(Don't) Leave Me Alone •twenty one pilots-Tyler Joseph•

forty four//i can tell you had bad dreams last night

||Charlotte Robin Dun|| First Person||

I dream of him. I dream of him and his warm brown eyes filled with hurt and pain and sadness. I dream of the light draining from his eyes all over again as he dies, but I dreamt before that. I dreamt of a happier person with the stars shining in his irises, I dreamt of him being him all over again.

"You know something?" Ryan raises his eyebrows at me with a small smile quirking his lips up. I hum in response, smiling up at him. "I miss you." It's a dream, it's so obviously a figment of my imagination, but I take what I can get; it's good enough for me.

"I miss you, too, Ry." I tell him honestly, intwining our fingers together into a locked grasp. I could feel his warm palm enclosing my small hand in his, I could feel the callouses that the old guitar strings on his old acoustic gave him, I could feel him. He was so close to me and I could feel every single inch of him except for his breath. "Come back."

"You know I can't do that." He sighs sadly, stroking a strand of hair behind my ear easily. "I want to, so badly."

I try to forget about how much I miss him and how impossible it is to bring the dead back to life. It makes me feel physically sick that someone so young and golden like Ryan would be ripped out of his life so violently because he deserved more. I know he does. He deserved more than dying in a drunken state in an alleyway because he tried his best to protect those that he cared for. He deserved more than being shot to death while his intentions were so pure and innocent. He deserved more than having a picture of him from Grade 12 being published on News channels during the ongoing search for the criminals that murdered him in cold blood. He deserved so much more than what he was given, and that makes me think that if I could, I would trade places with him on a heartbeat.

"Let her go." The man with and arm barring me in and a pistol barrel pressing into my temple hesitates for a moment before he reluctantly moves the gun from the compromising position it was in against my head. I barely get to let out a breath of air before they're firing multiple shots of bullets, spraying them, and I'm dropping to the ground with my arms over my head, biting my thumb to hide how badly I'm about to scream. Ryan actually does scream, a guttural one, and I'm looking up long enough to see his limp and bullet riddled body slowly sliding down the brick wall.

My heart stops.

My world stops.

Ryan Mistry. The pudgy boy in fifth grade being pushed in a sand box. The skinny, braces face in seventh grade being shoved into the girls' bathroom. The fifteen year old boy failing tenth grade math. Things that I've gone through with him- prom because everyone else thought we were dating and didn't ask us, flag football, late movie nights, two AM junk food runs- flash before my eyes and make me see stars. My throat closes up and every fibre in me urges me to go to him, comfort him.

I have no real purpose or meaning being here, alive and physically well. I have nothing to live for anymore because everything pure and beautiful that I wanted and needed was yanked harshly away from my being. I don't have a desire to do anything with my life anymore but sleep away the medication that I'm forced to take so I can function normally because suddenly, I can't do even that on my own. I'm a mess that can't do anything and probably won't do anything right if I could. I should have been the one to die that night because I'm one hundred percent sure that Ryan would do more good in my memory with his time here than I ever will. I'm not good enough to be chosen over him, so why? Why am I alive when he isn't?

I wake up the morning of December 15th with a stomach ache coiling in the pits of my gut that I bet won't go away along with these morbid thoughts plaguing my mind. I wake up to the chilly air of my room with tired eyes and a loss of appetite. Even the biggest victory doesn't seem so exciting.
I clutch the giant toy in my chest as I scan the room with heavily lidded eyes, sleep still keeping me trapped in its tight clutches. My sight is the slightest bit blurry still considering I woke up no more than five minutes before, finding the huge Goofy toy that Tyler Joseph won for me back in November hanging off of the side of my bed. I lean my back against the headboard and stare out the window tiredly, my eyes locking onto the lush, green leaves hanging off of the branches of the tree outside my window. The wind blows the leaves lightly, leaving a soft and somewhat melodic sound behind. Everything seems so peaceful this early morning, probably because I'm leaving.