TW;
depression;
suicide attempt
mention; self harm.
"I've thought about killing myself." The sudden confession rung out like a bell.
Heather Mcnamara stopped. It had come out too loud. Too bluntly.
"...Go on Heather," Ms. Fleming said, carefully edging forward. "It's just me and your fellow classmates who love you."
Ha. That's one way to word it. 27 pairs of dark eyes are on her as she sits at the small wooden desk. A thousand more watch from their homes. A whizzing of a TV camera and hushed whispers.
"Heather." It's hissed. The blonde's eyes shot up. Heather Duke is staring her down, like a warning signal. "Get back in line." She snapped.
She doesn't. "My sorta boyfriend was gay for his linebacker," she began. Ram and Kurt. It hadn't been expected. Jesus Christ it hadn't been expected.
•
She hadn't gotten a call at 1 in the morning a week earlier.
It's Duke. She sounds tired.
"Jeez, sorry Heather."
"For what?" Mcnamara paused.
She's quiet. The taller of the pair scoffs. "Ram...? Your weekly hookup? He's dead. Double suicide with Kurt this morning in the forest outside of school."
Heather's ears are buzzing. "You aren't funny."
"Funnier than you." She could sense the other smile faintly. "But I'm not joking. It's crazy. Turn on the news."
The phone falls and Heather is standing in her living room, staring at the screen in the darkness.
The remote nearly falls out of her scarred hand. They're displaying a picture of the note on screen. Scribbles of a love confessed to a unforgiving and judgmental world.
"oh."
•
"And my best friend seemed to have it together and now she's gone." It's barely more than a whisper and a producer clears his throat.
She had cried. She wouldn't tell Veronica or Duke that, but she had. After the funeral.
She had mixed feelings about Heather Chandler. A girl she had known since 2nd grade. A girl who she'd had countless sleepovers with. Someone she'd laughed with. Someone who became a junior and told freshmen to kill them selves.
Someone who McNamara had called in the middle of the night in the middle of a mental breakdown who had hung up on her and told her to 'suck it up'.
•
"And my stomach keeps feeling worse and worse and I sit on the bus shaking with my ears ringing because I'm thinking 'damnit I'm on the bus again because all my rides to school are dead."
It came out bitter. Her knuckles are white as she clenches the edge of the desk.
"It's like you're in a overcrowded lifeboat and there's a storm approaching." She tried to explain.
"You can't go anywhere. You're cold and sick and everyone is just yelling at you in panic."
Duke rolls her eyes. Her friend since middle school rolls her eyes.
"And it's so low in the water you know you're going to drown unless someone is thrown overboard to lighten the weight. Of course you're being pointed out because you aren't useful to the situation, to anyone else's lives, you're dead weight—"
She stops herself. She's shaking.
There's to many people all of a sudden. Heather Mcnamara wavers to her feet.
There's the click of green heels.
"What's your damage, Heather?" She snarled.
"Are you implying that Westerburg isn't a nice place?"
Duke is walking forward now and Heather stumbles, back hitting the wood.
"Are you saying you don't want to wear our school colors?" She growled. They're joining her. A blur of faces. Her throat is burning.
Ms. Fleming grabs the older girls arm, but it doesn't do anything.
"Why don't you get on your lifeboat and catch a wave to Remington!"
"Heather's gonna cry."
The taunt calls out. She can't breathe. They're laughing. Freshmen and senior. She was boxed in.
It's blurry as her face goes red, tears swelling up in her blue eyes as she gives a shove. It's hard and the football player in front of her nearly fell.
And she ran. The blonde catches Veronica Sawyer's gaze for a blink, but she's already dashing down the hall.
A drunk flash of tiles and lockers and she's sobbing in front of the bathroom mirror. She doesn't remember pulling it out, but her yellow sleeves are rolled up and there's a yellow bottle in her hand. She tugs on the white lid. Nothing.
She hissed under her breath and tried to turn it to the left. To the right. Her palms are red. She doesn't care.
"Stupid child proof caps," she hiccuped.
You need to stop complaining about your issues.
She hits it against the wall.
God, I know you aren't the most popular, but cutting yourself isn't a good way to get attention.
She can't see now, she can't breathe. Her yellow hair falls into her eyes and she slips, falling to her knees with a clash.
Look, go big or go home. If you wanna get popular, just go kill your self. Worked for Chandler, didn't it?
She stares down, frozen. White bullets stare back at her from inside the plastic case.
She practically cracks a smile. A victory in a sea of defeats.
Then why is she still crying.
10 land in her hand, while some tumble to the floor.
They taste like powder and she's so overwhelmed she almost gags.
"Stop!"
It's a demand. Veronica Sawyer's grabbing her arm before she can register what's going on. The pill bottle falls to the floor as she's shoved in front of the sink.
Veronica curses something and Heather coughs and gags, the pills falling out of her mouth and into the running sink.
She breaths heavily, hands on the rim. She's flushed, her throats rough and hands shaking.
"Suicide." She gulps. "Suicide is a private matter, Veronica." Heather doesn't look up.
"Throwing your life away to be a statistic is the least private thing I can think of." She snaps.
Why is Veronica even here? They aren't even friends. Heather isn't dumb. She knows Veronica doesn't like the Heather's, even if she is technically a member herself.
the smaller one laughs, falls back, sliding down the side of the wall. Everything aches.
She blinks and Veronica is next to her.
"Are you ok?—" she grabs Heather's arms. "Jesus Christ, Heather."
With a small whine of protest Heather half heartily pulls them away, crossing them over her chest.
"What the hell are you doing? If everyone jumped off a bridge, would you?"
"Probably."
"Why didn't you tell me..." Veronica's thought of a sentence drifts off and they fall into silence.
It's two minutes before Veronica speaks again.
"How long."
"Four months I guess. I don't know. Emotionally I guess, everything gets dull. I don't know what happened. It's like you're living—but— you aren't alive. You're watching a black and white film on repeat." She pursed her lips.
"It got worse after Heather died though." She stiffens. Veronica is staring at the scars on her thighs and Heather looks away.
"If you were always happy you wouldn't be human." Veronica tried.
"You'd be a game show host."
Heather sadly laughs. "Yeah." She croaker. "I guess so."
She feels Veronica grab her hand. Heather doesn't let go.
"Please come talk to me. You're my only friend I guess, that I properly have in the Heathers." Veronica smiled faintly.
"Right back at you. Duke is a jerk."
They both laugh dryly.
"Thank you."
"Hm?"
"For coming after me." Blue and brown eyes meet. "You're the only one who would have. Everyone else wouldn't have cared."
"That's not tru—"
"Yes it is, and you know it." Heather sighed. "Thank you."
Veronica gives a sad smile, face pink. "You're welcome."
Heather lunges forward, wrapping her arms around Veronica's neck desperately. The both nearly fall into the tile, Veronica places a hand on the cold floor to keep them up.
The brunette hugs her back with a small laugh. "Hey, call me tonight ok? We should talk or go get a slushee or something, got it?"
Mcnamara pulls back, "got it."