One Day Too Late

Not So Perfect

Echo's P.O.V-

"To be honest, I'm not so perfect either," Jordan admitted, looking up at me from beneath his incredibly long lashes. I'm so jealous of him sometimes. 

"Wanna know why I'm dead?" He asked, biting his lip nervously. I had been dying to ask how a teenage kid dies from malnutrition, but I didn't want to seem rude. So I nodded. 

"Anorexia Nervosa," He states, drawing out the words, "It means I starved myself to death. Before you ask why and all that, I'll explain. I've been left behind a lot, my mum left my dad and I when I was 3. He sort  of went crazy after that. He took it all out on me. 

"And then, I went to live with my aunt for a while. She eventually threw me out because of the all black thing. I started to wonder why all these people were leaving, so I asked my dad. He told me it was because I was a fat, gay, emo faggot. I hate that word. 

"So, I figured I could at least try to fix the "fat" part of that insult. I stopped eating, little by little. Of course, that helped nothing, instead of calling me fat, kids at school started calling me "the tumblr chic". And then I tried to be even skinnier so they would stop. 

"But it just got worse, as did my health. I started blacking out a lot. Around that time, I moved here. And my first day, I saw this crazy beautiful girl doing crazy beautiful things, without caring what anyone else thought of her.  But, of course, I never had the courage to talk to her. In fact," He grabbed my hand, "I'm only just now talking to her."

"Never, ever, ever let anyone tell you anything besides that you're the most amazing, sweetest guy, that I've ever met. And Jordan, you are skinny," I assure him, wrapping my arms around his tiny waist, "Some could even say you're downright scrawny," I tease. 

"Oh, I know that now," he laughs, "Being dead really puts things in perspective." 

"Yeah," I agree softly, "Neither one of us should be here right now. We should be alive, because no matter how long I've been dead, dying will always scare me. All the things I can never do again. At first I was so anxious to get to heaven, now I'm scared." 

"I know what you mean," he affirms, "But hey, you'll always have me. We were meant for so much more than giving up. I mean yeah, we're dead. But sometimes, when I'm with you, I can forget that."  

I hesitate for a moment, letting this moment fully sink in. I don't deserve this kind of happiness. I left my best friend with unbearable guilt, guilt that could bring her down, all the way down to the grave. And while I know I should be crippled by depression right now, considering I just killed myself, it's strangely peaceful being dead. A lot of my trust issues died with my corpse. Eventually I give in. 

"Exactly," I smile, "With you, I'm not 'emo girl who killed herself'. I'm Echo, just an echo." 

"Suicide seemed like the perfect out to you didn't it? The way to end it all, right?" He inquires tentatively. 

"Yeah," I murmur, "But it wasn't."

"Giving up is never as good as it seems," he shakes his head, "Nothing is."