that the officer was referring to.
“Uh huh…” it’s hard for you to force yourself to focus as you follow him, now; for each step draws you closer to a visage more horrible than you could ever imagine. your stomach does yet another turn.
“And the smell, Jesus! The smell.” you clench your teeth, biting back something acidic and horrible. whether words or bile, you couldn’t be sure, so you kept them both at bay. “I entered the residence, and that’s when I found the mess. The mess led me back here.”
the bedroom waits just beyond the threshold, and you suddenly feel your legs want to stop working. you’re sweating, just watching your coworkers, familiar faces, milling around the room. they shouldn’t be here. everything was so wrong. your chief is here, your boss, and he’s hovering over the shoulder of a photographer, angled towards the closet on his knees. your fingers clench, making matching fists, and you step inside. the bed seems to be untouched, as if it hadn’t been slept in in several days. too many memories of sharing that bed comes flooding back. the way you’d fall asleep in his warm embrace, and wake up to the tingling sensation of the pads of his fingertips dancing along your countenance.
the rest of the room is impeccably kept; a far cry from the disaster zone that is the living room. you feel sick, even moreso than before, from not seeing him “Where-” you’re not even sure you can finish the question, but thankfully, you don’t have to. your chief waves you over from where he stands, flat footed and seemingly completely unfazed. it is only when you approach the closet that you notice the blood seeping into beige carpeting, turning it hideous and black.
“Chief!” another detective calls from the bathroom just as you fully take in the scene, and you feel as though your entire world comes crashing down because of it. Victor is crumbled in the floor of the closet, left cheek pressed against the blood-soaked wall. there’s a pistol laying beside him, just out of reach of his dangling fingers, it’s an obvious and gruesome suicide. “Did Polizzi live alone?”
the chief leans over to you. “We’ve already identified him. His name is-”
“Victor.” you cut him off, unable to hear your former lover’s name fall from the lips of your chief. it would sound too flat. too stale. too dead. “Victor Polizzi.” you’re forced to turn away from the crimson-stained visage before you vomit all over the floor, covering your mouth with your palm and take a few, staggering steps to a nearby wall to slump against it. with knees like jelly and breathing ragged and uncontrollable, you shut your eyes tight. this was a terrible, terrible dream and you would wake up soon. please, wake up from this fucking nightmare.
“You know him?”
“Chief, we got another toothbrush in here. Looks like a couple of feminine hygiene products, too. Polizzi isn’t married, is he?”
“No, no one lives with him. At least, no one on the lease.” he calls back, finally, to the inquisitive detective in the bathroom before he moves closer to you, hissing. “Get yourself together, kid, remember where you are. Who is this man to you?”
you can’t think. not straight, at least. thoughts weave through each other and create complex knots that are impossible to straighten. professionalism was always your specialty, but you’d never felt anything like this. “They’re mine, Chief.” you whisper, shaky, but you can’t look at him. you can’t look around the room, and so you keep your eyes cast down at the safest, cleanest patch of carpet before you. taking a moment to suck in a rancid breath of foul air, thick with the stench of death, you hold your head in both hands, shielding your eyes now. “The toothbrush, the shampoo, everything. I stayed here, sometimes, with…” another wave of sickness comes over you, and you try to shake it away, but it persists. as does your tears, forceful enough to break the floodgates of your ducts.
“All right, all right. That’s enough.” the chief seems to soften, or at least has a sense of empathy, and places a thick hand on your shoulder. “Get outta here. Get some fresh air, clear your head.” he wasn’t asking, and you were grateful for the dismissal.
so much so that you couldn’t wait for the elevator, you had to get out of this building fast, so you opted to exit via the staircases, taking each one two at a time. by the time you reach ground floor and push your way through the crowded entrance, limboing beneath crime scene tape and dodging many a uniformed officer, your lungs feel like they’re aflame, you’re heart is pounding so hard you think you might crack a rib, and you feel your stomach churning. this time, you’re certain you can’t hold back the sickness, and find the seclusion behind your vehicle to be the perfect place to vomit. it burns the entire journey up your esophagus, and tastes vile on your tongue.
the rain has subsided, but it leaves a heavy, wet feeling in the air, and a dark overcast. how fitting.
it was your body’s way of physically revolting against the horrible revelation as to why Victor had not called, nor texted, you in days. why you thought he was avoiding you. it wasn’t that you’d done anything wrong, but that he was preparing for this.
“Damn you,” you whisper, finding a few spare napkins in your car to wipe your mouth and dispose of the evidence of your sickness. “Why couldn’t you just come to me?”
“Detective!”
you look up, only to see the same first responder you spoke to in the living room sprinting towards your car, a plastic baggie in his hand. within it, was a blood-stained piece of paper that had been folded several times, so much that it looked like an accordion had been lain flat.
“What is that?” you ask, clearing your throat as a futile attempt to regain control of your senses and emotions as the man approaches. either he didn’t see the vomit on the sidewalk, or he did and chose not to bring it up, but either way you were thankful.
he’s panting as he reaches the side of your car to stand in front of you, holding it out. no doubt he’d probably rushed down to meet you before you sped away. “They found this in Polizzi’s pocket. Chief wanted you to look it over before they send it off to evidence.”
“Me?” puzzled, you take the baggie from him. “Why me? Why not just send it over?”
“He wanted you to see it first,” he insists, before his demeanor softens a little. the corners of his mouth, previously a firm, straight line, curve downwards. a frown, but a sympathetic one. “Because it’s a letter to you.”
for a moment, you feel as though your heart has slipped from the safety of your rib cage, and is plummeting at a rocket’s speed to shatter on the sidewalk. the officer can tell, just by your reaction, that you were in need of solitude, which he grants you without so much as a farewell. instead, he takes a couple of steps backwards and turns on his heels, soon disappearing within the sea of matching uniforms, and you're left there, staring down at the carmine paper, hands trembling.
the words seemed to crawl around the page as, at first, your eyes refused to focus enough to read them. “Victor,” you whisper, but it’s neither soft nor wanton. it’s harsh, angry. “How could you be so stupid? So selfish?” your hand curves around the driver’s side door of your vehicle and you jerk it open, collapsing into the seat and slamming it closed behind you.
you take a deep breath, and hold the paper outright in front of you. the splotches of blood have dried, and obstruct bits of the words scrawled in black ink. what was legible, was only barely so, as he seemed to either write the letter while extremely intoxicated or, at the very least, in the biggest hurry.
Forgive me, I’ve never written one of these damn things before. From the shit I’ve seen on movies, I guess it’s kinda like an apology to the people you’ve hurt in your life, and a call for forgiveness. Most of the people I’ve hurt in my life are not alive anymore to hear me cry about how my decisions have haunted me. The only one I want to apologize to is you.
I’m s- y I saw you across the bar that night, I’m sorry I came over. I’m sorry that I made you laugh and that I took you home that night- unfair to make you think I was able to lov and be loved.
Sorry that I kept in touch, and craved you to the point of calling you in the middle of the night, or texting while you were working. I have always been a selfish prick, and I couldn’t think about what was bes - you at that point. I knew that I would hurt you in the end, like I always do, but I couldn’t stop, and I made myself believe that you didn’t want me to stop.
Did you??
Of course you must have, you’re so fuckin smart, you probably already knew not to get attached to a parasite like me. Lower tha- dirt.
I was never meant to be loved, not the way you did, and I think I might be incapable of loving someone the way you deserve. Jesus, I think I’m broken.
I was stupi- selfish. I fell in love with you. I still love you. I can tell becaus I’m sitting with this gun in my hand I keep turning it over and I can hear your voice in my head. I can see your smile.
My family’s catholic, I ever tell you that? It was never for me, but right now, I can’t stop thinking about it. You think I’ll make it into heaven? I hope my escort is an angel that looks just like you. I’d like to hold your hand again, but I’ll settle for hers, if only for one more second.
I should wrap this up now, before I pussy out of pulling the trigger.
Whatever you do, don’t cry for me. Don’t forgive me. I want you to hate me, don’t give me more than what I deserved. You have so much more light, I think it blinded me from my own self hate for a moment.
You were a beautiful distraction, and I think that if I could lay with you and forget the world, I could’ve been happy. Ignorant but so fuckin blissful. And as nice as that sounds, it’s not fair to you.
Thank you for making me forget who I was, but I have to do this for you. So you don’t have to shoulder me anymore, so you can be happy without me. Everyone can. The sun may shine brighter now that I’m gone, I hope you stand under it and smile. I loved your smile.
Victor Polizzi.
too many emotions overwhelm you now that you’re completely alone. the anger you hold for him, that he’ll never hear, the broken heartedness of being left to live in a universe without the light of his smile, or the sound of his laughter; or the taste of his lips. and finally? the hatred for yourself. if you’d been more present, persistent, you could’ve stopped this. you could’ve saved him. these manifest in a loud, shrieking sob and the battering of the sides of your fists against your steering wheel. tears cascade over the apples of your cheeks and, after you’ve exhausted yourself by attacking your dash, you drop the baggie in the passenger seat and allow your forehead to rest against the steering wheel, taking several, ragged breaths. it didn’t stop the sobbing, which you feared would be the norm for the next few days.
you could feel the darkness engulfing you, grief licking at your psyche like flames at your feet. unfortunately for you, Victor had been so, so wrong. for you had fallen in love with him, too.
“You stupid, stupid man,” you sniffle, closing your eyes. temporarily, you trap the incessant tears behind your lids. “I could never hate you.”