(A/N: The story will be told from Evan's point of view the entire time.. Hope you all like it! Leave some comments and rate! Sorry it took so long to get it out!)
Brendon was my best friend. We had known each other for ages. For the past two years, Brendon had fallen into depression. It wasn’t so bad that he wasn’t getting out of bed and going out, he was just noticeably thinner, had dark circles under his eyes, constantly, and the light in his eyes had been extinguished.
The cause for that depression, you may wonder? He doesn’t know. His therapist thinks it could have something to do with his mother going mental and leaving him with his drunk of a father and little siblings to take care of. And then his father, whom though he was a drunk, Brendon loved him very much, killed himself. And his siblings, whom were now grown, had cut off all communication to him.
Brendon didn’t like to talk much about it, so I never really knew what was going on in his mind. At that time, he had gotten engaged with a beautiful woman named, Sarah.
He loved Sarah and we all thought she loved him back. They lived together. One day Brendon came home early from work and found out she had been cheating on him for a few weeks.
Brendon now lives in my shabby apartment with me.
Now back to his depression. I started to notice he would only eat dinner and no other meals. I also noticed that he wasn’t sleeping; I could hear his Xbox being played at all hours of the night. I decided to confront him about it.
He acted like nothing was wrong. The strain in his eyes from staying locked in his room all the time was incredibly vibrant.
“I’m worried about you, Brendon. You’re my best friend and I would never want anything to happen to you,” I said.
“Evan. I swear I’m ok. I just need to have a while alone to get over Sarah and get back into having a life. I just need a break.”
I nodded and that was the end of the conversation.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was hiding things from me. But the man deserved his privacy. And I was going to be as respectful as possible.
Another thing one would probably like to know about, are my feelings for Brendon. Brendon was straight; I was pretty sure at that time, at least. We’ve never spoken about it. And I was straight too. But around the time when he moved in with me, I couldn’t help myself. I started to develop feelings for him. I didn’t know what to do. I was straight. I really was. I couldn’t like a guy, ever, no matter what. My parents would kill me. My family would disown me. It would just be a mess to like someone of the same sex. But I honestly could not help it. I loved his cologne. And I know it was a bit weird for him to even wear cologne, because he didn’t go out, but he did, and I loved it. His voice made my heart absolutely melt. And even though he rarely smiled, I loved when he did. The thought of him just made me happy. I would dream about us being together and doing everything together.
But anyway, I couldn’t act on those feelings. Not yet.
----------------------
A while after I confronted him about his depression, I was at work and I got a text from Brendon.
It said, Goodbye, old friend. Don’t mourn when I am gone.
I nearly leaped out of my office window right then. I ran out to my car and drove to my apartment. He wasn’t there. I was in tears. I got back in my car and thought for a minute, then for some reason I thought about a bridge we used to play at when we were little. It was just steep enough that if you jumped off of it, you would surely die. I prayed that he was still alive as I raced through the traffic to get to the bridge. And sure enough, there he was sitting on the side, just about to stand up. I got out of my car and ran to him.
“Brendon!” I shouted. I grabbed him off the side of the bridge. His arms were covered in blood. I noticed a pill container on the ledge beside where he had been standing. The container was empty. He was starting to lose consciousness. I stuck two of my fingers in his throat and he vomited up some of the medicine. I called 9-1-1 frantically and sat down holding him. He was crying. He started to scream about how awful the world was and how all he wanted was to be away from it. I took off my jacket and held it to some of the wounds on his arms.
An ambulance came and the paramedics quickly strapped him down in the back and drove off. I followed them in my car.
When I got there, they wouldn’t let me back to see him, immediately, because they were working hard to pump his stomach and to keep him from bleeding out. A nurse would come out every once in a while to reassure me that he was still alive. One nurse asked me if there was any family that they could call to come and be with him. I told her about his family situation and she just nodded and left.
After 3 hours had gone by, they finally allowed me back to see him. They put him on some medicine that must have made him tired because he was passed out. I was happy that he was alive but I knew that I should’ve taken better care of him. His nurse, named Candace, came in and told me that one of the hospital’s psychiatrists wanted to talk to me before he woke up.
I went to the psychiatrist’s office and sat at the desk in front of him. He questioned me about Brendon’s behavior in the past couple weeks and I told him how he had been secluded and how he wouldn’t tell me his feelings. The man, whose name was Dr. Charlie, then asked me about his family and his situation and what it was like for me to save him from killing himself. I told him as much as I knew and explained to him the things he was screaming about how the world was terrible when I saved him. I left out the part about me holding him.
After that, I went back to Brendon’s room and sat in a chair beside his bed. I spent the night sitting in that chair. I didn’t want to leave him. The next morning, he woke up.
“How are feeling,” I inquired.
“I’m feeling okay.” He answered quietly.
“Really, Brendon, tell me how you feel.”
“Well,” he paused a moment, “I feel terrible that I’m still here. And I feel terrible that I have to confront you about it. There’ve been things going on that I haven’t told you about, Evan. It’s not really my family situation or anything. I’ve been getting bullied online. And for some reason, I couldn’t stop myself from going back on to the website. People,” he paused again, “They made hate pages. They taunted me. It just got to my head. And a couple days ago, I got a call that my mom had passed away in the hospital where she was staying.” Tears started running down his cheeks.
“Oh my God, Brendon. I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry about your mom. And about those pages. I wish I could’ve helped you.” He reached out his hand and grabbed mine. I stared at him in amazement. He was holding my hand.
“It’s ok. You know now. You can help me now.”
