Two Broken Souls

chapter twenty-one

From the moment we are born, were told that good wins, while evil perishes. We're told that if we do good, we'll find the good in other people while evil will burn and end up miserable.

That works in theory, not so much in real life.

Teens Unite is a support group for teenagers who are thinking about, or have attempted, or have survived, suicide. The group meets on the second floor of an abandoned office building. It's the only group that didn't seem to suck from the handful of recommendations Dr. Vaughn showed me.

The Teens Unite meeting takes place in a large beige room with wood paneling and radiators that just meets on the ground floor of the building. There is a bundle of white chairs that make a circle together. It's like when we used to do fishbowls in English class.

There are two pitchers of water that sat on a folded out table with blue colored Dixie cups stacked up beside them. There are three platters of assorted cookies.

The counselor is a woman named Amy, who is a very pale woman with red hair. From the looks of it, it seems like mainly everyone here has been coming here for awhile, but for those of us who are new, Amy tells us that she I is finishing her doctorate at the local college. She runs Teens Unite for credit in order to graduate.

As each of us takes a seat, I'm thankful that I don't recognize anyone. Another reason why I picked a support group ten miles from where I lived.

I stared out the window, as Amy rambled on to hopefully start the meeting. She is reacting facts about that I already know about suicide and teenagers. A number of these kids have the slightly dull, vacant look of people on drugs, and I wonder what they're taking to keep them here and breathing.

"Who would like to start off this meeting?" Amy asked in what seemed like a customer service voice. When no one responded, I singled me out. "How about our new member, Amelia?"

I look up from my hands and stare at her. "Pass."

She gave me a stern look. The same look my teachers tell me when I say that I don't know the answer to a question. "You don't have to say much, you can just introduce yourself."

I stood up. "Alright." I mumbled under my breath.

"Hi, I'm Amelia, but I prefer to be called Mia and I've never really had a serious attempt before." I awkwardly wave to everyone. I've always hated having to talk about myself. I tuck a loose chuck of hair behind my ear and fold my hands behind my back and look at Amy. "Um, I don't really know what to say."

"That's good enough." Amy smiled. I sat back down and could feel my cheeks redden even further.

At that moment the door opened and someone ruId in, letting the cold air in with him. He offers a quick apology as he finds a seat. We all turn to the voice and Amy offers a comforting smile. "Come in, no worries, we're just getting started." The boy sits down and settles in, taking off his coat and placing it on the back of his chair. Amy nodded at him. "Enzo, why don't you start."

In a monotone voice, he recited, "I'm Enzo, I'm eighteen, I'm anorexic. And I tried pills." He stared at me while he said that and he looked kinda familiar, but I couldn't quite place where I know him from.

We definitely don't go to the same school. Maybe he's gone into Rosies diner a couple of times?

The others take their turns, and by the time we get all the way around, it's clear I am the only one here who hasn't tried to really and truly kill themself.

I find a little comfort in that, even though it shouldn't, and I can't help thinking, When I actually try, will I fail? But these people are here and they're trying to get help and they're alive. That's what should matter.

But the whole thing is heartbreaking. Between thoughts of imagining what it would be like to no longer be here and the stories of wrist cutting and hangings. Even the stories of having to spend the night in the hospital after failed attempts. I've read all about these, but hearing it from people my age makes it all too real.

"I'm OCD,"

"I'm depressed,"

"I'm a cutter," they say these things like it's completely normal.

I guess for people like us, it is.

A boy with a black beanie and obvious gray contacts says, "My aunt died in a car accident, and you should have seen the food and the sympathy." He holds up his wrists and even from a distance I can see very faint scars. I'm sure that the closer you are, the more you can see. "But when I almost died, no flowers were sent, no casseroles were baked. I was selfish for trying to end my life." The girl who sat next to him, placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a small smile.

This makes me think of Harry's father. When he died, did anyone give his family flowers? Food? Offer sympathy? Say he was in a better place?

"I think this is a good place to stop." Amy said and everyone seemed to nod in agreement. We do have another meeting next week if anyone would like to come back." I looks directly at me and my face grows red.

Everyone stood and grabbed their chair, folding it and placing them against the wall. As I took one last cookie, Amy asked me what I thought about the meeting. I told her that it was very informative. I asked if I was going to come back and I said that I would discuss it with my therapist. I told myself it was nice to meet me even if I don;t decide to come back.

I walked outside and sat on the steps in front of the building. I pulled a pack of cigarettes from my pocket, that weren't mine. Jessica asked me to hold them for her because she's pretty sure that her parents go through her stuff. I looked to see that there were only a few left, my hands shaking as I lit one up.

The silence was good, it calmed me down. Hearing all those stories mess with my head. It's like my safe place whenever something scares me. I just listen to the sound of the wind and I'm calm. I felt someone next to me and I was pulled back into my thoughts.

It was Enzo, the boy from earlier. The meeting ended almost an hour ago. What is he still doing here? "You smoke?"

"You sound surprised."

"You just don't seem like the type."

I take the cigarette out of my mouth and blow out a long breath. "That's how I get away with it." I inhale and exhale then cough a little. "What's your name?" I said in between coughs.

"Oh right, I'm Enzo Miller." He holds out his right hand.

"Mia Stovall." I shake his hand. I examined his features. It was bothering me how I couldn't place him yet.

"Anyway, some of my friends and I are going out. Do you want to come?"

I genuine think about his offer for a moment. I could use a night of fun, but at the same time, I don't really want to start friendships with people if I'm just going to leave in a couple of months.

I throw my cigarette on the ground and use the tip of my shoe to put it out. "I should really get home."