After You

Willow

Alfie,

Oh my God. What have we done?

Jess hasn't woken up yet. It's been twenty-four hours. I don't know whether she should have woken up by now, but this is bad, isn't it? We haven't been allowed in to see her, but I'm not leaving. This is all my fault, and I'm not leaving this hospital until I know that she's going to be okay. Please, please let her be okay.

Her poor parents. I know Jess had a rough relationship with her parents, but they're absolutely devastated. Her dad has been away with work, but he came straight back as soon as he heard. Her sisters are all here, taking it in turns to sit with her when her parents need to go and sleep or eat. Oh, her poor mum. She must feel so guilty.

Jess left a note. It was all about how unloved and isolated she felt from everyone. She's been asking for help for months, and no-one has listened to her, and we've all been so wrapped up in stupid dramas and drifting apart from each other that none of us ever realised how depressed she was. Jess apologised in her note. She apologised for the drama she'd be causing and asked us all to just forget about her and move on, and not to dwell and write letters like we have to you.

Fuck, Alfie. Is this because we've been writing the letters? I know I worried that it was preventing us from moving on, but Bernie said the letters would help, and they do. There are some things I haven't been able to tell anyone else, but I've been able to tell you through these letters. I thought I was just using them as an outlet for my feelings. Have I been stopping myself from moving on? Have I blinded myself to everything happening in the real world?

I probably shouldn't be writing to you now. It seems so stupid and frivolous to be writing about my feelings when poor Jess is upstairs in ICU and everyone is falling apart. I don't know who else to talk to. I have all these thoughts in my head; all this guilt and regret, and it's going to explode if I don't get it out. Another mind-grenade, I suppose. I can't talk to anyone else; they'd think I'm so selfish. I'm sure they all have their own guilt and regret to be getting on with, anyway. They don't need me to heap my problems on top.

I feel so sick. Actually, I don't just feel sick, I keep being sick. Since we found out, I can't stop throwing up. It's probably just nerves; I'm so scared that we're going to get bad news about Jess, but that's why I'm here in the canteen, rather than up in the waiting room with the others. If it's some kind of bug, I don't want to spread it and risk Jessica's health. I've already done enough damage.

Please, let her be okay. I will never be able to live with myself if she doesn't pull through. We were supposed to spend yesterday at the park; having a picnic, catching up, messing around. I just wanted one little taste of the old times, and then maybe we could start to pull back together again. It was supposed to be the start of better times. Now it feels like the beginning of the end.

For God's sake, Willow, stop it. Stop being so fucking melodramatic. Stop writing like this is a stupid story or like you belong in some 19th century period drama. Jess tried to kill herself, and she very nearly succeeded. She could still die, and I'm here making this all about me, again. Nothing matters now except for Jess pulling through this and getting better. No more selfishness.

Willow