All the dark places (Short story)

Chapter three

Summer 2014, a big discovery year I guess, I discovered my condition, ending up with me addicted to my medication and I discovered how cruel and selfish the world can be just when you don't need it.

Spring 2012

The grass was wet but we still sat down without a care, I was with him what did it matter. We both knew it, we both knew how we felt about each other but we never shared it; fear did that to people . I brushed his soft brown hair as he rested his head on my shoulder, he asked how I was and I answered. We were in love but it was mutual. We hugged shared stories and listened to each others problems but it wasn't true love and we both knew that too; I believed there was no such thing.

The day Ben killed himself was the worst day of my life, forget the swirly, wobbly days where drugs controlled me, forget the horrifying days where my dad would shout and scream. That day, that day was the worst.

~*~

Dragging myself out of bed I realised it was Friday, a slight smile crept then disappeared. I texted Ben. He texted back.I walked to school with what felt like an aching brain, it was Friday, just another day. I walked into the gates as the bell for registration went and walked into class. After registration I had maths, Miss droned on for about 30 minutes and then gave up and drank coffee, I text Ben. He text back.

The day went on and on for what felt like years and then finally the bell went, I waked to the park where me and Ben met at the end of the day; on a Friday. But he didn't turn up. Surprised I called my dad to say I was coming home early, only to find that he was screaming down the phone saying that I'm a disgrace to him and to the family, I did wonder what he was on about. As Ben clearly wasn't coming I went and sat alone at the top of the slide and listened to some music. Walking  back down the steps backwards about five minutes later only to find hanging under the slide there was a rope, a rope with a loop, a rope carrying my best friend's body; Ben's dead corpse.

I screamed and cried, my body falling to the floor. I didn't know what to do I rang the police and the ambulance, but I had to wait for them; my last alone time with Ben, I told him I was sorry, sorry for not being there. I gave up on talking because I had nothing to say. I took his head out of the rope and rested it on my lap crying. I stroked his soft brown hair for the last time.

There's been a lot of loss in my life, this was one of them but all of my losses stay inside me , my brain anyway and help my condition in little ways. They also make it worse but that's just how it works. Ben pops up quite a lot of the time, in the street, at home or sometimes in dreams. His sad eyes, his lost life, it controls me it makes me feel that there's no escape from myself, no control, no choices. Sometimes when I see him in the street, all I long to do is touch him, a little touch but I know that I can't. I reassure myself that it's not real. But I long for it with wet eyes that it could be, that he could be.

After his death I was never the same, I didn't really care much about anything. If a teacher gave me a detention for not listening in class, I wouldn't turn up to it,  I wouldn't care. They say it's part of the grieving process, not caring, or having an interest in anything because the only person you can think about is the one you've lost. They say that when other things come your way you'll be happy again like before. Helen said that too. She's a real bullshitter, every thing she says is a lie; and every kind of treatment is bullshit.

I look on the internet for a new psychiatrist but there's none that live quite so near. I sigh and close my laptop walking downstairs and start to make a piece of toast. I watch the toaster as it ticks on toasting the bread and I focus on the sounds in the room. Loudly there's a ticking which is obviously the toaster, there's the buzz of the TV as my dad is asleep on the couch in front of it and there's a mewing... mewing? there must be a stray cat at the door again. I open the back door to find a little black cat with green eyes. I don't really like cats but it looks hungry and lonely so I let it in. It's a boy and it's looking at me fondly. I stare back and hesitantly touch his head strangely. The toaster does a ting and I take my toast upstairs. The cat follows.

I sit on my bed with the cat as I look at it once again, it seems to be looking at my toast though. I rip a bit off and watch as the cat ravenously scoffs it and then finishes it with a little purr. It looks at me again, I think he wants more. I notice a little dip in the cats head, He must have been in fights, but he seems harmless now. With a little confidence I pick up the cat and hold him away from my face so I can have a look at him, but he doesn't like it and starts to claw. I put him down and scowl at him muttering I fed you, you have to be nice.

The cat stays the whole week nearly before disappearing it kind of inspires me , going somewhere staying for a short while and then leaving , it's kind of magical even. But I start to miss the cat, and wonder why I even liked it's company that much. I think that the cat reminded me of how innocent I was, before someone fed me some shit and then I would act like the world was my own. Just like the cat.

But I guess that never ends well...