To The Moon and Back

𝟑𝟔 | 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐚

So, one morning, I said just that. I felt so proud using adult words to tell these little imbeciles to fuck off. The teacher wasn't very proud, though. Neither was my mother when she got called into school. But my dad was with her and he couldn't contain his laughter.

My mother insisted suspension upon all of my bullies and as soon as we left the room, my mother told me she was so proud of me for standing up for myself, but there are other far more appropriate words than the ones my father had told me to use.

I realized this day that my mother was my best friend. I didn't care if that sounded weird. But ten-year-old me knew that if all else fails, she will never turn her back on me.

Ten-year-old me was wrong.

Because she did.

And it wasn't even her doing that caused it. It was mine.

And so, I stare at the blade. My eyes drift over to the broken razor on the floor, pieces of plastic everywhere. The water rises around me. It's Luke-warm and I'm wearing sweatpants. The yellow light casts its bright light down upon me. The water trickles out slowly.

My phone buzzes and Rory's name appears on the screen. I pick it up off the floor next to the bath and stare at her contact picture. It's her smoking a cigarette. A photograph I captured of her during one of our late night walks.

She's laughing, the cigarette trapped between her teeth as her hands raised to shield her face, but I managed to take the picture before she could cover herself.

The picture leaves the screen and all of my notifications are displayed on the screen. Two missed calls from Rory. Five messages. Want to go for a drive? I miss you. Are you okay? Can I come over? I miss your voice.

I exhale a shaky breath before turning off my phone and tossing it across the room, watching as it collides against the wall and then falls to the tiled floor with a thud.

I feel empty.

For once, my emotions which are all over the place and too much to decipher, have disappeared. I think of her, momentarily. But I don't allow her to consume my thoughts like she once did because if I do, then I won't go through with this. And it wouldn't be because she makes me want to live—because she doesn't—but because I love her too much to put her through pain.

And what a miserable way to live would it be when only existing for someone else.

I love her.

I don't know what love is or what it means or even how it fucking feels. But I just know. I know that I love her. But no amount of love that I can manage to have for her will keep me here.

The water spills over the edge of the bathtub, pouring onto the floor. I then notice that the entire floor is drenched. I lean forward, turning the tap off. My chipped nails catching my attention. The messy little red R she put on my index finger. She has an A on hers. You can barely tell that they are letters, they look terrible.

I lie back down, closing my eyes. I inhale deeply, preparing for what I'm about to do.

Please succeed this time, I beg. Please.

I make the first line across my skin and I wince. It doesn't hurt any less. You can't stop now, you have to keep going. I go again and again. But before I can move onto the other side, I hear someone shouting my name, and I freeze.

"Atlas?" my sister's voice calls suddenly and my heart sinks. "Atlas? Are you here?"

I don't respond. The door is locked, so she can't get in. But I don't want her to have to find me again. I can't keep doing that to her.