If I Stay » Parker

who i hurt

six;
who i hurt.

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WHO I HURT if I were to leave wouldn't be myself; I realized this while watching my best friend cry over my nearly lifeless body. No, dying would probably be the easiest on me. Stepping over the line into a void of nothingness would be the most effortless action. Residing in a life that was trouble free, painless and tranquil seemed more than appealing, but I realized that it wasn't all about what would be easiest for me. It would be about the troubles, pain, and chaos I'd leave behind while I accepting my new life.

In a lot of ways, death is harder for the living than it is for the dying.

I liked to believe in a heaven, a place where everyone who'd done their time in the world could happily rest for eternity. If there wasn't anything more to look forward to, then what made it all worth it? I knew that by believing in something, at least I'd be better off if there was actually a heaven than those who didn't believe at all. My whole life, this idea had seemed wonderful to me; the idea of never having to deal with sorrow or despair ever again. But now that it faced me, I didn't want it. I wasn't sure if I was ready to let go of my life, of my loved ones.

It almost felt selfish to even think about leaving the world behind. I knew that there was so much more I wanted to do, to make a change, to make a difference. And to leave Clara or Peter or Liam behind would completely tear me apart, and watching me go would completely destroy them.

I wasn't quite ready to say goodbye. As much pain as I felt at the thought of having to live without my parents, I tried to remind myself that there were still people waiting for me, holding onto hope that I would return. All I would be doing, to die, would be passing the pain I felt onto another person.

And so I waited another day.

Another day in that awful hospital. They had finally moved me into a normal residence room; a space that was barely more welcoming than the intensive care unit, but it at least had some privacy and a place for me to sit. A small, brown chair in the corner of the room was where I planted myself for most of the time, knees pulled to my chest and my arms wrapped around my legs.

My eyes flickered between staring my body and watching whatever program was on the television, which was usually either the news or some cheesy soap opera that the nurses kept on. It was difficult to keep myself entertained, and the time seemed to pass by slower than ever. Sometimes, I would stand in the doorway of my room and just watch as people passed by, listened to the staff's conversations, or try to get people to notice me, even though I knew it wouldn't work.