Mental [#Wattys 2015]

Chapter 6

I didn't want his lips to haunt my dreams.

I didn't want to see them; full, pink, and inviting.

But when I shut my eyes, all I saw was his lips. But instead of how I admired them, I saw them

Cold, cracked, blue.

I shot up from my sleep, sweating buckets.

Maybe Blue was becoming a more fitting name than I thought.

Tossing and turning, around 4pm I realized I was not getting any sleep.

So, like every patient here seemed to do,

I snuck around.

Instead of sneaking into the men's ward to see Ricky, I found myself out side of Mel's room.

She, of course, was awake.

"Can't sleep either?" She whispered.

I shook my head.

She took my hand; a small gesture that made me flinch. She was so sweet, so kind, inside out. How could she endure that much pain?

We crawled to the stairs leading to the roof. I planted myself on a step, mentally exhausted.

"Now you know." She said.

"Yeah," I let out a breath, "and it's shitty."

She looked up aimlessly, "Yep, life is."

"Mel, what would you have done without your brother?" I asked bluntly. They were a blunt pair; the two of them. No bullshit; just ask.

She sighed, a slight glaze moving over her features.

"I would've done the same."

My thoughts were blank. Yeah, I've been affected by suicide. But, never affected to the point of dying myself because of someone else's death. It defeated the purpose.

Or maybe, that person just wasn't my purpose.

"Have you ever tried?" I found myself asking.

She nodded, "Yeah, I think my first attempt was when I was nine. Nine. I barely even knew what life was. But I was ready to end it."

She seemed so ashamed.

"And you don't attempt anymore?"

"No, I guess I realized that suicide is like a group project-everyone's involved. What you out in, you get out. And everyone's effected in the end."

"I thought that if I killed myself I'd be happy. But, if I did, my brother would be broken. And he's shared the workload with me; maybe even got more shit. I wouldn't want all that to be worth nothing, you know?"

I was blown away. She was so intelligent; so wise. Like she was an 80 year old in a teenage body.

I thought about what she said, and thought,

What did she think when she found her brother?

I was so interested I couldn't stop myself from asking.

She took a deep breath, " I was surprised. By that time, I'd attempted more than twenty times. This was his first. And I thought, wow, what happened? Because that's the shit part to it-I expected it to happen one day. It was bound to happen. In my opinion, he got it worse."

My heart felt like it was slit open. Their life was shit; and they deserved so much more.

She kept talking, "He told me once that he was saving his one attempt for something extreme. I almost wished I didn't call the cops. Because after, he was so guilty. He cried non stop. He was angry. He was insane, really. I couldn't see him like that. One day, he asked if he could have a favor. I said yes. He put a knife in my hand, and nodded, telling me to do it fast. I felt like throwing up. Because this role was unfamiliar; he was the one that did the protecting. But now he was the victim. And let me tell you, both roles suck."