the day after tomorrow

Will you take me?

Today's the day. I try and brace myself for what's to come, but it's no use. Bebe is coming to see me today. Scared is not really the word to describe it; I am so completely mortified I have to hype myself up to just get out of bed. My hands are shaking. I don't know if I can do this. You are brave. You are strong. I love you. There are many sets of three that I am unable to speak. I want more. More what? Do you really want it? How much more? My brain is filled to capacity.I straighten my already straight hair. What am I doing? Why? What does this mean for the future? Does Bebe even like me? Why do I care so much? Why didn't I care enough to try and live? Why did I fail? Fuck. I really need to stop scrolling. The bare tile chills my feet as I get out of bed for the third time today. I need more chairs. I wrap a blanket around my torso, the warmth allowing momentary comfort before I remember about Bebe. I can't do this anymore.

I peek under my mattress. Underneath, there is a small hole I used to "conceal" my items in. I grab my kit, carefully unwrapping my gauze, bandaids, Neosporin, and blade. I know, I know. I just got out of the hospital for suicide. But I can't help myself. I have to get the itch out. I have to. Every time I cut, I feel like I black out. I start slicing, and five minutes later my sheets are stained with my blood. Great. I just washed them. I promised myself I wouldn't do this again, but I can't really help it.

I think I'm probably the worst possible person ever. I led Bebe into thinking I was better, killed myself, and then woke up, and now I can't even face her. I want to see her, kiss her, enjoy the silence of our content snuggled under blankets. But I, like always, am unable to find myself able to continue. Living, seeing her, not cutting, being clean, really anything.

The calm before the storm. I imagine myself staring into her eyes again, seeing her dimpled smile. I don't know if I even can anymore. Her face is a blur in my memory, a bright swatch against a "burdened" past. Even I can't take myself seriously. I don't know how she ever could. She was everything, and maybe she will be again. I'm just scared to see her. I know she'll just stare and stare at the gauze, she probably won't be able to look me in the eyes.

Deep breaths. I'm seeing Wendy again today. I need to be prepared. I keep rehearing what I'll say to her, little hellos and many, many mumbled I love you's, quiet enough that only I hear them. I take a look in the mirror before lacing up my shoes. It's fucking freezing outside. Not surprising, it's February in fucking Colorado of all places. The ice crunches under my feet; the water seeps to my socks, making me shiver. I keep having to hold myself back from screaming or throwing up or really anything. I'm jittery with anticipation. Maybe she's wearing her beret. That would be funny. Not funny, I guess, but bittersweet. A semblance of the childhood we were so poorly ripped apart from. I'm sure she'll smile, maybe wave, and we'll sit down. It'll be awkward, sad, and a little boring.

I can't even lie I've been lonely as fuck. I miss Bebe. The person I'm currently on my way to see. Music blasting, palms sweating, wrists sore. For obvious, parasocial reasons, I don't exactly want to be the first one to the gazebo, though I expect I will be. Bebe was always the late one. I was always 30 minutes early, so I would just wait in the car. I really should've slept in. Our little meet n greet is at 2, I woke up at 5 am. Showered, got dressed, drank, cut, all super healthy. What a healthy, gorgeous girl.

I can see her hair bouncing in the wind. I don't get her. She always looks so effortless, her curls look perfect but never frizzy(a/n- as a curly haired gal, this is in fact the dream). Her mascara is a bit smuged, but she probably just woke up. I wish that was the case for me. We lock eyes for a second, before awkwardly waving. She's already staring. I don't blame her. We each take seats on the bench by the gazebo. The bright yellow of her curls contrasts nicely with the blinding white of the surrounding snow. Fuck, my ass us going to be frozen.

Bebe looks at me, probably asking me to start the conversation. I try and brain-signal to her that I do not want to fucking do that, but I doubt she'd listen. She sends me one too. You better do this Wendy or I'll never forgive you. Bad enough you tried to kill yourself, and now you're being a fucking sociopath. Say hi, at least, she messages, or at least that's what I'm hearing, I doubt she'd send anything over. I try and muster up the courage, but it just leaves my lower jaw gaping open. This is embarrassing. I should go, but I can't. I did just try and kill myself. Fuck me. I suppose I should go first anyways.

Me: Hey.
Her: Hey?
Me: Sorry for the whole "killing myself thing" super uncool of me.
Her:(awkward laugh) yeah. Not a great choice on your part.
Me: ...
Her: ...
Me: ...
Her: This is really awkward. You'd think we would be comfortable now, but it's really the opposite. I'd never actually thought I'd see you again. I thought "catch you on the flip side" was going to be the back of the obituary page. But knowing your parents, you'd probably be on the front. Shit. Sorry. That was kinda mean. I take that back.
Me: ...
Her: Thanks for coming though. I mean, you look really good. Uh, not in a weird, I'm super in love with you way, just a normal, I'm glad you didn't impale yourself too hard way. Fuck me. Sorry. Again. That was really fucking rude. What I meant is that I'm glad your alive and I like seeing you blink. And move. And do really anything.
Me: Uh...thanks? You look good too. I mean, shit. I just woke up from a coma and your the first person I've really talked to. I missed you, in a way. I'm just glad we didn't bring up the uh, you know what. Fuck. I made things awkward. Actually, they were awkward before, but uh, it's probably worse now. Sorry about that. I'm glad we had this talk.
Her: Bye Wendy.
Me: Bye Bebe.