Before I Forget.

t w o

[taylor]

    It had been a half a year since Joey attempted suicide. Six whole months since that traumatic day scared our lives forever. Six months since I found Joey, one of my best friends, laying half conscious on the tiled bathroom floor covered in his own blood. Six months. Yet it didn't feel like six months, more like six weeks, maybe even six days. I remembered it so vividly, the blood, the screams, how cold Joeys body was, the smell of the hospital we visited many times to see our friend.
    Joey hated talking about it, we all hated talking about it but we also all knew we couldn't keep it bottled up forever. All of us except Joey, who straight refused to talk about it. "It was a while ago, I'm fine now." That's what he would say, or "I haven't cut since then." Which we all knew was complete and utter bullshit. I hated the lies, I hated his nonchalant attitude about the subject, but I think what I hated most of all was the fact that he was clearly in pain, obviously screaming for help and I did nothing.
   In the weeks before the incident Joey started showing up late to practice even though we all lived in the same house, he got sloppy with his drumming and didn't talk as much. Joey didn't eat and he only wore long sleeve shirts or hoodies even though the weather in Des Moines got well over 90 most of the time. I knew something was wrong but I didn't want to prod. I didn't like when people asked about my issues so I thought I was doing him a favor. Joey was allowed to have a life, he was allowed to have his secrets and his problems.
    It was only until I found him I realized he didn't want to be alone like I would have wanted. Joey wanted help, he needed help. And I wasn't there for him, I ignored him. I picked up a vase and threw it at the wall. The vase shattered violently as it collided with the wall sending a loud noise echoing through the house. I sat with my back against the wall and pulled my knees up to my chest, putting my head in my hands. 'What kind of friend are you if you can't comfort your best friend in a time of need?' I scolded myself.
    I hit my fists against my head, "Stupid, stupid, worthless piece of shit!" I sobbed. "What the fuck is going on?" I heard footsteps come down the stairs and Micks head peaked around the corner scanning the mess I had made. "Corey...wha-" I snapped my head up at Mick. "I'm a terrible friend Mick! I let Joey kill himself!" I screamed through sobs. Micks face softened and he took a seat next to me. "Corey, Joey is alive. He's fine." I shook my head violently at Mick.
    "No no, he's not fine!" I tried to finish my sentence but I couldn't stop crying. My cries filled the empty room and Mick put his hand on my shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Joe." I muttered into my hands. "Cor, this came in the mail for you-" Mick started but I cut him off. "Seriously, I don't think this is a good time." I snapped.
    "It's from Joey." He said simply and I looked up at him taking the envelope from his hands. 'He wrote me a letter.' I smiled to myself, 'He remembered.'