Happy Anniversary.

3. It Never Ends.

I ignored the total of 25 texts I received in that class, instead focusing on talking to the person I really wanted to talk to.

I totally get you on the not living thing, but that doesn't ever mean you get to give up. Ever. I haven't, so you can't. And I'm sorry about your brother. Do you mind me asking how he died? Jack had responded.

My teeth scraped against my chapped lips. It was still hard for me to even type it out. Why was I even considering telling this guy? I haven't even known him for 24 hours yet. I sighed, giving the simplest answer I could.

Suicide.

Once I sent that, I got back to my work. I made the deal with myself that if I did five more problems, I could check for messages. Of course, the five I chose to do seemed to be the five hardest ones. They took me nearly twenty minutes to finish, and by then my hands were shaking in nervousness to see his reaction.

I'm not even going to say how ironically fucked up that is; I'm sure you know.

I do know, but I can't help it. I finished the rest of the questions on my paper before handing it in. The rest of the problems were fairly simple and only took me about ten minutes to complete. So, with the last fifteen minutes of class, I spent my time messaging with Jack.

I get it. My bro tried to pull something like that a few years ago. He survived, but he ran off the day he turned 18, so it's kinda like he's dead to my family.

I'm sorry. What else was I supposed to say? I didn't know, so I just sent it as is.

Don't apologize. I've kind of gotten over it...hey, you didn't hurt yourself last night, did you? He asked, changing the obviously uncomfortable subject. My stomach lurched and I felt nauseous. I didn't want to let Jack down. Such a stupid fuckup.

Before I could formulate a response, I received another message. I understand if you did. You made it clear that last night was pretty difficult and I know how hard it is to resist that sometimes. As long as you're okay now.

My fingers smoothed down my soft hair and I bit the nail of my thumb as I decided how to answer him.

Yeah, I did...I'm sorry.

Again, don't apologize. I'm gonna help you get away from that habit, okay? Here's my number: text me. I couldn't help the blinding smile that appeared when I saw the ten digits that made up Jack's phone number. So he did live in Baltimore; we had the same area code.

Quickly, I saved his number and sent him a text. Hey, It's Alex! I sent him first so he would know it was me. But, good luck with trying to get me to stop. I've been trying to stop for years.

Jack's reply was only seconds after I sent the second text. How long have you been doing this?

...3 1/2 years, about.

Alex! Hasn't anyone ever called you out on it or made you stop? Vic's face flashed in my mind, but I ignored it.

Not really. I told you, no one cares about me too much.

That's bullshit. I care and I'm sure there are others. Me and whoever else cares to help are going to help you get better. Remember, it can't be bad forever... I hated it when people said stuff like that. The cliche "It gets better" made me so angry. There comes a point where it's not just a phase anymore. I've been depressed for more than four years, and I can't really see it getting better anytime soon. I just know it's going to be something that haunts me for the rest of my life.