Chapter Eighteen

21 5 1
                                    


'Just go, Michelle. I'll be fine. You don't get to go to your last high-school party more than once.' Fred said, as he stumbled onto his wheelchair.

'No, let me come with you. I hate most of the people from my school anyway.' I protested.

'Even so, this is the last chance you'll have at hanging out with all of them. After this, all of you will probably go away for college and not be able to meet each other again. You don't need to worry about me. It's just a regular procedure, I'll be fine. You should go, Michelle.' he said, smiling.

I sighed.

'Fine. But I'll come back early and then we'll watch a movie together.' I said as I wheeled him towards the car.

'Deal.' he replied as mom and I helped him into the front seat.

I smiled faintly at him as my mom drove him away to the hospital. He had been laughing and joking the whole time, convincing me to go to the party. But somehow, I wasn't satisfied. I still felt like he wanted me to go with him. I had this weird feeling. For a moment, I considered ditching the party and going to the hospital anyway, but I knew Fred would be mad at me if I did that. So, I decided against it.

I freshened up and managed to drag myself to the party. As expected, it was pointless. Parties weren't my thing. Stupid teenagers, all drunk and sweaty. How could that possibly be fun?

I left within an hour, making excuses, saying my goodbyes. I would much rather be watching a movie at home. So, I drove back and barged into Fred's room as soon as I got there. But he wasn't in his room. I checked the time. The procedure should've been over by now. As I grew slightly worried, I called my mom to make sure everything was okay. After trying her cell several times and her not picking up, I became too anxious and decided to drive to the hospital myself.

A fifteen-minute ride later, I found myself at the hospital and managed to find my mom. She was sitting outside the room, her back faced towards me. As I went closer, I could see that she was shaking.

'Mom?' I uttered, too afraid.

She turned around to look at me. I gasped. Her tear-stained face was almost emotionless, her eyes tired and her limbs locked in a single position. I knew what it meant before I even asked the question. But I had to ask.

'What happened?' I asked, walking closer to her.

She didn't respond.

I repeated the question, this time more sternly.

'Michelle, he's gone.' she said in between her soft sobs. 'There was a complication in the procedure. They...'

She kept on saying something, probably explaining what had gone wrong, but I wasn't listening. My vision was blurred, but not from the tears. All my senses started to collapse. I couldn't see anything, I couldn't hear anything, I couldn't move.

I gathered all my strength to walk away from my mom. I drove myself back home. I sat in front of the T.V. and started watching the movie that Fred and I were supposed to watch together, earlier that day. I wanted to cry, but the tears refused to fill my eyes. The reality of the situation hadn't struck me yet. Halfway into the movie, I realised I wasn't even paying attention. So, I switched it off and headed back to my room. As I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, sleep came to me rather easily.

Weeks passed, but I hadn't cried. I hadn't mourned. Tears didn't make their way to my eyes even at the funeral.

But I remember the first time I cried after Fred's death. It was the day when I moved to New York. It was the first time it hit me. I was alone. And the worst part was, it wasn't going to change. I didn't get out of my bed for hours. I just sat there, crying and screaming. I kept screaming until my throat was sore. Maybe I found comfort in the fact that there was no one to hear my screams.

But now, things were different. Dylan was right outside. I still screamed, but without making a sound. Yes, it's possible. And apparently, I was getting better at it. Believe me, I tried to keep myself calm. I kept telling myself the same thing I had said to Nat, "You couldn't have known."

But somewhere in my heart, I did know. I remember feeling restless when I let Fred go to the hospital without me that day. Call it an intuition, but I knew something was off. I should've been there. He needed me. I didn't even get to say goodbye. And all that for what? A stupid party that I didn't want to go to in the first place? That day, I lost the only person who understood me, the only person I ever truly cared about.

As I snapped back to reality, I found myself standing over the drawer with the blades. I didn't even notice when I got out of the bed and walked over. I realised what I was about to do and took a step back.

'Please, don't.' I whispered.

I turned around and went to the bathroom instead. I opened the cabinet and found my old friend waiting for me there. I swiftly grasped the Prozac and shoved one in my mouth. I came back into my room.

But it did nothing. I popped another one of the green pills in my mouth. By this time, my breathing was ragged and my sobs far from quiet. I put some loud music on so that Dylan couldn't hear me, even if was in the living room. I paced back and forth. Why aren't the meds doing anything? I was getting frustrated by the second. I got a hold of the pills again and swallowed a few more absentmindedly.
Still nothing. I knew I had to wait before the meds kicked in, but I couldn't. This was the first time I was acknowledging the fact that if only I had chosen differently that day, I could've been there for my brother during his last moments. I had buried this memory so deep inside, that I had almost forgotten it ever happened.

Until today. Carly's accident, Natalie's reaction and the whole situation overall forced the old pain to resurface. I looked at myself in the mirror.

'You don't deserve peace.' I spat.

With that, I rushed back into the bathroom and stuck two of my fingers down my throat, causing myself to throw up the pills. I slowly crept near the desk again and finally opened the drawer. In that moment, all sense and reason left me. I picked up one of the blades and ran it across my wrist. I watched as blood trickled down and drops of it fell onto my desk. I smiled. It felt good. But it wasn't enough. I held the cold blade to my wrist and made a swift cut again. I shivered as pain flowed through my body, much like electricity. Still not enough, though. A third cut was made. And then a fourth. I fell to the ground, curled up and started sobbing violently.

After a few minutes, I turned my wrist to look at it. The flow of blood had slowed down. I winced as I felt a burning sensation when my salty tears fell on the cuts. The blade almost slipped out of my hand, it being covered with my own blood. But I held onto it tightly. My vision was blurred and I couldn't think straight. The only thing I knew was that the pain felt good. I needed it. I ran the blade across my wrist again. And again. And yet again. I continued the swift motions until the blade finally slipped out of my hand. I tried to pick it up, but couldn't.

My eyes widened when I realised my fingers were trembling and so was my whole body. The cuts I made were deeper than I had intended them to be. I clasped my other hand onto my wrist to stop the blood from flowing, but it wasn't working.

Shit, what had I done? I stood up from the floor frantically, not knowing what to do. My eyes were set on the red floor. There was so much blood. I didn't realise it was this much before.

Suddenly, I felt as if I was going to lose my balance. I felt tired, my eyelids were becoming heavy. I could still hear the loud music and feel the blood dripping from my wrist. I fought my need to sit down and close my eyes.

'Dylan?' I tried to call.

But my voice was almost inaudible, given the music. My head was throbbing. Everything was hazy. I staggered to the door and struggled a bit before I could open it.

'Dylan!' I managed to holler before I slumped to the ground.

I gasped for air, getting ready to call his name again, but I couldn't get enough air in my lungs. I clenched my throat as I coughed. I tried to crawl ahead, but failed. I was losing my vision, I started seeing black dots.

Is this how it ends for me? How pathetic.

'Michelle, what the fuck? Oh, my god!' was the last thing I heard in Dylan's voice before everything went dark.

I Am You Where stories live. Discover now