***TRIGGER WARNING*** ***SELF-HARM ***
Josh was passed out on the cold, tile floor. His arms were sliced multiple times, a razor laying helplessly next to him.
"Josh," I whispered, hurrying over to him. I kneeled down and placed two fingers on to his wrist.
He wasn't breathing, his chest wasn't rising then falling, his heart wasn't beating.
"Oh my gosh, Josh what have you done?" I murmured to myself. I hurried over to grab my phone and dialled 9-1-1.
"Hello. 9-1-1. What is your emergency?"
"Ambulance," I said, panicking. "I need an ambulance. now. My brother. . . h-he's not breathing. He cut his wrists and-and he's not. . ." I took a deep breath. "He's not breathing. Oh my gosh, my brother isn't breathing. He's dead, he's dead, he's dead." I couldn't breathe.
"Miss, please stay calm. We are sending an ambulance to your location now," the lady informed me. "Would you like to stay on the phone with me until they arrive?"
"Yes. Yes, please," I mumbled into the phone, wiping away tears.
"Alright then," she said. "What's your name, dear?"
"H-Hannah," I managed to say, my hands trembling still. "I'm Hannah."
"Hello, Hannah," she replied. "I'm Kimberly."
Kimberly was a nice lady. She was kind and understanding. She was wise, too, but no amount of kindness or wisdom could ever make me worry less about my brother right now.
When the ambulance arrived, I said goodbye to Kimberly. She told me that it will be okay and I thanked her for staying on the line with me.
"Where is your brother?" the paramedic asked when they entered the room.
I pointed a shaky finger over to the bathroom, sucking in a deep breath.
They rushed over and picked up his limp body, placing it on a stretcher that had been rolled in by another woman.
"Are you riding with us?" the first paramedic asked me. "Miss?" he asked again when I didn't respond. My mind was blank and racing at the same time.
"No, I'm coming," I answered, and followed them all the way to the vehicle. I sat inside next to Josh and grabbed his large hand in mine. I pressed a kiss to his knuckles, leaning down to his ear.
"It'll be okay," I whispered. "You'll be okay. You will be okay."
But then again, I'm not always right.
A/N so this wasn't a letter, I decided to try something different here.
i hope you liked it
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Dear Malia (Completed)
Teen Fictionin which a girl writes (but never sends) letters to the girl she loves. TW: Self-harm/suicide *Please read at your own risk, I have made the rating for this story Mature for the safety and awareness of my followers and readers. © daisykidhes 2014...
