Dear friend,
I've been so quiet. I have no words.. I've kept secrets from so many of you- from myself even. I'm scared. The doctors have stepped up so now I can't even go to the bathroom without an escort.
I have to eat in my room just to avoid Pete even though I've never seen him.
The letters stopped coming. All I get is a trip from the CMT just to pour medicine down my throat to relax my nerves- to put me to sleep. It's like they've increased everything on me.
Ruth Ann greeted me like she always did and gave me her loving, caring smile. She was the only person who gave a shit about me in this working facility. She deserved a raise. Something. Anything.
She never pushed me for information unless I said it on my own. If it was too much, she would stop and let me breathe or think or anything to help me.
"You brought up Pete, what was he like?" she asked.
"Abusive."
"What would make you call him abusive?"
"Emotionally- not so much physically. He hated Kyle and any time he'd come around, he'd tell me that we had to go. I mean, he only ever hurt me one time. He punched me, but I did leave him for it," I explained.
She folded her hands and sat forward. "What made him hurt you?"
"I was late to see him. We were supposed to go to some cafe even though he was drunk. He claimed I had been with Kyle, not true, and, uh, he hit me pretty good."
I ended up calling Kyle and he came to get me while I waited outside. Pete had kicked me out the door and told me to fuck off and to never speak to him again."
"That sounds terrible. I'm glad that Kyle was able to rescue you from that situation. Kyle seems to always be there when you need him," she said.
After the end of the session, I walked with an aid to my room. Once at my room, she handed me a fruit cup and told me to rest easy.
I sat down on the bed, unable to eat it. Something was wrong. Something didn't feel right. I pulled my stuffed dog to my chest and closed my eyes, trying to force sleep.
Sleep never came.
All I saw was a flickering flame in the pitch darkness. I'm pretty sure it was the angel of death calling to me.
When I woke up, I rolled over to discover a Zippo Lighter. At first glance I mistook it for Kyle's, but that was not Kyle's. It was someone else's. I picked it up with trembling fingers.
Instantly I remembered. It was Pete's.
YOU ARE READING
Dear Stan Marsh
FanficArt by: Burquillos (via tumblr) Edited to become cover by me. Stan Marsh is 19 years old and suffering from depression and self-harm. He has been for a few years now, and it's become too much. Thanks to those around him, he's on the road to recovery...
