The Support Group ✖ BajanCanadian [COMPLETED]

fourteen : goodbyes

Chapter Fourteen - "Goodbyes"

Tears stained my cheeks, vivid as I entered my home - well, what was once my home. Every time I looked at it all I saw was darkness, and a chill snaked down my spine when I opened the door.

This place was no longer home.

All I heard as my feet pounded against the stairs were faded echoes of all the sorrow I wept into my pillow. This place was foreign.

My sense of smell refused to pick up any scent other than rubbing alcohol, the kind I used to clean the blade of my harm, and the only thing I tasted was my own thick blood. I was so torn down inside that no one on the outside computed.

I made it to the bathroom, which was a shock. I figured the temptation would have become of me by then.

When I looked at myself in the mirror, I cringed. I didn't like what I saw.

I bite my bottom lip, trying to muffle a rattling scream. I drop the blade on the bathroom floor, clutching at my cut in desperation. I felt lighter; fainter, like the air. I yelped in pain again as I removed my hand from my forearm and let oxygen stab at my wound.

"Fuck," I cursed under my breath, wrapping my bony fingers back around my gaping wrist, tightening my grip. I reached for the towel, but I ended up slipping and knocking my head against the counter. I screamed one last time before my body went numb. I was out cold.

__

I stared out the window of my hospital room, my wrist bandaged snugly in a gauze. My breathing was shallow and hitched, and I was completely out of my mind.

Tyler sat across from me.

"You do know I hate you, right?" He spoke softly. I chuckled dryly and nodded.

"I hate me too." I admitted.

"Shut up." He snapped. "Why did you do it?"

"For the same reason we've all tried it. I can't do it anymore, Tyler. They're going to send me to a fucking mental hospital where I can rot and die like I already should be."

"What about us? I thought you loved Mitch."

"I do! God, Tyler. I love that boy so damn much-"

"Then why did you do this?"

I stayed silent.

"Exactly. When did you last take your medicine?" His stare burned into my back as I turned away.

"That Friday morning."

Tyler scoffed from behind me and muttered of course. "You idiot..." I blinked away all forming tears and threw daggers at him. "I have feelings too."

"Obviously not, since you decided to go ahead and kill yourself - at least you tried though, right?" He said in sarcasm. I took a deep breath. "I'm sorry-"

"Do you know how worried we were? We thought we were going to have to bury you and write you letters that you'll never read because you'd be dead. We'd be those depressed people who never got to say goodbye, or say any of the things we wanted to when you were alive. God dammit, we thought that we'd have to plan your funeral, and- and...You don't care anyways, since you obviously didn't care enough about us to actually consider us and our feelings. Did you really wanna end up just like your mother? We know how much you hated but loved her when she killed herself. You never wanted that for us, but now look? Don't you dare say we should have expected this Quinna, because you were too good a person to end up like us...." He paused for a minute.

"Looks like you're not such a saint after all." He finished, nearly in tears. I was looking out the window, letting all of the words sink in. I nodded in agreement.

"Now you'll just have to deal with Mitch." Tyler stood up, not bothering to pat my shoulder or back; not even hug me. He just left. I guess that's what I deserve after all.

The door shut loudly. I flinched, relaxing once it made a familiar soft creaking noise, and quietly shut afterwards.

"I guess he already played Bad Cop..." Mitch joked, sitting next to me.

"Yeah." I answered with no tone.

"Too bad there's no Good Cop in this situation..." He sighed dramatically. I glanced over at him. "You don't have to-"

"I thought you cared."

I sighed and rested my chin on my windowsill, prepared for the worst.

"No seriously. I thought no one could have it worse than me...but apparently you did. I actually tried to help you...you just didn't want my help - all you wanted was...pity...? I don't fucking know. All I know is that you're just plain selfish. Like we all are. I mean God; attempting suicide and planning on making ME find you just d-dead?" He looked at me. "I love you too." I cringed as he continued to rant like Tyler.

"Stop." I lifted my head and looked at him.

"Me stop?!" He laughed coldly.

"Yeah, stop. I know I'm a fucking bitch already. I deserve whatever mental hospital I get sucked into, okay? But that doesn't change the fucking fact you're the reason I did it."

"How can I be the reason? I didn't make you do shit."

"YOU MADE ME FEEL LIKE NOTHING AFTER YOU GOT BETTER! YOU STARTED RECORDING AGAIN, AND I WAS FUCKING HAPPY! THEN YOU TURNED INTO THIS FUCKING DICK WHO COULDN'T TELL LEFT FROM RIGHT BECAUSE OF HIS OWN EGO! I'M SORRY FOR FEELING LIKE I GOT IN YOUR WAY AND I WAS HOLDING YOU BACK FORM YOUR GOD DAMN LIFE! I WASN'T BEING REASONABLE, BUT WHEN IS A PERSON LIKE ME EVER?" I sucked in some air, making my chest ache. I ignored the burning sensation and tug at my gauze.

"So how does it feel, Mitch? How does it feel to almost lose someone you love?" He didn't respond. He just blinked a few times and swallowed.

"Exactly." I sat back.

"Now get the hell out of my hospital room."

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-end-

(epilogue/authorsnote up soon)

- piper