Saving Angelo

Sixteen - It's a Small World.

Chapter Sixteen.

At 9:15pm I finally come out of surgery, with extended damage to 3 of my already broken ribs and another major artery burst, and as I'm being wheeled back to my room, I groggily awaken from the anaesthetic to see the surgeons exchanging anxious looks over my head.

That's reassuring.

Back in my room, I'm yet again given no other option than to lie pitifully in my bed, staring blandly at the white-washed ceilings, mulling up a few more depressing thoughts.

The first thing that springs to mind is my last waking moment.

The same thought runs on repeat in my head, again and again, dizzying my consciousness and forcing me to close my eyes for an irrational fear of getting vertigo.

It plays over and over, almost forbidding me to disregard it even in the slightest, like a desperate salesman relentlessly knocking on your door, even after you blatantly tell them you're not interested.

If only I didn't see the salesman as my father, rather than knocking politely at the door he was kicking it, sending blow after blow, each strike followed with sly, sharp whisper, egging me to the bottom of the pit.

You sneaky little shit, I imagined him sneering. You think you can kid yourself with those hypocritical thoughts – at some points believing you deserve to live, and at most other times thinking you're the scum of the earth – but I see through it all, boy.

You think you don't deserve this life, after what you are, what you've done to this family. You think it's all your fault. And you're right.

It's all your fault boy, everyone's dead, and it's all because of you.

But you can't die. You don't have it in you.

Everything you do, everything you are, it all comes down to one point. One selfish, egocentric point.

That it's your fault, and you can't stand living with yourself, and you've lost the will for anything anymore, and it's so bad you wish death upon yourself.

But do you think, boy? Do you even think of your father, waiting for you to come home and care for him? Do you think about what I'll do when you're gone?

Whatever happens, it's on you, Angelo. Because if I come to harm when you're gone, it's your fault. Just like Mary and Charlie's deaths, mine will also be on your hands, because you weren't there to take care of me.

I know you won't be able to stand that, boy. You can't stand the thought of another family member's death, even if you're long gone when it happens.

That's why you won't do it. You won't kill yourself, in the end. Because I'll always be there, in your conscience, watching over your shoulder. I'll always be there to remind you that it's all your fault.

And because the thought of other's deaths prevents you from your own.

That's your weakness.

Unknown's POV

It's dark.

So unbelievably dark. The lobby, the hallway, the staircase, the landing, and the apartment floor.

It's all dark.

You'd think at ten o'clock at night they'd have a little lighting in my block of flats, but then again, I shouldn't be surprised. It's a shitty council flat. It'd be delusional to think I can get home without falling down the stairs.