Invisible

The Note

A/n sorry I took so long to update this. I was going through some shit and didn't have the energy to write. So this chapter is going to be short and shitty. Sorry.

My legs are burning and my chest aches as I sprint home, but I can't stop. I cut in front of cars, through traffic. I need to get home. Cars are honking at me, but I don't acknowledge them. I almost trip on the sidewalk, but even that doesn't slow me down.

I burst into my back door, tears streaming down my face.

"CHRIS!" I scream. I'm gasping for air.

He bolts down the stairs and wraps his arms around me.

"What? What happened? Are you okay?"

I sink to the ground. "It's all my fault. It's my fault. I'm such an idiot. Why didn't I leave him alone?" I can't control my breathing, and I'm shaking uncontrollably. The only thing I can hear is Ethan. His voice. All I can see is him, in the closet. His shy gaze faced at the floor. Another image flashes in my mind. The tears falling from his face as he whips around in the hallway. His words, "JUST STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME, CONNOR!"

"Connor, what happened?" Chris puts his hand on my shoulder.

"He tried to kill himself. I think... I think he's dead. I killed him."

"No, you didn't kill him. This is not your fault."

"Yes it is! I never should have forced him to go to that fucking party. I didn't even give him a choice! I'm such a selfish asshole and now he's dead because of me!" My fingers grip my hair as I run my hands through it.

Chris grabs the car keys and pulls me up off the ground. When I don't move, he asks "Are you just going to stand there or are you getting in the car?"

I don't move, though everything inside me wants me to. Just to see him again. But I hold strong. "He told me to stay away from him. I'm the reason he's in the hospital. He doesn't want to see me."

"So write him a note. Like he did for you. If he doesn't want to read it, he won't."

"What would a note do if he's dead?"

"He isn't dead. Now grab some paper and get in the car."

I do as I'm told.

The entire car ride, I'm trying to figure out what to write. Near the end, I start scribbling it down.

Ethan,
I'm sorry. Not just for forcing you to go into that closet. For making you go to that party. I should have listened to you that first day when you told me to leave. I made everything worse for you. I understand why you never want to see me again, so I'll stay out of your way. But I want you to know that you really are the nicest, most caring, amazing person I have ever met.
Connor

As I sign the final "r" in my name, we pull into the parking lot. I fold the note twice and stuff it in my pocket. I find another piece pf paper in there. I take it out and scan it. My heart skips a beat when I realize it's the note he wrote me. I fold it back up and step out of the car. Chris locks it and we make our way to the entrance.

He expertly navigates us to the help desk. I guess he learned his way around coming to visit me with all my breaks, sprains, concussions, and fainting spells. When we reach the desk, the young, blonde nurse wearing blue scrubs looks up at us.

"We're looking for Ethan... uh-" Chris's voice trails off and he looks at me to finish what he's saying.

"Rice. Ethan Rice," I step in. My hand is still wrapped tightly around the crumpled paper that had been in my jean pocket for over a week. It's the first and last thing I'll ever get from him. My heart is racing as she checks through the online charts. The only thought circulating through my mind is: Please tell me he's alive.

"I don't think he is taking visitors right now. Could you come back tomorrow?"

"We just want to give him a note. We'll be thirty seconds," Chris pleads with her. She sighs and nods.

"Room 46."

Chris knows exactly where he is going, so I follow close behind. There are a few people in stretchers being taken to different parts of the hospital.

We stand in front of the door. The blinds are closed, but the door window isn't. I peek in. There isn't anyone in the room with him. He's asleep on the bed, wearing a blue and white hospital gown. There are white gauze bandages around his wrists, and an IV in one arm. The monitor with his bp and heart rate is hooked up at his bedside, beeping steadily. My hand finds its way to the doorknob, and as quietly as I can, I open the door. He doesn't stir, so I take a few steps closer to his bed. I softly place my note to him on the bed and take a step back.

His face looks so pale, his expression far from content. His eyes are shut tightly, his mouth in a frown. His arms look weak, and he has 3 blankets covering him.

I did this to him.