Driving in the Rain

All Hope, Gone... (15)

He was fine. Despite the doctor's worries, he healed perfectly. His bones and nerves, that is. It's been three months since Dylan's girlfriend went missing. She hasn't been seen since. The police say there's still a chance, but the red tally marks on his wrists tell him otherwise. He knew that the chance of finding someone who had been kidnapped decreases drastically after as little as 3 weeks. It was 4 times that amount of time now, and he had lost all hope. He was going to keep to his promise. His silent promise he made to himself, and to Annelle. He kept the first part, and to do the second would be so simple. He has been rushed to the hospital countless times in the last few months, and he has his own therapist now. None of the pills work. Nothing could fill the void. What's more, he had only just met Annelle. He shouldn't be in love with her. He should be sad about her being lost, but he's more than that. Hell, he is even more than depressed. He is... there aren't any words any writer could weave together to describe how pained and downtrodden he felt. He was laying in his bed, the newly bought razor, already stained with blood, was on his night stand. Next to that was his phone. He barely touched it anymore. His best friend, Eli, had stopped talking to him. He missed Eli. He told Dylan that he missed him almost every day, but Eli didn't have what he had before. Dylan was unapproachable. His grades were slipping even further, the late work was piling up from missing school for days his depression was unbearable. Eli still loved Dylan, and Dylan missed Eli taking the edge off of everything. By Dylan wasn't himself anymore. He snatched the razor off of his night stand and walked to his bathroom. He had thought too much. He looked down at his wrists, already stained red and swollen from previous "over-thinking". He placed the blade in between two scars, one very fresh, the other considerably older. As he pulled the blade across his skin, he felt the warmth of his blood on his arm. He cried, but not from the pain. He cried, longing for Annelle. He would slit his wrists everyday for his entire life if it meant he could see her, just one last time. His arms moved on their own, making more cuts on Dylan's arm. He stopped when he could no longer see his arm from being drenched in red liquid. He washed his arm off, got a small rag and wiped his wrists. He taped the rags to his arms and covered them with his sleeves. He walked downstairs to where his parents sat talking about him and his problems. He knew they thought Dylan didn't know what they were saying, but he could tell by the way they hushed when he walked by. Nobody wanted to face a problem head on, just dodge it, or shove it on someone else.

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Alright, a little dark time for our hero. But no worries, after you hit rock bottom, you can only go up! Right...?