Suicide Buddies

The Jungle

(tysm for reading, this one is gonna be long)

enochlophobia (n.)

e·​no·​chlo·​pho·​bia

A fear of crowds.

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The first time I almost killed myself, I was fifteen.

I went to a party, because Rae had told me he'd kidnap me off the street if I didn't go, and as much of an idiot as Rae was, he usually meant what he said. It was a chance to get away from my uncle—and homework—as well, so I took the offer without a second thought.

The party was as eventful as anyone knew a high school party could be. Illegal alcohol from seniors filling the tables, bad conversation slurred between smoke and screaming. The music was barely even audible, and good it was because I'd never heard such horrible songs in my life. No one talked to me, more so because they forgot I was even there, and within thirty minutes, Rae had long abandoned me to a muffled kitchen corner where two sophomores were trying to take shots.

So fun, really.

I was nursing a beer that tasted like liquified agony, and getting ready to stick my hand through the garbage disposal, before a girl slumped over the counter right by me, muttering to herself so wildly I couldn't register any of the information even if I wanted to.

I glanced over, frowning. She met my gaze, head lolled to the side and mouth split into a grin.

"Heyyy," she drawled. "Hey, kid."

I was a gangly, awkward—well, more so than I am now—young one at the time, so I just stared at her. "What?"

She looked around in a dramatic gesture before whirling on me. From her pocket, she withdrew a labeled, orange bottle, half full of round white tablets. Her smile was slow and drawn on by a shaky hand.

"Want one?" She giggled again. "Taaake one. Nah. Whole thing. Yeah. Whole thing." She laughed, then quickly held her hand up to her mouth. "Shhh."

"I...what is that—"

"Shuddup." She glanced around again, and when she leaned in closer, I could almost taste the whiskey on her lips. "They're delicious. Don't tell. Shhh."

I stared down at the bottle, squinting to read the printed words. They had been smudged, likely from whatever alcohol she'd consumed and from heating up in her pocket the entire night, but it was clear enough that they weren't just vitamins.

"You've been sittin' here doing nothing," she muttered. "C'mon. New meat needs to have fun."

"You're..." I shook my head. "No thanks."

She giggled again, and grabbed my arm. With a pop of her mouth, she shoved the bottle into my hands, and patted my cheek.

"Shhh," she repeated, and the heat radiating from her body made my palms sweat. "Just fucking take it."

"No."

She snorted, which descended into full on cackling a moment later. A cough, and a gag escaped her shortly after, before the girl finally calmed down enough to point a finger at my face.

Her eyes were icy and accusatory. "Bitch." She spat on the counter, and smashed into her laughter, high pitched and eternally mocking. "Buh-bye. Buh-byeee. Shhh."

"Wait, stop, I don't—"

She whirled around, rushing towards the sink only to vomit up an entire Bob Ross palette of colors, several of which I didn't even know existed in the world.