If You Loved Me, Why'd You Leave Me?

Chapter 7

They let me out of the hospital two days later, and when I arrived home it was dark and cold and empty. There was no sign of anyone there, so I assumed my parents were still in hospital. I'd have to visit them, but I needed food and sleep, and a bath. I was filthy: greasy, curly hair and a grimy body. My teeth were probably yellow, too, which was not a good look.

After making myself spaghetti and meatballs which I ate visciously, I brushed my teeth and climbed into the bath, letting the dirt and grime wash off me. Once relaxed and settled, I retreated upstairs where I dug out my laptop and began to write. Writing seemed to be the only thing that could distract me from what was going on in my mind.

"I'm scared." Wilson whispered, peering at the waves crashing against the rocks below him. They were standing on a cliff about fifteen meters high, looking out to the Pacific Ocean with only a dirt path and a few trees behind them. Their clothes were piled up on a rock, but Wilson wasn't worrying about whether someone would steal them, or whether his mum would call him and he wouldn't answer, or even whether he died whilst jumping. He was only worried about Striker dying whilst jumping.

"Don't be scared." Striker patted his back in an effort to reassure him. "I'll protect you."

"But -" Wilson was cut off by Striker throwing a hand over his mouth and pushing him to the edge. Will's stomach churned and he looked back to where his friend was standing, arms crossed over his bare chest. There were signs of little black hairs growing there. He looked down, trembling as he stared at the dark blue waters and the whiteness as they hit the grey stone. And then, taking a deep breath that hurt his insides, he jumped, fingers pinching his nose and legs flailing. He heard Striker cry out from behind him, and his mind went into panic mode. What was happening? Why had the boy screamed his name as he fell? Where was he?

Water hit his feet and then swallowed him up, until he had the strength to swim to the surface and search wildly for somewhere to grip onto. He was pushed up against the wall of rock, where he clung and called for Striker, voice breaking. Soon his little head popped up from under the water and he gripped onto the wall, floating next to Wilson. His hand rested on Will's cheek caringly.

"It's ok buddy, just follow me." And he turned and swam away, leaving Will no choice but to follow with barely any strength left. The fall had taken a lot out of him, and he wasn't in the condition to be doing things like that. He was no daredevil; he was nothing like Striker - perfect, charming, smart Striker who attracted everyone and pleased everyone. How I knew him was beyond me. "Wilson, are you alright?" The black-haired boy asked the brown-haired boy as soon as they were out. They were on a mini beach, not far from where they had jumped. The road led back to their belongings, thankfully.

"Wh - why did you scream?" Wilson asked immediately, shivering.

"I wasn't expecting you to jump." Striker mumbled quietly after a short pause. "I'm sorry."

"It's ok."

I saved it and sat back against my pillow, taking in big deep breaths. I felt like I was falling, and then drowing. I was struggling to breathe, but I wasn't having an episode. I was sobbing, and it was because I had caused that car crash, and I had caused whatever had happened to my parents. If they died, I'd never be able to live with myself.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the front door and someone calling my name. I stuck my head out of the window and saw him - Phil - dancing from foot to foot as he waited. I tried to wipe my eyes clean of tears as I walked down the stairs and threw open the door. Phil was dressed in one of his red plaid shirts and black skinny jeans, just like his usual self. His hair was wet though.

"Phil." I breathed, wrapping my arms around him whilst quietly crying over his shoulder.

"What's the matter, Dan?" Phil asked, stroking my hair. "I can feel you crying, don't try to deny it."

"You didn't hear what happened?" I cried, pulling away from him slightly. "Did you not wonder where I've been for the last two days?"

"I came round twice, but no one was home." Phil said quietly, wiping a tear from my eye. "What happened? Talk to me Bear."

Saying nothing, I dragged him inside and closed the door harshly. I saw Phil wince and inch away, making me feel sick. He thought I was going to hurt him. I cried even more. "We were in hospital." I managed to choke out.

"We?" Phil asked, but I knew he knew I meant my parents and I. "How, Dan?"

"It was my fault... it was all my fault!" I yelled, tearing at my hair. "My fault, you hear me? I hurt them! I hurt everyone! I'm a disease!"

"Dan, you need to calm down -" Phil begged, taking my hands.

"But it's true though and you know it!" I screamed, letting him take me into my living room. He sat me down and joined me on the sofa, letting me lean against him slightly. "I'm going to hurt you one day..." I whimpered. "I don't want to do that. And don't go all Augustus Waters 'it would be a privelage to have my heart broken with you' on me because that won't work. We are not fictional characters, this is real life and I am dying, Phil. And I want you to hate me."

"Dan, please -" Phil sounded desperate; all the more reason do do it as soon as possible. I had to save him before it was too late. "You talk about not hurting me, but it will hurt you, won't it? In the beginning you tried not to get close, and I could tell you kept trying to say goodbye. But guess what Dan? I don't want to hurt you, because you're my best friend. Okay? When you die, yes it will hurt me, but dying is a part of life and you cannot escape it. We're all dying, Dan, and that is something I have accepted. But pushing people away will not do you any good." Phil was crying too, I saw. My heart melted. "I've known you since we were... what, three years old? I've known you since almost the beginning, and I'll be there until the end. Do you hear me?"

I was speechless, and I felt sick. Both of us were crying now, and it was something Phil had never really done. He was always the one to control himself, not show his weaknessess and plow through life with a positive mind. It was very rare for one to see Phil cry, maybe even as rare as pepe. The fact that I had actually made him cry, right here, holding me, felt as if I had pressed a knife deep into my chest and was twisting it around. It killed. In the end, I croaked out a "I'm sorry" and said no more. He was right, about everything; I shouldn't push him away - I needed him, until the end.

***

The distressing news came early the next morning whilst I was cuddled up to Phil on the sofa watching Attack On Titan. It was my mum on the other end of the phone, alive and well, but she was sobbing. I listened intently to the news before zoning out and dropping the phone onto the carpet in shock. Phil asked me what was wrong, but I couldn't process his voice. My dad... hit his head... life support... gone...

I stumbled up and barged out of the door, not even bothing to tidy my hair or pull on a jacket. I reckon I looked like a drunk as I ran down the street, Phil following whilst yelling my name. I sat down at the bustop, leg bouncing up and down, and climbed on the bus when it came. Phil was right behind me, completely and utterly confused. I turned to him, bottom lip trembling, and opened my arms out for a hug. He obliged. I told him what had happened: from the car crash to the phonecall with mum. And he listened without inturrupting, except the odd gasp every now and then. When the bus stopped Phil was silent as I pulled him off and burst through the doors of the hospital frantically. I spotted mum sitting on a chair, head in hands and body shuddering. I let go of Phil and walked over to her, trembling beyond measure. She would hate me - I killed her husband, my dad.

I'm a murderer.

I froze in my tracks, inhaling a sharp breath that hurt like hell. I felt Phil gently nudge me, telling me to keep going, and I did so, until my mum looked up and the emptiness in her eyes bore into me and shattered my heart. I choked on a sob.

"Dan..." Mum whispered, and I waited for her to scream at me; to look at me in digust and disown me, but instead she held out her arms and I sunk into them, all my tears apparently ran out. All that was left was a deep hollowness and sorrow as harsh as the cold in winter. Mum smelled of hospital and strawberry body wash as usual, and that settled my racing mind. She didn't hate me. Thank god. Thank god. Thank god. We sat there, in each other's arms, for what seemed like forever. I felt right at home.