Didn't Have to Go

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: October 31, 2016

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Submitted: October 31, 2016

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Didn’t Have to Go

There comes a point for all of us when we look in the mirror and don’t see ourselves.  At first you don’t notice it—you see the same long dusty brown hair that falls just past your shoulders and the deep, dark eyes to match.  And it’s familiar—your own little home in a way.

Then it falls apart.

Where you used to have a body, there’s just a skeleton in its place.  Your eyes are hallowed out from the lack of sleep and your hair is thinning and falling out from lack of nutrition.

This is not home.

This is hell.

Yet, despite this rude awakening of who you’ve come to be, the only thing you can do is cover it up.  At first it was just some cleverly placed smiles and laughing when all your body wants is to sob.  Then it escalades.  Those smiles become lies and those lies become your life.  Constantly hiding from what’s in the mirror.  Trying so hard not to let them see what you’ve become.

It gets harder and harder until one day you realize its too hard.

So you take the knife and one wrist at a time…

you’re gone.

And they’re gonna knock on the bathroom door nearly a thousand times.  At first they’ll laugh—after all, it’s just a harmless prank.  Then the nervous voice inside their heads turns their laughter into worried tones.  Open the door.  For the love please open the door.

Eventually they’ll fall asleep.  Innocent little sleepy heads resting on the bedroom floor.

They figure you were just moody and you’ll come out in the morning. 

It’s not like you can live the rest of you’re life in a bathroom—and whatever caused this mood of yours will be situated in the morning.

Everything will go back to normal—it always does.

When the morning comes, they don’t remember at first.  The night is barely there—just a soft blur in the back of their heads.

First order of business is coffee.  Trudge up the stairs.  Into the kitchen.  They drink it black because you never have real sugar.  Take a few aspirin to mute their hangovers.  It’s not unusual that you’re not there in the mornings.  Being an early bird, you’ve probably just gone for a cigarette out back—got to suppress those hunger cravings.

When they find you’re not outside, there’s no worry.  You probably left last night or this morning.  Gone to your boyfriend’s or to the abandoned house up the road.  So they wait.

And wait.

After a while, the sun starts to set again.

The day slowly fades away and you’re still not there and that’s scary.

They’ve mostly been outside—roaming the neighborhood.  Going to the little places they thought they’d find you.  Each new destination accompanied by a sliver of hope.

Eventually they’ll retreat back inside—there’s only so many much they can do.  

Once they’re back they’ll double check around the house.  Of course, they don’t think to check the bathroom.  So they’re innocence is sustained for bit longer.

They spend the rest of the night in the basement—they’re usual place.  It’s a normal night, just without you.  It’s not the first time this has happened, but they don’t think it’s the last.

At about three in the morning they go to sleep and it’s only a few hours later that they’re awake again.  The sharp, painful beep of an alarm echoes around in their skull.  They search for the origin of the sound for a while until they realize it’s coming from the bathroom.  It’s an alarm for school.  It’s your alarm.  As they get closer a disturbing smell begins to pop out from the usual odor of marijuana and stale alcohol.  They’ll get the spare key in a tired haze. They’ll open the door and what they’ll see will wake them up more than anything else ever could. 

You.

 


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