Saving Oli White

The bottom of the bottle

If you loved and cared for someone.
What would you do to keep them alive?

I blinked as I watched the numbers slip lower and lower down. The odd lift was always much slower than the even lift. The amount of times I had stood at the bottom of those steps, I would know.

After a few more minutes of awkwardness the lift clicked and the doors creaked open. An old lady in her dressing gown waddled out, clutching an empty shopping bag and her grimy glasses.

It was cold inside, and I waited for the lift to shut before sinking to the cool metal floor. Running my hands through my hair I winced as my fingers caught onto a knot.

The struggles of having long curly hair like mine.

Placing my head on my knees I listened for the lift to began its slow ascent up to floor twenty one. I hummed and tapped along to a familiar tune. Yet I wasn't quite sure what the tune was. The lift slowed and clicked again into places mad the metal doors shuddered open. I stood up slowly and exited the lift.

I stopped at the corner and waited, out of site. A few seconds later I stepped out. If a kid was going to try and jump-scare me, they would have done it already.

The door to my apartment opened slowly, no one was home.

What did I expect?

Dropping my bag to the wooden floor I picked up my notebook. It's pages were faded and curled from six years of use. I didn't write much. It was just drawing and sketches really. I found a clean page and lay on the floor in my shared room. I was supposed to share this room with my older brother, but he'd moved out last summer and never come back to claim his stuff.

Dad swore he'd burn it if he didn't come back this month, but then again, how many times had dad said that and his belongings still remained here?

I waited a minute before letting my pen touch the paper, I don't know what I was waiting for. It wasn't inspiration.

It sort of comes naturally I guess. Once the pen touches the paper, I'm off.

It gives me somewhere to go for a while.

Maybe that's why I like it so much.

My heart raced as the shouting grew louder. They'd been at it for about three quarters of an hour now.

Just shouting.

And screaming.

It felt like it would never stop. Ever.

But it did.

It stopped with that sound.

The sound of a hand meeting a face, and then the tears.

I could almost predict what was going to happen next. She would lock herself in the bathroom, and he would reach for the whiskey.

"Whaddya want? Whaddya want y'little brat?" He leered at me, I'd only stepped out to grab my satchel and start on my homework. I didn't think he was still here to be honest. I'd been in my room, immersed in my notebook.

I tried to push past him, but his hand grasped my bony shoulder. I winced under his touch and tried to spin away from him.

"Fine then. But I'll be back. And you're gonna regret arguing with me." He shouted as he chucked back another shot.

He was convinced I was her, again. The door slammed and I sunk to the ground, deflated.

The tears wouldn't come, but I could feel them. Picking at me, like sharp little needles, but they wouldn't break the skin.

My heart raced as I ran to my room. I grabbed my pen and I began to draw. It normally helped. But not this time.

Nothing could change what I felt right now.

Everything has been building up for months and months, and I'd only just realised how much I hurt.

The paper was soaked and my face was covered in tear tracks.

I didn't think I could do it anymore.

I'd only felt this way once or twice before. But I'd never been ready.

Ready for it to stop.

Ready to die.

The minutes seemed to turn into hours as I sat on my bed numb.

After everything that had happened;

Wouldn't it just be best to stop?

So there I stood, shaking with fear, worry and anger at everything. Everything that had and ever would exist. It wasn't right. Nothing felt right, but it didn't feel wrong either.

I threw my phone down onto the floor, and took a deep breath.

I lived in a city. A big one.

If the fall didn't kill me, I'm sure a car would.

So as I stood there, thinking about everything. I finally felt at peace. I stood on the edge and watched the traffic below me, they cars swarmed like ants below me, also the waiting for something. For it. And I was the crumb, ready to fall.

Ready.

Then as I let my final tears fall, I heard a faint buzz. I never checked my phone.

No one texted me.

They didn't need to.

But for some reason, that little buzz intrigued me. So I stood down turned to look at my phone. Nothing anyone could say could mean anything to me now.

Not now.

But as I bent down to look at this mysterious notification, I felt a pang of regret in my stomach I'd never felt before.

More tears fell. They weren't the same type of tears as before.

I wasn't angry.

I wasn't sad.

I didn't know what I felt.

I blinked at the text, waiting for it to turn into a hateful message or drunken text.

But all I felt was confusion as I watched the screen,

There in white on my empty texts page. Lay three words.

'Don't do it'