The Young And The Hopeless || Cashton

Entry xiii

Ashton's POV (Thursday)

I don't know how long it's been, all I know is I've been in my room for the past couple of days, only leaving for a cup of water or two a day and to go take a piss. I haven't eaten in days, I haven't slept, I haven't showered. I just stayed on my bed wondering why it happened to Michael. Out of all people, why him? He never complained about anything, he never complained about being so sick, he never complained about not having many friends or how he had to take a shit ton of medications to keep him alive. He never complained about anything, so why, out of all people, him?

I'm meant to go see him today; but he won't be able to see me. I'm meant to go talk to him today; but he won't reply to me. I'm meant to be there; walking, speaking, reading, sitting, but he, he won't be able to do any of that. He'll be lying still on the casket while everyone around him is trying to get a grip and not break down. Some will fail, some won't. That's how a funeral works.

But in all honestly, I didn't want to go. Of course I didn't want to go, this is -- was my best friend. He shouldn't be lying there, he shouldn't have had to go through the years of pain cancer put him in.

"Lucky if he lives for another two weeks," they said. It repeated into head all the time. He wasn't lucky enough to live through those days.

At one point he got better. They said it was gone. They said he'll make it. They fucking lied. All they ever do is lie.

When he called me, he told me it got worse. He told me it happened about a month or two ago, but he didn't want me to worry about him. He didn't want to feel like a burden. He wasn't though; he was my best friend, he was the only person who meant the world to me, other than Bambi. He told me it was too late now, that it's already spread, that they can't stop it at this point. He told me he was sorry for not telling him earlier, he didn't want to see me crying over someone like him. He never believed he was good enough, but he was, he always will be.

He sounded weak, he looked weak, he lost weight. He was too light. Carrying him, cuddling him, touching him in general scared me a little on the inside because I was so scared I'd hurt him. He told me not to worry, he told me it was fine, he told me I wasn't hurting him. It gave me some hope; hope he'd be able to get better, hope he'd be able to make it once more. Though it was all wishful thinking.

Before I knew it, he couldn't move much, he got tired easily, he could barely speak, he couldn't eat, he couldn't do anything. He only felt pain, it showed on his face. He tried to put on a smile, though. He wanted us to see him happy for the last time. He wanted the best for all of us, for us to be okay, but how could we be okay?

I wanted to cry at the though of him not being here anymore. I can't go over to play video games anymore, I couldn't . I wanted my best friend, but that's selfish of me. He's in a better place, a place where hurting does not exist, but only happiness and peace existed.

I got up, despite not wanting to.