Misfits

Jonathon

The stool creaks under my weight, making me all the more ready to end things. Reaching further into the medicine cabinet, I grab a bottle of painkillers. How fitting. I jump off the stool and race to my bedroom, trying to avoid my twin sister or the current nanny. Once behind closed doors, I turn on my computer and go the website I have been addicted to recently. It's the website that is going to save me from my torment. Typing in the name of the pill into the search engine and clicking enter, I am brought to the answer that will save me. Finally. I uncap a bottle of water and pull the top off the pills. Then I begin my journey towards freedom. With each pill I swallow, a name someone called me flushes down my toilet of despair. They can't get me now. I think of all the torment, all the names, all the bullying, all the times I just wanted a friend. I'm twelve years old, and trying to end my young life. Kids are so cruel. Everyone is so cruel. My parents are never around to love me, my sister spends time with other people, my nanny's change every week, and none of my peers want to be seen with the fat kid. My room starts spinning as I lay down on the plush carpet, still popping pills into my mouth. Nothing can stop me now. Not my parents, not the bullies, not the nanny, not the sound of Vanessa coming towards my door. She's too late. My eyes close at the sound of her shrill scream. Nothing can stop me now. Nothing can stop me now. Nothing can stop me now. Nothing can stop me now. Nothing can stop me now. Nothing can stop me-

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"Now, Jonathon!" my mother screams from downstairs, her frazzled tone urging me along. It's been five years since I failed to kill myself. The first few months after it happened my mother and father were better parents. They were around the house more, taking time off from work to spend time with their children. Mom would bake Vanessa and I cookies for after school snacks, and we didn't need a full time nanny. It was great. Those months made me regret even trying to end it all. Those months made me wonder why I did.

Then the shock wore off. Things went back to normal. 'Yeah, my son tried to kill himself. But that was months ago. We're completely over it'.

Now they throw me into a therapists office every week and let money do the fixing that need to come from love. I need to be understood, nurtured, and helped, not thrown away to a stranger.

As I exit my room I bump into my sister, who is leaving the bathroom. Her elaborate makeup and strange clothing is her way of getting back at our parents for abandoning us. I get depressed, she looks wacky to the judgmental neighbors and friends.

I love my twin, I really do. Vanessa is the only person in the world who cares about me; she's my best friend. However, I can't say that I don't still hold a grudge against her for 'saving' my life. Most people would be forever indebted to the person who stopped their suicide. I'm not. I wanted to go. I still do. Those months with my parents were fake. I'm still miserable, and the blame for that goes to Nessa.

"Morning," Vanessa greets, imitating George Weasley from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part I. Nessa is a drama freak, always reciting lines or imitating characters. It's partly the reason she dresses so eccentrically. The other part being our parents.

"Good morning," I sigh. Vanessa gives me a disapproving stare, the look she always gives when I sound sad.

I wake up on a hospital bed, bright, fluorescent lights blinding my eyes and machines beeping in my ears. To my left is my weeping mother in her hospital scrubs and my dad in his court suit. On my right is Vanessa, a frown on her face, but her eyes red from crying.

There are needles in my arm, and a heart monitor tracking my heart beat. I know what has happened. And I am pissed.

"Shit!" I yell, startling my distressed parents. They look up from their huddle and immediately crowd me, crying all over my large body and letting wet kisses grace my face.