The Last Note

Chapter 11- Same Thoughts

"What is it?" He asks. I still look directly into his eyes and start to tear up. I do not look away. I don't open my mouth to let out a whimper. I look straight at him.

All the anger and all of the emotion stays in my body.

"Harry."

I stare at him with tears running down my cheeks. I don't smile, I don't frown. I stay stiff. My mind is set on one thing and one thing only.

Everyone left. I messed up so badly. My cold hearted personality probably did it. I never cried for anyone. I didn't cry for anything. I was selfish.

I did it to myself. I did it and didn't care what anyone else thought. I chose to do it because I deserved it. I chose to go through all the suffering because when everyone left I had no point in life anymore. I had no friends. Nobody believed a word I said anyway.

I didn't care what people thought. Or at least I thought I didn't. I didn't care if they left. But then I would stay up hours at night hurting myself, not only physically, but mentally by thinking so hard. I hurt myself.

I didn't want to be here anymore. I already tried to leave. People may have been upset but people definitely wouldn't have been head over heels distraught. I mean - because it was me.

Nothing was special. I mean I didn't do anything special at all. I didn't get extraordinary grades. I didn't go super all star athlete on anything. I didn't go for anything. I just was digging through the years around the people that actually stopped to do what they cared about. I just kept digging deeper though. Deeper in a hole going nowhere but down. Each dig mad it harder to get back up to the surface. I could have stopped earlier like the rest of them; but I didn't know.

One point I stopped digging to end it all. I was about to be crushed by the dirt falling back in on me, that was my hope, but it failed and I kept digging. I kept looking for answers. I kept looking for other people to help me. I was looking for other who were like me. But there were none. Because they didn't dig as deep as I thought they did. And I was the only one there.

Only when I hit a rock did I realize I wanted to keep digging and digging. I wanted to go past it and eventually stop myself beyond what I wanted to.

I don't think anyone realized how deeply the boy went. I don't think anyone wanted to go down deep into the hole the boy had dug to try and rescue him because if they went down to get him. They would be stuck. And if we were both stuck then someone else would have to help us out. And they didn't want to be that dumb person who tried and helped the careless boy who dug his own grave.

Because at this point I realized I was digging my own grave.

And at this moment, I finally stopped digging and I wanted to climb out.

"I still want to kill myself."

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I wake up, my vision is blurry and it's dark in the room. My head aches and my joints are numb. The door opens and somebody slips in and shuts it behind them. The only light in the room is from the glowing of the IV screen next to the bed.

The person sits down on the side of the bed opposite of the IV machine into a chair.

"Harry," the familiar voice says.

It's the man. My psychologist.

And it all makes sense to me.

I remember it clearly as can be:

•••

"I still want to kill myself," I utter. I start to cry again. I throw my head under the blankets and turn my body away from the man. I pull my legs to my chest and leave my body entwined in the blanket.

"Harry it's okay," the man says. He pulls the blanket off of me. He throws the blanket off the bed before I can grab it back and pull it on top of me. "Listen we're gonna help you get better. It's okay," he speaks. His tone is comforting but not comforting enough. I still weep into my arm which is in my face. My head is buried into the pillow.

He rubs my back and tries to comfort me as much as he can. I can't let go. Such a disappointment.

I need to tell him more stuff. But I can't. I'm sobbing and I can't stop. Such a fucking prick I think of myself.

"Leave me alone," I yell.

"Harry," the man starts. I cut him off.

"No! Just leave!" I cry. I hold my head into the pillow to muffle the crying.

The man lifts my body up from the bed and places me on the chair he was sitting in. I quickly cover my eyes by placing the palm of my hands on my forehead. I rest my elbows on my knees.

"Harry," the man says, "it's okay to cry."

No it's not.

I keep my head in my hands. I slowly stop crying. But I keep my head in my hands. I don't dare look up.

"Harry?" a voice asks.

I quickly look up to see the man now gone and a nurse in the room. "I need to give you this pill."

"What is it?" I ask.

"It's supposed to calm you down."

"Where is he?" I ask and jump out of the chair.

"He left," she says. She hands me the pill and I quickly take it with water. I now just realized I'm not attached to the IV. I guess they must have detached it when I was sleeping earlier this morning.

"Where?!?"

"The waiting room. But you're not allowed."

"Can I please just go there. Please," I beg.

"Don't be long. You need to get your rest. I'll escort you," she whispers and pulls me out of the room. She walks me past the nurses station and nods her head at a couple of nurses. They all give her a puzzled look as to why she's walking me down the hall.

When I reach the door she leaves and I slowly enter. The man is sitting on the chair facing out to the city. The ceiling to floor windows help illuminate the almost dark room. I sit down on the chair to the left of his facing out toward the city of bright lights.

"Why did you leave?" I ask, staring out to the city below. The cars passing by. Bright lights from the high rises in the distance and close by.

"You told me to. I couldn't see you like that anymore anyway."

I turn my head to him. He's looking down at the busy streets. His face full of sadness.

"Why did you give me the pill?" I ask.

"Because you haven't cried like that in so long that you could've done something bad to hurt yourself. You needed to be controlled. Even now we have to pay close attention to your actions. Tomorrow morning I will be coming in a little bit earlier because I need to take note of your thoughts and what-not. But I gave you the pill so you didn't hurt yourself."

"Well um.. Mr.. Sir?"

"What?" He responds.

"Thank you."

"Dr. Tate," the man mutters.

"What?" I ask. Is that the name of my doctor that decided to put my casts on? Who put me through hell and back? Who was annoyed at me? "My doctor?"

"No. Call me Dr. Tate," the man says as he rises out of his seat, "get some rest now. I'll be in early tomorrow morning." He walks out of the room and I walk back to my room and quickly fall asleep.