The end!!! last chapter, I promise...
'Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing somebody.'
Isn't that just how life works? Your own personal sanity depends on others. And yet, you wish it didn't. That's how it's always been. For me, at least. I don't know about the rest of the world's population, but it seems to me that's how their lives work too. Maybe I'm just delusional and I don't want to feel alone, so I tell myself that everyone else around me is going through the same struggles.
I want to understand why I feel so much angst all the time. My moods are always changing, and I can't even keep track of myself. Social workers just seem to piss me off, though. And going to a shrink would just tell me that I need medication more than oxygen. No, I think I'd be quite content with pain and loneliness.
I believe I'm already content with those things. If everything you want is right in front of you and all you must do is reach out and grasp in in your own hands, then why would you let it stay right where it was and walk away? Maybe your own subconscious mind is telling you life is better spent brooding over revenge and agony. Is that what's happening in my head?
Some nights when it's completely quite outside, I hear those ghosts again. The ones that I wished would be punished by God and have Satan on their asses for eternity. They call me to join them. There have been those desperate moments where I want to crawl out of bed and sneak downstairs, grabbing a knife and cutting off my life with it. To be embraced by the pure scarlet warmth of death.
Dying seems to be the only thing that I can really wish for. Life is just a temporary state, but when you die, you can't ever go back. Stability in the afterlife is just too promising to wait for. I envy those who are just killed by someone else. I love the feeling of being hated, just to feel emotions. So to know that someone thinks enough of me to end my suffering for me, is paradise itself.
I silently wiped the few stray tears off of my cheeks, sighing to myself. I knew I wanted it. I'd wanted it when Frank hit me with that goddamn football a few hours ago. He hated me, and I secretly loved it. The warmth and passion of envy and anger drove me to the edge of my sanity, and it was a pleasurable experience.
I was alone in that cabin, waiting for the sun to set. That was when I would do it. After I spoke to Gerard, of course. It would be confusing if I just told him goodbye, so I'd explain how I felt. Not the death part, just how he made me feel.
I didn't want to leave him, but it was too much. The happiness I had been feigning was no longer enough. What would I say? That since death was inevitable anyway, he should alright with the fact that I was set on taking my life? I'm not that blunt, even when I'm depressed like this.
I only wished I could see my gray little sanctuary of a bedroom one last time, and then spill my blood on that lavender carpet. Too bad I wouldn't get to see my mom's face when she figured out she'd have to have someone clean the goddamn carpet. I mean, what's the point of doing something like that if you can't at least have fun with it?
My mom wouldn't even care, I know. She was the one who took me off my medication in the first place. My dad had insisted that I continue to take anti-depressants after I started that stupid stuff for my bipolar disorder. It was a bad mix, in the long run. They both really messed with my head. So after my dad left again, my mom kept trying to get on my good side. So she finally let me stop taking pills.
It all kind of went downhill from there, I suppose. My mental stability would go up and down like a roller coaster, and then I'd even out. It was hard to get used to, but I still didn't want the meds back. So I didn't go back on them.
But I need to stop thinking about that and get back to the 'ending my life' plan. I don't have a plan exactly, and most people usually do. I don't even know what I'm going to use as my own personal death scythe.
I glanced over at my duffel bag and thought for a moment. I remembered a small pocket knife Jagger had given me before he left. He was the first guy I'd every really loved, and he just walked out of my life one day.
I stood and almost cautiously went over to the bag, opening up the side pocket and pulling out the blade. Slitting my wrists seemed so cliche, but I wanted it to be over quickly. I didn't want time to rethink my hastily thought out plans.
I decided to leave my journal on my bed, putting a note on it for Gerard. It would be his to read. He'd understand if he only glanced over the words. I couldn't face him, I thought. It would end everything I'd waited for.
I sat down on the wood floor, crossing my legs. Flipping the knife open, I stared at it. Silently, I pressed the cool metal against my left wrist. Words and lyrics flowed through my head, just as the blood that was about to be spilled pulsed through my veins. Would I go to Hell for this? I didn't care. I wanted this so much it burned a fire in my chest.
I slowly moved the blade a little, wincing at the pain from the pressure I was applying. A small trickle of blood began to rise to the surface.
My heart began to pound, and I wondered if it was going to burst. I pressed down harder, waiting for it to end. The blood began pouring from the incision more freely now.
Still not enough.
I switched wrists, making it slower and more precise. This would finish it. Blood was rushing to the cut, as if wanting more oxygen.
My arms were covered by now, and I was getting dizzy. My vision blurred and my head felt too heavy to hold up. In moments, I was lying on my back, staring underneath one of the beds next to mine.
I felt like my eyes were filling with tears, but I couldn't tell. I closed my eyes, finally. And standing right in front of me was the one person who I loved the most. My father.
Frank casually watched as Cadence's cabin filled with police officers and emergency medical workers. Or whatever they were called. The Scott girl had stopped crying, finally seeming to go into shock as her counselor held her, rocking the girl back and forth soothingly.
They rolled one of those beds on wheels out of the cabin, and the chick started sobbing again. Cadie was in a body bag, and that's all that Frank knew. Sure, he wasn't positive what all of the technical stuff was, but it gets pretty obvious when the whole camp starts freaking out about the girl who offed herself and a rescue squad gets called.
The cabin emptied out soon as they transported her body to wherever the hell they were taking her. He didn't care. It was just weird to see someone you grew up with disappear suddenly like that. When people started walking away, Frank waited a bit before carefully walking into the cabin.
There was blood everywhere on the floor, and Frank felt his stomach clench as he attempted to hold his dinner down. He hated blood. Especially if he knew who's it was.
Frank glanced around, wondering why the police hadn't touched anything yet. They should be back soon, he thought. He was just about to turn and leave, when his eyes landed on a brown leather bound journal laying on Cadence's bed.
His curiosity got the best of him as he went over to it, carefully picking it up. There was a strange feeling that came with touching the possessions of someone who was dead. And he didn't like it.
He opened it just as carefully as he picked it up. Reading the first page, he became more interested, so he sat down on her bed and continued to read.
Frank finished it in a half an hour. His heart was racing and he was lightheaded. Was this really how she felt? Was the journal just a prolonged suicide note? His guilt felt overwhelming as his mind whirled.
Without thinking anymore, he slid the book into the inside of his jacket and walked out of the cabin. Somehow, he felt she would have wanted him to read it. Maybe to understand her. No one else needed to know, not even Gerard. Forever, it would stay a secret between a living boy, struggling to make it through life, and the spirit of the girl who had won his heart, even though he'd never said it...
I just want to say thank you to anyone who read this story and stuck with me through all the little ups and downs. I love knowing that my writing can make you guys smile, or even feel something. I'm proud to say this story will always be my best piece of work, and I got to share it with a few people. And really, Thanks for all the reviews (they kept this going... Trust me...) and feedback that I've received.