"how are you feeling?" i ask michael. the two of us sit in an isolated part of the hospital's waiting room.
he looks over at me with teary eyes before looking back down at his hands, "i don't know... like shit."
"i'm sorry," i apologize.
he wipes away his tears with the back of his hand, "it's not your fault."
my ears feel as if they're ringing, "really? i shouldn't have left him alone. that was so stupid of me."
"you didn't know he'd try to kill himself,"
"but i knew that he was mentally unstable. i could've stayed and stopped him." my voice cracks as i imagine myself constantly pouncing on the door, pleading for ashton to come out. i imagine him opening the bedroom door and his face on the other side - or i'd somehow unlock the door and hold him, begging him not to take his life away. i could've saved ashton. like the stories, i could've been his superhero.
tears sting my eyes, but i'm not allowing them to fall. if i cry that means ashton's not coming back, and he is so there's no point in crying.
