sickly (dylan o'brien a.u.)

e i g h t

e m e l i a

i found myself in an even more bitter mood after my chat with dylan. he kept roping me in, feeding me all these words of solace and comfort, and just as he began to lean onto me for the same reassurance, he would pull himself away and take on a stony resolve. the way he was acting would help neither of us, but i didn't want to keep my distance from him. even though seeing him earlier this morning had soured my day considerably, it had also bettered it.

i couldn't explain the effect he had on me. he made me feel something different - something brand new.

there was also something brand new in my mother's room. hanging on the wall beside her bed, there was a calendar. there were red poppies on one half of the calendar and dates on the other, one of the boxes circled with a red magic marker. upon closer inspection, i realized this was to be the day my mom's life support would be shut off and we would be killng her. but only if she didn't wake up. red x's cut through two of the month's boxes, indicating that those were the days gone by.

"good morning, em," my dad spoke from behind me, a cheap, watery hospital coffee in his hand.

"what kind of sick joke is this?" i pointed at the calendar, tempted to rip it off the wall.

"no joke, emmy. dr. rosen sent down a psychiatrist from the psychiatric ward to help us cope with the... the passing." he seemed to come down at the thought of her death, but perked back up a bit as he continued to speak. "the doctor she sent us was great. he was so kind. dr. rosen really does care for our family nicely here... but anyhow, he said that putting a calendar up and marking down the days until the day would help us become prepared both mentally and physically. although, of course, nothing can truly prepare us for your mother's death, em, that's what dr. wills said..." i watched as he spieled on and on about the fabulous dr. wills. it drove me mad.

by the time he left to go find a doctor to ask a question to, i was not only annoyed, angry, and upset, but the fact that my mother could very well be dead soon (twelve days, exactly) had really begun to sunk in.

and it continued to sink.

it sunk so deeply that it was forcing my mind to conjure up images of empty birthdays, holidays, graduations, and weddings without my mom beside me. it forced me to picture a somber mother's day, spent at a grave site, marked by a stone with her name engraved, instead of spent at home with ways to spoil her. the reality of her being really gone was truly a punch in the gut, and made me realize something that had always been in my mind; i just didn't want to face it.

i didn't want to live in a world without my mother. and, really, she was already gone. i knew what i had to do.

i emerged from the hospital room, the calmest demeanor i could manage about me. no one gave me a second glance. as soon as i reached the back stairwell, i could be free to move in a way that expressed the panic i was feeling. but if i wanted my plan to work, i would have to stay normal.

i pushed open a door, closing myself into the stairwell. i began to take the stairs up, running up them as fast as i could go. i was almost to my destination when i plowed into dylan for what seemed like the billionth time.

"emelia?" he spoke dazedly. "where are you going?"

i didn't answer, just kept running up the stairs. i heard him calling after me, but it didn't matter. i was going to do this.

a sign on the wall had pointed me into the right direction. i pushed open another door that was at the staircase's end, and a gust of warm wind blew onto my face, swirling my hair around.

i was on the roof.

i stared at my feet as they crept along the roof, bringing me carelessly to the edge of the building. i peered down at the busy parking lot below. a world without mom, i reminded myself when an uneasy feeling rose in my gut. that's no place you'd want to live.

i stepped onto the lip of the building, trying to stuff down a surge of guilt that had washed over me when i suddenly remembered my father. what would this do to him? losing both me and my mother? no, i spoke to myself again. this is about you and your happiness, no one else's.

just as i lifted my right foot to step off the side, a pair of hands grabbed me from behind and pulled me away. i started to cry. "what are you doing?" i shouted, thrashing about. "let me go! i want to die! i want to die! i have to!" i cried, feeling my throat close with tears. "please!" i looked up through watery eyes to see dylan grasping tightly onto me, he himself crying.

"what are you doing, emelia?" his weak voice shattered any determination i had left in me to kill myself. it sounded so hurt and broken that i couldn't have pried myself from him and thrown myself off that ledge even if i tried.

but this was one question i had an answer to. "i don't know anymore."