Dirt

37

Knox

Our school was big enough, rough enough, that suicide wasn't something that anyone lost any sleep over. Of course, it was sad, disheartening. It brought posters and announcements and discussions. All of it was tossed away without a second thought. 

We should've known

My friends didn't think about it. When it happened they would say some shit like 'poor bitch' or 'think it was for attention? She would do that' and when the announcement aired 'i hate having to listen to this bullshit like it's going to stop anything. God, just tell us what's for lunch'. The last thing was mostly right. Nothing ever worked because no one ever changed. 

We should've known.

As a gay man, I knew it closer. No myself, personally, though there nights I never wanted to wake up from. I'm not one for relationships, but the few boyfriends I had didn't live life so happily. I knew about the anti-depressants, the therapists, the breakdowns. I tried to help but it never felt like I could do anything. I didn't ever do anything.

We should've known.

We should've -I should've- known to be careful. Princeton wasn't okay. He defended his dad with his life over everything. Even with the stitches in his arm and the cast on his hand. 

We should've known.

Turning your parent into the police isn't something I ever had to do -Mom got caught herself. I didn't have to talk until the police came to us for a statement. I only spoke facts, no emotion necessary with the evidence piled around the house. I didn't feel as bad as I should because I wasn't turning in my mom. I was turning in the woman who called herself my mother. Two different people, two different accountabilities. 

We should've known.

He didn't even go back to his own house. He was both legally obligated to stay away and he never left the motel room. He didn't want to interact or talk or be in other's presence. He didn't go to cards or school. He sat on that disgusting motel bed in the room he was sharing with his brother. Lifeless. Broken. 

I should've known. 

We didn't know what day his dad would be arrested. We didn't know if he knew.

I should've known. 

He wasn't lifeless when I came to visit him. I tried to stay romantically away, I tried to stay emotionally away. But one week was too much to stay away. Even if it was for the greater good. I just needed to have one good thing. One simple thing to become stable. It was selfish.

I should've known. 

He sat there on the other bed, opposite to me, blinking numbly with no color in his cheeks. His hair was matted, dark bags under dull, flat green orbs that aren't the normal emeralds sparkling in his eyes. All his bruises were fading into gross yellow and green blotches that covered his body. His cast was already yellowing, a t-shirt covering the stitches from a broken bottle. 

I should've known.

He didn't speak while I spoke. Even when I struggled for words and expressions so he could truly understand the storm inside. Maybe it's because he had his own tsunami or maybe he just didn't care. 

I should've known.

In the end, I was panting and breaking and praying he would just say something. But he didn't.

I should've known.

He just shook his head, got up from the bed, and padded over to the motel door. He pulled it open and blinked at me uncharismatically. I took the hint.