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Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Emotional · #1565629
Riley is recovering from a suicide attempt. This is her story.
It always caught me by surprise when he said my name. This calmness and steadiness that his voice carried opened my eyes. The time I knew him was short, and some mornings I woke up wondering if I had just dreamed it all up. But the feelings that he made me feel proved beyond belief that he was nothing I could ever dream up. He was mysterious, and came and went without warning. But the diminutive time I was with him was life altering. His sense of manners and kindness was obsolete which was pleasing and perplexing at the same time. But he was gone faster than I knew it, and when he slipped right through my fingers I was a different person. He often talked about leaving, just packing up and starting over. I never imagined him fulfilling this plan. In a way he did. I just never knew he would do it by himself, or let alone without me. But when I think about when he took his last breath, I’m filled with a sense of serenity. He did what he had to do with his life, which was to show me how to live again. I loved him like I’ve never loved anyone else, even more than myself. When he died he wasn't sick, I don't care what anyone says. The way he smiled and kissed me was evident proof of it. He didn't kill himself, the people who never gave him credit did. I owe him my life, because without him I would have met the same fate. He was the person who picked me up off the ground when no one else would. His words still bounce around in my head, and I know for a fact that they'll never settle. Mostly because I probably will never believe half the truth he told me.


“We just want to be sure that you’re going to be ok.” My mother said. Her hands gripped the strap of her leather purse tightly, and she pushed her lips together. I didn’t answer her. I looked out the room window, observing the perfect green grass and blue sky. Outside the parking lot was almost vacant. Everything was still, and there was almost nothing to look at except blacktop and the occasional car. They always pulled in bringing a kid, but they never left with one. My mother noticed that I was distracted. 
“It’s very nice out.” She said stiffly. “Do you want to go for a walk outside?”
I looked down at the wheelchair I was in, and then looked back up at her face.
“I think it looks a little stale out.” I said coldly. “It’s too bright. You can go without me.”
“Why don’t I stay here with you.” She said kindly. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”
The words she said stung. She didn’t trust me at all. It seemed like no one did anymore. Not my family, not my brother, not even the doctors that came and went. We sat in silence as I studied the room I would be imprisoned in for the next couple of months. It was very plain looking: white walls, white bed sheets. There was one other room, and small bathroom containing a toilet, and a sink. Video cameras hung hidden in the corner, angled at every which way. Besides the small twin size bed in the corner, there was only a dresser, and a single table with exactly two chairs. One for me, and one for a visitor.
There was a set of two windows next to each other, now the only connection I would have to the outside world. There were blinds that my mother had pulled open, also the color white.
“Riley, I’m not doing this to punish you.” My mother said, full of guilt. “It’s necessary. You’re sick, and your brother and I want to make sure that you get better so you can come home.”
I didn’t answer.
“You’re father would have wanted-,”
“You don’t know that.” I said bitterly. “He’s not here to voice his opinion, so don’t voice it for him.”
She stopped abruptly, looking hurt. Guilt hit me for a moment, but I shook it off. I shouldn’t feel bad.
“I want you to know that your brother wanted to be here.” She said. My mother was persistent on making this awful situation brighter.
“Then why didn’t he come?”
She hesitated with this question, and I watched her struggle, searching for a logical answer. She glanced at her feet nervously, and then looked all around to the room like she was expecting some sign from god.  It seemed that god must have been too busy to help her, so she changed the direction of the conversation.
“I’m sure you’ll make a lot of friends here.” She said smiling. Her facial expression looked fake, like she had plastered it on herself.
It seemed my mother was always running away from facing the truth. She wouldn’t talk about anything with me that wasn’t in her comfort zone. It had been like that since I could remember. When my Dad died, she cried for a day or two, and then moved on like nothing had ever happened. She put up a wall, faked a smile and told herself it was ok when it wasn’t. So I put her back in the spotlight again.
“So when will I be able to see Aiden?” I questioned. She uncomfortably looked away, pressing her lips together. I looked at her directly in the eyes only for a moment, until she broke away from my gaze.
“We’ll see.” She said blankly.
“What does that mean mom?” I asked, more upset.
“Riley, you know how I feel about that boy.” She started.
“Mom! ‘That boy’ is my boyfriend. You act like he’s a crack-dealing-terrorist. He’s aloud to visit, right?” I asked hopefully.
“Honey, I don’t know if he’s a good influence while you’re here.” She said. I rolled my eyes in disbelief.
“How do you think he’ll influence me?” I asked. I wanted her to say it. I needed my mother to tell me. She paused and combed her pale fingers through her dark short hair.
“Riley, you know what I mean.”
“You mean you think he’ll make me want to kill my-,”
“Riley!” she cut me off. I knew she wouldn’t admit it. My mother gripped the strap of her purse harder. I could see the leather bending and folding under the pressure she was applying. My chest ached accepting the facts. My mother still wouldn’t admit it, and she didn’t approve of Aiden.
I closed my eyes, and thought of him. His light hair, toothy smile, and deep blue eyes made me smile. I could feel his hands on my hips, his body close to mine. I listened to him humming in my ear, and felt his soft gentle touch. I opened my eyes, and he disappeared. I was right back where I was with my disapproving mother.
“Maybe you should go.” I said, looking down at my wrists. They were still bandaged with gauze, looking just like some sort of handcuffs. They fit this situation perfectly. My mother’s blue eyes fell upon me, searching for some sort of answer on the surface. She stood up quickly, and flung her purse over her shoulder.
“I love you.” She said, bending foreword and kissing my forehead. “I want you to know that.”
She pushed some of my brown waves behind my ear and studied my face. Her eyeliner was smudged on her left eye, and her concealer was definitely not doing its job.
“Bye.” I said plainly, just wanting to be left alone. She looked at me slightly upset, and slowly walked out of the room making sure the door didn’t slam behind her.


I hadn’t always been like this. And when I say ‘this’, I mean I haven’t always wanted to kill myself. I was happy for a long time. My family was functional, I did well in school. I was the star of my soccer team, and got a lot of attention from my classmates because of it. We did so well, we went straight to sectionals.
It’s my fault my Dad is dead. Don’t try to tell me otherwise, because everyone knew it was true. My Mom and my brother knew it, and so did my friends and my teachers. It was the end of June when he died, and after he did Chris didn’t speak to me. My own brother shut me out of his life. I don’t blame him, I had killed the only other male in our household. We spent the rest of the summer only talking when we had to, and when we did he only grunted and gestured movements towards me. Then he packed up and left for college. He never came home, not even at Christmas time. When he wasn’t in school, he lived with his girlfriend who he met in his history class. I didn’t know what her name was, but I knew it started with a V. Vicky, Valerie, I never knew. My mom probably did, but she never talked about it. We never talked about anything anymore. All because of me.
I always had liked the rain. It was moist and cool, and each drop that poured down from heaven fascinated me beyond belief. Thunder storms helped me focus when I would play soccer, although I didn’t know why. Maybe that was why I was so drawn to them. Storms were usually frowned upon by most people, but I thought of them as signs from above that nothing is perfect, not even heaven. The day of sectionals it stormed outside, and the day my dad died it did too.
My dad had a business meeting during my sectional game. Of course I was upset he couldn’t come. He had been at the root of my soccer obsession, he was the one who taught me how to love the game. I guess he knew that too, because he got out of his meeting early to come see me play and win. It was thundering, and raining pretty hard. He lost control of his car, and drove of the road rushing down the highway to see me. He was dead before the ambulance came. We won the game by two. I didn’t know he was dead until after, and when I did I screamed. I laid on the field, letting the rain hit me one drop at a time. I screamed into the muddy grass, pulling my hair and sobbing until I couldn’t breathe. My mom just stared at me, speechless. Chris just ran. When we got home, he was locked in his room silent. I lost a part of myself that day, and I still don’t have it back. I never will. When I tried to kill myself, I didn’t do it because I didn’t want to live anymore. I did it because no one else wanted me too.
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