The Asylum (Editing in Progress)

XVI

I walked alongside the stretcher as the coroner wheeled Esther out of Shadow Ridge, stopping at the gates that I would soon exit in four days. I fell to my knees as they put her in the abulance solemnly. Her arm dangled off the side of the stretcher, uncovered by the white sheet that covered her lifeless body, There were several large gashes on her wrist that stared at me as if to say, 'You could have done something, you idiot. She wanted to live. You could have given her a better life. You should've tried harder. And now she's dead. Who's fault is that?'
I shook my head as if I could shake the condescending voice out of my thoughts. I looked down at the picture I held in my hand through blurring tears. I looked at Esther's beautiful eyes, full of life. I stared at her smile, the smile that only came out to a genuine cause, the smile she gave only to me. I looked at the curve of her lips, trying to remember what they felt like on mine. I couldn't remember much about her. It was like she was fading away with every inch put between us as the unhurrying ambulance trucked her away.
I felt a soothing hand on my shoulder. Charlie's. I looked up at her concerned eyes. She didn't know what happened yet. "Charlie..." I cried, wrapping my arms around her as she kneeled beside me. She put my head into her chest and ran her hand through my hair. I sobbed into her chest for God knows how long. Time slipped away from you like that when your world is crumbling and falling apart all around you.
When I had run out of tears, I sniffled and removed myself from her embrace. I stood up, pulling her up with me. She grabbed my hand, putting her small one in mine. We walked up to the front doors of the building and I looked up at it. The yellowing stone, running five stories high, only interrupted by the rust stains from the wrought iron bars across the windows. This had been my home for almost six years. This is where I had my first friends, where I had my first love. This is where I grew up. The staff became my parents. The patients became my siblings. Esther became my everything. And now she's gone. Everything I never knew I needed yanked violently out of my life like a rug being pulled out from under my feet.
There was nothing I could do to bring her back.

****

How could she tell me to live in her SUICIDE NOTE? my thoughts screamed at me that night in bed. I rolled over, facing the scarred wall. My eyes had long since dried out. It seemed as though I had lost the ability to cry. That's all I've done since I saw her in her room. David cancelled the group meetings, so I spent the day in my room. One of the staff brought me trays food and drink, all three of which sat untouched on my desk. The room was quiet save for my shallow breathing and wet gasps, yearning but unable to cry.
I couldn't understand why she did it. She seemed so happy around me, around everyone. How could someone seemingly so happy just take their life? She told me she was going to fight through her days here and then get back out there to her friends and continue her travels.
She told me to live. But what about her? That was so cynical, so mercurial. Do as I say, not as I do? Fuck that. She left me. I was in love with her. I still am. And she left me. I wanted to go on adventures with her. I wanted to see the world with her. I wanted to give her everything she ever wanted, do everything I could to see her smile. I wanted to dance with her in the ungodly hours of the morning, I wanted to hear her laugh and call me an idiot when I made a stupid joke, to feel her pouty lips on mine, on my chest, on my hands. I wanted to run my fingers through her thick blonde hair, smell her parfume, kiss her tan skin. I wanted to hear her stories and make new memories with her.
She said she wanted to live.
She said she wanted to live.
That's nothing you'd expect a flight risk to say right before they killed themself.

The scratches on my wall mocked me. They told a story of a man driven to wearing his nails down to their beds by scratching incessantly at the wood. He wrote stories of suffering and loneliness in the thousands of gashes. Esther wore those gashes on her wrist.
Those gashes ended her life.
Those gashes took her away from me.