For You

III

**You Attempted Suicide!**

You know those white screens you see in movies where the main characters are trapped inside? I don't see those. I don't see mythical creatures. I don't see my body lying dead either.

Is death supposed to smell like medicine and antibacterial spray? Or is it supposed to come with a beep! Beep! Beep! Sound. Wait, what?

I try to open my eyes but I can't.

It's too heavy. I can only smell and hear. Even my lips feel locked and my voice seems so out of reach. My throat is dry too and scratchy.

I hear crying. I hear sobs. It's silent and soft at the same time. I shouldn't know whose it is but I do. It's Wesley's.

And then it hits me. I failed. I failed. I fucking failed at committing my own suicide. Here is Wesley crying because I'm pretty sure I'm in a hospital bed right now.

"Are you related to her?" a raspy voice echoes in the room

I hear sniffing next and then in a whisper "I'm her best friend."

"That can't do. I need her-"

"I'm her best friend. I'm an adult. Her father won't pick up my calls and her mother isn't..." he trails off

I breathe in harshly but it goes unnoticed.

"I-" I hear the conflict in the doctor's voice "What I am about to tell you is confidential...She's suffered a lot of damage due to her cuts."

"Yes, I'm aware," Wesley says impatiently

"Let me finish," the doctor clears his throat "But we also noticed some bruises, cuts if you will at her back."

"What?!" I feel the worry in Wes' voice

"Did you know about them?" I want to sit up and stop the doctor from saying anything but my body is like bags of cement

"I don't know a thing about them, doctor. Nevaeh-Nevaeh-" he chokes on a sob "-was never one to open up without a fight. I really didn't know a thing about it."

The doctor sucks in air "Well, it seems like she was abused. By who is the question? But refrain to do that anytime soon. She is still in a fragile condition. She needs therapy." I shudder at that word 'therapy'.

I don't pay attention to anything he says next and begin to drift off to sleep.

Hours later, I hear more sobbing. The sobs of Wesley. My mind begins to form pictures of his dishevelled face and his soft eyes, the salty tears flowing from his cheek down. I try to imagine it all because I don't want to open my eyes. I don't want to look at him and have him look right back. I don't want to see him right now knowing that I caused his misery.

If I were dead, I wouldn't have to worry about this but I'm alive and there's nothing I can do because he's crying. Harder and harder and I feel terrible. So damn terrible because I'm not sorry for doing it but sorry because I shouldn't be alive right now. I've already caused too much pain as it is.

***

After sleeping for what feels like a week, I get tired of just lying here and open my eyes gradually. I gulp at the machines plugged into me. The liquid dripping into my arm. The smell of drugs. My bandaged up wrists. I just stare into space. I don't think about anything. What is there to talk about, really? How I've disappointed Wesley, and Ramona, and Jenna? How I have to explain everything to Wesley once we leave? I stay like that until I see a shadow looming over me.

Wesley.

He is so silent that I didn't hear him walk into the room. My eyes scan his frame. His amber eyes look tired, there are also creases by the side of his face which models the word 'exhaustion and sadness'.