Ayla Grey
People don't seem to realize how much pain a person has to be in to put a gun to their head or a razor to their wrists. I've done it. The blood that seeps from the wound, that runs down your wrist, it seems to carry the hurt with it and there's almost this moment of relief. After a while, the pain numbs but the relief blood brings doesn't fade away. A smile doesn't seem to mean much anymore, no one ever knows it's fake. You put on an act just so people don't notice your pain but at the same time you're trying to hide it, another part of you wants to cry for help because you're tired of feeling this way. Depression has taken over my life. I cannot feel anything, anymore. I feel I'm drowning in my sorrows, that my tiniest issues are suffocating me. My misery chokes me like a noose.
I stare at the girl in the mirror. She's disgusting. She's ugly. She's fat. She's me. Black streaks trail down my cheeks from running mascara. My eyes are so blood shot, they're basically just pure red. My mouth is sore from sobbing and the migraine I have feels like someone's smashing a hammer into the side of my head...if only. I grab the razor shape blade from my sink and smash it into my wrist. I drag it across slowly. Red hot blood rushes down my wrist and I yank out the blade then slam it into my wrist again and pull it, hard and quick. Over and over and over again.
Suddenly, a knock comes to my door.
"Ayla?" Eric calls. I gasp when I hear the door start to open.
"Don't come in!" I shout. "I'm naked!"
He slams the door immediately. "Sorry!"
"I'll be out in a second...ju-just hang on!" I call shakily. I grab the plaid, checkered scarf that's hanging on the door. I step onto the shower step and tie a loop in the scarf. I throw the loop over my head and it hangs form my neck loosely. I stretch up on my toes and tie the end to the shower rod. I hold the scarf in my hands and just start sobbing uncontrollably. I look back to the door remembering the guy I once called my best friend, who's standing in my room, waiting for me. I sob aloud, my breath is shaky. "Goodbye Eric."
Eric Holter
Have you ever felt so horrible about yourself, you wanted to smash a blade in your stomach so people would never have to see your face again? Have you ever felt so worthless, you held a gun to your head? Have you ever broken down and just begged for everything to just end? Life didn't turn out the way I thought it would, I didn't turn out the way I thought I'd be. I didn't expect to feel like I had no other option to escape myself other than taking my own life. Would that make me a murderer? I mean, technically I'm killing someone, but does it count if it's yourself?
I climb out to the ladder of my apartment and up to Ayla's six floors up. I lift her window open and climb through. The dark purple walls are covered in posters and pictures of her favourite bands. Her computer sits open on her tumblr. Clothes are scattered all over the room but no Ayla. I notice the white bathroom door is shut.
I walk up to it and knock gently. I start to open it. "Ayla?"
"Don't come in! I'm naked!" She screams.
I curse under my breath and shut the door quickly. "Sorry!" I sigh then pace around her room waiting for her to come out. I slowly walk around her room, just studying the walls. I reach her makeup dresser and notice an open book. I press my eyebrows together and read the page.
Eric noticed me for the first time in six years. It was nice I guess until I got back here. Ronnie came over again...this is the third time he's done it. The fat bastard, he has my mother to do that with! He's not suppose to do it to me! I fucking hate this. I can't do this anymore.
I know I shouldn't read her journal but this concerns me. I skip to the most recent page. It was written today.
Today's the day. I can't do this...as much as I wish I could make it, I can't. Mom wouldn't care, Ronnie sure as fuck wouldn't. I don't have friends to care for me, just Eric. But he's so popular, I'm just dust to him. So, I guess this is my last time writing in this. Goodbye.
My heart races. Oh my god. I suddenly hear gasps for breath, like someone's choking. FUCK! I bolt to the closed bathroom door and twist the knob. I body check it open and swing it shut to the shower. My stomach instantly feels like it just fell onto the floor.
Ayla's hanging from the rod, kicking her legs trying to pull herself out of the chokeholed.
Immediately, I book it over to her and pick her up so she's higher. I yank the thing from her neck trying to loosen the noose she's created. I rip it off her then I slip off the wet step.
A small yelp slips through my lips and I smash my knee off the ground but my hand breaks my fall while I clench Ayla in my arm. She shoves me as hard she can and fights her way out of my grip. I turn onto my back and she crawls back away from me as if I tried to hurt her.
"WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT ERIC?!" she screams at me, sobbing uncontrollably. "YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! I WAS ALMOST DEAD! WHY WOULD YOU KEEP ME FROM IT?!"
Seeing her desperation to die breaks me. Tears instantly form in my eyes and I shake my head, not knowing what else to do.
Her big ocean eyes dart towards the bathtub on the other side. I follow her eyes and see a half empty bottle of pills. She starts to scramble to her feet.
"NO!" I scream. Without thinking, I just scramble towards her. I throw my arms around her chest and yank her back into me.
She lets out a small cry and I grunt as I hit the floor. Ayla thrashes under my hold and tries to fight me, bawling her eyes out.
Tears rush down my cheeks but I don't budge. I tighten arm around around her while she keeps fighting.
"Let me go!" She shouts.
I ignore her and just keep a tight hold on her.
"Eric!" she pleads, sobbing. "Eric, please! Let me go!"
I shake my head. "I can't do that." I whisper.
Her fight becomes weaker and weaker and she eventually breaks down and stops, just crying.
I rest my head on top of hers and rock her back and forth. I try to keep my breath as steady as possible, so she doesn't notice I'm crying myself. Eventually, I just stop trying. I exhale a shaky breath as tears stream down my cheeks. I tighten my arms around her gently, so I don't break her frail, fragile body.
She holds onto my forearms and rests her head on my bicep. "I want to die..." she whispers. "I want to die..."
