I entered the hospital with my head held low and a sad look smeared across my face. I made my way towards the elevator when I saw a man running to it, attempting to catch it before it closed. I glanced at the close doors button and pressed it; I didn't want to be in the elevator with some asshole. I reached the tenth floor and was greeted by the receptionist, Lori.
"Good morning Emmanuel," she said smiling. I knew it was fake; she thinks I'm bonkers.
"Morning." I replied nonchalantly, approaching Dr. August's office door when she called out to me.
"Oh he's not here yet," she started. "He should be here soon," she reassuringly smiled. I shrugged my shoulders and entered his office anyway, twiddling with my fingers and awkwardly looking around. He had plenty of pictures in here; of him and his wife, his family, and trophies. I ran my finger over the many books he had stacked onto shelves, most of which were covered in dust when I found one sitting on top, halfway opened. I pulled it down, staring at the cover. It was his high school yearbook.
I flipped through the pages, finding nothing interesting, and remembering those bitches from high school. They were terrible people, who deserved nothing less than to die a slow and painful death. Very slow. I quickly turned the pages remembering someone, I saw his quirky yearbook picture, the one he complained about so much. I told him he looked absolutely adorable, but of course it was the people who had to put him down. Those fuckers who wanted nothing more than to see him frown, saying all those mean things about us, lowering our self-esteem as much as possible. I valued him more than anything in that worthless ass school; he was my best friend. He always said I made him feel nice inside, but they kept getting into his head. Screwing with him, telling him he was nobody, and if he died no one would care. A tear rolled down my cheek as I bit my lip, remembering those awful days.
I froze once I heard the doorknob jiggle, and Dr. August's voice on the other side of the door. I sat the yearbook back on the shelf and hurried to the seat in front of his desks, wiping my eyes quickly.
"Good morning Emmanuel, I'm so sorry I'm late; I over slept." I nodded, reassuring him that it was fine. He sat in his chair and opened up my file.
"Well, let's get back to where we left off. I want to talk about your friend that died," he said sternly. I could tell he wasn't up to me asking all the questions today. I needed to require as much of his new information as possible. I was going to lie about most of this stuff anyways, he'll never suspect a damn thing.
"We were close, we were both bullied all through high school for the same reasons," I started and he stopped me.
"What were the reasons?" He asked, clicking his pen down prepared to take notes.
"We were both outcasts, and homosexuals." He paused for a minute, but he didn't look up at me. He nodded and continued to write.
"These assholes, excuse my French, would bully us constantly. Beat us up, call us fags in front of majority of the student body, and just make our lives a living hell everyday. We bonded over Facebook, sharing many of the same interests and then later finding out we went to the same school. We became the best of friends, but because of us being gay that little bitch Chr-Charlie," I said quickly, catching myself. "He took it as a chance to humiliate us even more, so one day at lunch he announced that we were dating to the whole cafeteria. Ray.. Rayshawn cried for hours in the janitor's closet. I for one, didn't care because I began to grow feelings for him. The following week, when Charlie came back from suspension, Rayshawn was late for school. I was worried sick because he wasn't answering any of my texts or calls when he usually responds ASAP, I knew something was wrong. He came to school during second period, terribly bruised: his left eye was swollen, his lip was busted, and he had a series of bruises and bumps along his arms and face. Charlie and his friends had beat him up when they saw him walking to school. I told him to tell someone, so they would pay for it.. but he refused he didn't want them to hurt him more if they ever came back."
"The next day, I decided to walk with him to school so he wouldn't have to face them alone, because I knew I couldn't fight them off. I knocked on his door Wednesday morning and his mom answered the door, asking me to take him his lunch because he hadn't come down to get it yet." I bit my lip, as tears burned the brim of my eyes. "I called his name as I walked up the stairs, when I heard him blasting music so he probably couldn't hear me. I turned off the radio on his dresser and looked around his room for him. I checked the bathroom, under the bed, in his den, so I assumed he was hiding. He was such a big baby. But when I opened the closet door... he was there, hanging from the pole." My voice cracked and tears raced down my face. I covered my face with my hands, sobbing.
"He hung himself. He left a note saying that he loved me, his mother, baby brother and sister. He said that in heaven, Charlie couldn't hurt him anymore. That's when my depression started.. the week of his funeral. When I saw his body in the casket, lifeless and pale, I knew the events that had just happened were real and not some elaborate dream." I felt Dr. August's arms wrap around me, patting my back and rubbing my arm. He handed me a tissue and allowed me to cry all over his suit.
"I'm so sorry." He whispered, comforting me. I then realized who this was holding me, Chresanto August, "Charlie". I pushed him away, wiping away my tears with the back of my hand.
He copied down more notes as I stared out the window. For a moment, I thought I saw Ray, he was smiling at me and for a moment I smiled too. I thought about what I told Dr. August, he was the first person who knew the truth about Ray. Even though I hated him with a burning passion, it was good that he knew.
"I love you Ray." I mumbled.
"The session's over Emmanuel." He said with a sniffel. I pulled up my hoodie and exited the building, without looking or saying anything to anyone. I got in my car and opened the glove department, pulling out a picture of Ray and I that his mom took. I kissed my fingers then touched the picture, and pulled out of the parking lot.
I arrived at my apartment, warming myself up some food and running a bath. I ate and sat in the hot water, letting it relax me. I stared at the razor sitting on my sink.
"Don't do it Jay." The voice in my head said, I knew that voice all too well.
"I need it Ray." I repliied, grabbing the razor and rougly sliding it down my skin. I watched the blood trickle down my arm, and into the water making it a pastel red color. I dried myself off and cleaned the wound I had just made, covering it with a bandage. I could feel him shaking his head in disapproval.
"I thought you stopped that; you need to stop."
"I needed it Ray." I whispered, sitting on the floor and gazing up through my sun roof, staring at the stars.
