Amy's Purpose (Final Draft)

Chapter Four

I wrote a poem for this story. I felt like I should add it on this chapter.

Do you ever think about how it all went wrong

How you used to think in daydreams and happiness

How you use to smile at the world

How you used to skip on the street?

Do you ever think about the moment it changed

The moment the world seemed darker

The moment the world seemed colder?

Do you ever think about the way things were

before you saw sadness and death

before the world changed from good to bad?

Jay felt the worst he had ever felt in his entire life. He had secluded himself into his room, much like he normally had before, but now he wasn't eating, he wasn't sleeping. He was constantly staring at his ceiling, his wall, the darkness, and trying to drown out his own thoughts, but nothing was helping. He could listen to all the music he wanted, he could paint all he wanted, but he would eventually have to sit still, and that's when his thoughts would run wild. He would suddenly find himself staring at his ceiling, and then it would happen.

Amy, the party, Amy, the party, dying, Amy, dying, Amy, the party. It was constant, never-ending. His walls looked as if they were closing in; he couldn't breathe anymore. He couldn't ask for help. He was stuck. He was stuck here, and she was where he wanted to be.

He found himself curled into a ball in the corner of his room one night. He hadn't slept in two days, his eyes were burning, his stomach was empty, but his thoughts were still there. Get up, Jay, he would tell himself. But he couldn't. He could only stare ahead, transfixed. He couldn't make his body move. He hadn't showered in days. Everything was crumbling down around him. He rocked back and forth, the hardwood cold under his bare feet, but he couldn't feel it. He stared into the darkness, willing his brain to shut down, willing himself to forget.

The party flashed in his brain. It had been a New Year's party, one he hadn't even wanted to go to, but he went to make his mother happy. One of her work friends had a kid his age that was throwing a party, and it had all gone down from there. He wiped his face, taking deep breaths in.

"It's over, Jay," he whispered quietly to himself. "It's over."

It wasn't. No matter how many times he told himself, he would continue to relive it. And if he wasn't thinking about the party, Amy's glazed over eyes were flashing across his mind. Her broken body, lifeless. Her pleas. All of it. It was maddening.

"It's over," he said again. "It's over. It's over."

It had only been a few weeks, and yet he had not had a good night's sleep since then. He had tried that first night but he had woken at the sound of a car crashing, ran to his window, and upon realization that it had been in his dream, he had sat where he was sitting now. This was where he was, and he didn't know if he would ever be able to get up from the ground. The thought alone sent him spiraling once more, and he leaned against the wall, tilted his head up to the ceiling, and closed his eyes.

So many thoughts inside of his head, and no way to get them out. So many things that he could not say, so many things that he could not do. He wanted nothing more than to forget, but what then? Something would be missing, and he would feel this same hollow feeling that he always felt. If he forgot her, she would be gone, her death would be gone. But if he didn't forget her, he would never get out of his own head.

He didn't know when he fell asleep, he suspected it must have come soon given that he hadn't slept in a while, but he let out a ragged breath, and turned over on the floor, his cheek pressed against the cold hard-wood. He was dreaming, but it was more like a nightmare. He rolled onto his back on the floor, gasping for breath.