AN- Sorry in advance~ (not really)
TW: self harm
~
[TWITTER]
[brooke.lohst: RICH IS FLECKED]
[chloe_valentine: flecked????]
[brooke.lohst: sry that's just my autocorrect]
[jenna-rolan: always be aware of autocorrect]
[chloe_valentine: i care about ur tragedy!!!]
[jenna-rolan: i changed my pfp to u so i understand what ur going thru!!]
[brooke.lohst: i read she read they read ur in a body bag ;-;]
[jenna-rolan: it was soooo bad]
[jenna-rolan: ive got the whole bloody story]
[jenna-rolan: i wasn't there but I swear i know what happened!!!!!]
[chloe_valentine: HE BURNED THE HOUSE DOWN]
[brooke.lohst: HE DID IT CUZ HES GAY]
[jenna-rolan: HES TOTALLY DEAD]
[jenna-rolan: CUZ RICH SET A FIRE AND HE BURNED DOWN THE HOUSE]
I look up from my phone. It's just a seemingly never ending string of comments all talking about Jake, Rich, and the house on fire.
"Oh my god," I mumble aloud, completely and utterly horrified.
Rich is in the hospital and Jake broke both of his legs trying to escape the fire? How could Rich's squip let him do that? And where's Michael? How come no one mentioned him?!
Rich was under a lot of pressure at home. With his squip disabled due to the alcohol, it seems he lacked the proper... coping mechanism.
Did you know?
The squip doesn't reply.
You... you made me leave the party!
I was aware of certain probabilities.
You knew people were going to get hurt! You knew, didn't you?!
I'm getting the impression you don't trust me, Jeremy.
Why me?
I don't understand the question.
You could be inside of world leaders, presidents, or even famous people! What are you doing in me? What do you want?
I promise you, my sole function is to improve your life.
Well, awesome job! Michael hates me, I really hurt Brooke, and people are in the hospital! And I don't even know where Michael is! He could be-
She could be what?
He could be dead. Oh my god... find him! Find out where he is and if he's okay!
Michelle "Michael" George Mell. Location: Room 246 in Saint Bernard's Hospital.
Is he okay?
According to doctor's notes that have been entered into a computer, Michelle came in a few days ago with severe burns, smoke in her lungs, an overdose on pills, and a number of cuts on her wrists. She's unconscious at the moment. A coma, to be exact. Medics aren't sure if she'll wake up.
What? No... No!
"You're lying!"
Do you wish to see her?
"Yes!"
Do you wish to throw away your social life just to see a girl?
"For Michael. Not just some girl. Not a girl at all."
Do you wish to change your end goal? Or would you like to continue to try and be popular?
"I want to see Michael."
Very well. Current objective: cancelled. New objective: get Jeremy to Michael and get them together. Are you aiming for a romantic or sexual relationship?
Um... both...?
I see. In either case, target acquired.
"We're going to see him."
It might be my last chance to do so.
~
"Michael Mell," I run up to the receptionist's desk, completely out of breath. "I need to see him,"
She types on her computer for a moment.
"I'm sorry, but a Michael Mell has not been admitted into the hospital. There is a Michelle Me- oh. I see. He's in room 246."
"Thank you," I huff, and go to find the stairs; the elevator would take too long.
Within five minutes, I'm standing in front of room 246, out of breath.
Should I just go in? What if there's a doctor in there? Should I wait? Do I knock? Do I say it's me? What should I-
Just go in, Jeremy.
I knock four times.
Knock, knock, knock, knock.
Jeremy, he's in a coma. He can't reply.
Oh. Right.
I open the creaky door to reveal Michael hooked up half a dozen machines, all doing different things. His breathing is steady, and so is his heartbeat. It's horrible, but I don't care about what he looks like.
"Can you hear me?"
No reply. I'm not sure what I expected, but I don't care if I get a response or not.
"It's Jeremy."
His heart rate picked up a little. I'm fairly sure he can hear me, but I don't care if he can or can't.
"I'm sorry."
But the thing is... I'm not. And that's fucking scary. I expected to break down, but I'm just keeping a straight face while Michael is on his deathbed. I don't know what's wrong with me. I mean, I haven't thrown up flowers in a while, but-... Well, not that I think about it, it's been a couple days.
Is it possible to fall out of love? Why am I not feeling anything?
That's the price to pay for upgrading without optic nerve blocking. You upgraded without making a sacrifice.
So, this is your fault?
No, it's entirely your own. Are you ready to go home?
"I should be crying," I mumble to myself. "I should be damn upset, but I'm not."
I know only one thing that guarantees a feeling.
"I'm ready to leave."
~
I stare at it. The sun shines though the window and reflects off of it, creating a sparkle. It's pretty.
What is wrong with you? You just called a blade pretty.
I throw the blade up against the wall in frustration.
I haven't done this before, so why am I doing it now?
Because you stupidly fell in love with your best friend.
Oh, right. Michael's practically dying, and I don't even care. What kind of person doesn't care when they best friend is dying?
You, apparently.
I crawl over to the minute weapon and pick it up and set it in the palm of my hand. I grit my teeth and clench my hand into a fist tightly, causing the edge of the blade to pierce my skin. I hiss in pain, but when I open my hand up, it's just like I got a paper cut. I can't even see any blood.
Wow, you can't even cut yourself properly.
I take the blade in my right hand and twirl it between my fingers.
Stop stalling.
I hold it up against my left wrist, and trace my veins. You can see so many of them.
It's disgusting.
I know, but should I even do this? I mean, what am I going to get out of it?
Don't you want to feel anything?
I shut my eyes and raise the blade up from my arm. I swiftly bring it down, and slice open my flesh.
"Fuck!" I shout. "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!"
Thank god that my dad isn't home.
You didn't do it right. You've got to cut deeper. You've barely even drawn blood.
I glance down, to see that tiny drops of the crimson liquid are gradually starting to grow around the edges of the cut, but I've done no real damage.
So I do it again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And I can't stop.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And then I finally stop.
My arms are drenched in my own blood. I feel lightheaded.
When you're bleeding, you know you're alive.
When I'm bleeding, I know I'm alive.
The room gets fuzzy. I drop the blade. My arms went numb a while ago. I stumble backwards, and hit the wall. I slide down, my shirt riding up my back. I hit the cold tile floor, and fall over. My head hits the ground with a thud, and the world begins to fade to black.
I wish I wasn't alive.
Everything goes dark.
~
I wake up gasping for air.
I'm in the exact same spot, but I've stopped bleeding.
How long was I out?
Three hours, seventeen minutes, and nine seconds.
Great to see that no one notices I was gone... how did I not bleed out?
I prevented you from doing so.
Okay...
I look down at my arms which are covered in my own dried blood. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the blade that had fallen out of my hand in the corner of the bathroom. I pick it up and flush it.
I'm not doing that again.
Probably not, no.
I sigh.
My life is a fucking mess.
You would be correct. But I'm here to fix it.
I get up to my feet and see that there's blood all over the wall and floor.
That'll be fun to clean up.
I begin to strip myself of my clothes. Once I'm fully nude, I turn on the shower.
I feel disgusting.
And you look like it too.
The water heats up, and I step under it. It burns my cuts, even though they're no longer open wounds. I was unconscious long enough for them to scab over. I don't bother with much of anything. I sit down on the bottom of the tub and let the water run down my back. My hair falls in my face, but I don't care.
Everything hurts.
My head.
My wrists.
My heart.
So I cry.
I cry and I cry and I cry like the pathetic little boy I am.
"Life sucks..." I mumble.
Your life sucks.
"I miss him..."
The water that flows down the drain is tinted red. It's quite beautiful.
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry. Michael, I'm sorry!" I wail.
Look at yourself. Crying in the shower with slit wrists over a boy you can't have.
"But I want him... and I need him..."
Then go say you're sorry.
"I... I will. But he won't listen to me if I still have you! And he's in a fucking coma!"
Michael woke up just over an hour ago. The doctors are calling it a miracle.
I bounce to my feet, and the tears stop almost immediately.
"He's awake?!"
Yes.
"I need to go see him..."
Clean up and get going.
~
I stand in front of room 246. I can hear the voices of people on TV.
What do I do? Do I knock? Do I say it's me? What do I-
Do the same thing as last time. And remember that it's late. He's probably tired.
I knock on the door.
Knock, knock, knock, knock.
"W-who is it?"
His voice is scratchy and hesitant.
"It's Jeremy. Can I come in?"
"Are you gonna be a dick?" His tone becomes harsher.
"No..."
"Then come in."
I open the door.
Michael's hooked up to the same machines, but then time he's not tucked under the covers. It reveals a cast on his left hand. His dominant hand.
"You-... you broke your arm?"
"Yeah," he spits.
I just now notice that it's not just the two of us. There's a young woman in her mid twenties at the most with a pixie cut who I've never seen- WAIT.
This is the woman who picked Michael up from school at lunch! But who is she?
Why don't you ask?
"Hello," she smiles, but I can tell it's forced. "Who are you and why are you here?"
Wow, way to get to the point.
"I'm Jeremy. And I came to-"
"Jeremy Heere?"
"Um... yes...?"
How does she know me?!
Jesus Christ, Jeremy. How can one be so stupid?
"How do you know me? And who are you?"
"I'm Michael's mother-to-be, that's who I am."
But she's like 25!
You are so dumb.
"Shut up, Heather." Michael snaps.
She shoots Michael a stern look.
"Sorry..." he mumbles.
"So this is the Jeremy you we're talking about earlier?"
"Yeah..."
"That little twig of a boy hurt you that badly?"
"Yeah..."
They were talking like I wasn't even in the room.
"Woah, woah, woah, wait, wait, wait. I'm confused." I butt into their conversation.
What is there to be confused about?
"Who are you? Michael's 'mother-to-be'? What does that mean?"
She rolled her eyes and stood up. She was short, but her heels made her tower over me.
"My name is Heather McNamara, and Michael's mother, Veronica Sawyer, proposed last month, ergo, I am Michael's mother-to-be."
"But you're like 25! Veronica is like 40!"
"I'll take that as a compliment. I'm 43."
My jaw drops.
You'll catch flies if you keep doing that.
"But you look like you're just out of college."
"She's beautiful, isn't she?"
"Wha-" I turn around, and Veronica is in the doorway.
"Hi, honey,"
"Hi, honey,"
"How was your day at the hospital with Mikey?" Veronica asks.
"It was wonderful until he showed up." Heather replies, pointing to me. "I think it's best if we leave you two to talk."
And the fiancées leave Michael and I alone.
"Hey," I mutter.
Say something else.
I don't.
Michael stares me down, but then scoots over so I can sit at the foot of the bed.
"Did you get rid of it?"
"Get rid of what?" I ask.
So ignorant.
"Don't be stupid. Did you get rid of... it?" He taps his head.
"Oh! I... um... it's still there and-"
"Get it out."
Don't.
"Michael, I don't know-"
"Listen, we can talk after it's gone. Drink some of the Mountain Dew Red I keep in the basement. You know how to get in."
You don't want to do that.
"But why would I want it gone?"
"Have you seen yourself? Have you seen me? Would I have a broken arm? Would we be in a hospital room? Would you have cuts on your wrists?!"
Don't listen to him.
I pull down my sweater's sleeves and look at the floor.
"Yeah don't think I didn't notice those the second you walked in. But can't you see it's doing more harm than good?"
Things will get better.
I glance up and see that he's crying.
Fuck, now I'm crying.
"Just get rid of it, okay? I-... I want Jeremy back. My Jeremy."
"O-okay,"
~
I frantically look around the outside of Michael's house.
He said I knew how to get in... but I can't rememb- OH!
I strain my neck as I look directly upward. The tiny (and only) window that leads to the basement is open. The only issue, is that its eight feet off the ground. Luckily, there's a tree with a branch that leads directly to it. I had climbed it dozens of times when Michael called me during the middle of the night for any reason.
I climb the tree about halfway so I can get to the right branch that will let my drop into Michael's basement. I crawl across the branch and drop down onto the concrete floor. I don't bother being quiet since no one is home.
I open the mini fridge that Michael bought a few years ago off of eBay and find a liter bottle of Mountain Dew Red. I unscrew the lid, but before I can drink it, the squip, who hasn't said anything in over an hour, decides to make a comment.
You don't want to do that Jeremy.
And why not?!
Because then you'll never be with him.
I don't need you anymore.
You need me more than you think.
"Oh, fuck you, you overrated expensive tic tac," I say aloud.
If I can't stop you then I have just one request.
Fine. What is it?
Don't die a virgin.
Jesus fucking Christ, I'm glad to get rid of you once and for all.
And I chug the drink.
~
AN- yay this was fUN AND LONGER THAN NORMAL. (Also if anyone can find all six ((three are from the same musical)) references in here I'll love you for forever.)