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TWO MONTHS LATER
SCAR
Seth left this world two months ago.
Two months of pure agony.
My mood is getting worse.
I stopped taking my pills because I stopped giving a shit.
I missed several days of my senior year. I’m pretty sure I won’t graduate.
Sleeping seems like an impossible mission. Insomnia’s got me in a chokehold, and my eyes feel like they haven't seen the sweet relief of shut-eye in days.
My body's been struggling lately, and it shows. I've lost weight, and my ribcage is peeking through. To make matters worse, my eyes are sporting deep circles from days of being cooped up without sunlight. I've been feeling so low that I can't even bear to change my clothes, and time seems to have lost all meaning. I don't want to be around anyone and have pushed everyone away. It's all just too much to handle.
I've ignored Maverick's calls and pleas, eventually blocking his number and him from my life.
Everything hurts.
The voices in my head won't stop screaming.
The headaches feel like someone is jackhammering my skull.
My tear ducts have dried up.I don't have any more tears left in me to cry.
I don't have the energy to keep fighting. With a discouraged whimper, I slide down the wall. The cold tile feels good underneath my ass.I lay my head against the bathroom wall, staring at the ceiling, wishing my best friend were here, but he left me too.
"Why does everyone keep leaving me?" I whisper into the space, hoping someone will hear my pleas, but I know it’s unlikely.
I don't want to die, but I’m tired of hurting. I want to sleep and never wake up.
I shut my eyes briefly, and when I open them, Seth sits across from me.He leans against the door with one leg stretched before him and the other bent while his hand rests on his knee. Seth is wearing the clothes he wore the last time I saw him alive—a dark blue Henley shirt with dark jeans and a pair of his favorite DC shoes.
He's not real.
He's a hallucination because I've gone fucking crazy now.
"What's wrong, sis?" His smile is soft and warm.
"What's wrong?" I shake my head. "You left me, asshole."
He frowns. "You need to get your shit together and get off this damn floor," he snaps.
Say what now?
"If you were still alive, I wouldn't be here, would I?"I snap back.
"Scar," he says, his tone softer. "I need you to be strong."
I'm fucking losing my mind if I'm having a conversation with my dead brother.
I can't deal with this.
The pain is too much.No one could ever understand the war that rages in my head. If only for a day, it would be a relief to feel like everything isn't falling apart.
Just. One. Fucking. Day.
