September 15, 2012
Sometimes when I see Dylan, I wonder if he is tangible in some way so I can touch him. Embrace him. Hold him like I used to. I miss that. More than anyone will ever know. Not that they knew in the first place. I want to reach out, but I don’t want to feel disappointed when I can’t make actual physical contact. I don’t know if I can face the world anymore without him. The past two years were almost unbearable. But now it’s more intense than ever. I cried almost every day over the summer. My parents still won’t get me any help. They know I need it. They’re just apathetic for some reason. I know they hate me, but I’m just not sure why. I tried to kill myself again tonight, hoping that I would never have to face tomorrow, but per usual, Dylan was there with that look in his eyes and that sad, morose, pitiful voice. All I could do was sob on the bathroom floor while the blood ran down my arms for what seemed like the millionth time. I guess I’ll stay alive for now. Scratch that. I haven’t been alive in two years. I’ll stay animated, with a soul, a mind, a heartbeat, and a breath, but absolutely no life whatsoever.
Before I know it the night before the first day of school is here. This will be the third first day I have to spend without him. I am dreading school now more than ever. I have seriously considered breaking one of my own limbs to avoid going back, but I nixed that idea very quickly because I doubt my parents would even get me medical attention. I feel another episode coming on, but this one’s different. This one’s more panicky than the others. I hope I’m not going into a full panic attack. That is the last thing I need right now. My parents are in the next room and I don’t want to give them that satisfaction. They don’t need to know that I am frightened out of my mind about going to school.
I feel a presence in my room and I know it must be Dylan. He’s just the person I need, even if he isn’t all that real. You’ll be fine, Erik, I heard him whisper. I sure as hell hope so, I think to myself. Just know that I’ll be there with you, he said softly in that morose voice of his. I could have sworn I felt his hand on my back. It wasn’t like he’d never done that before. It just felt different this time. More personal. I start to feel something brewing in my heart that didn’t feel like grief. This can’t be. I didn’t love him. Not in that way. It’s just pent up grief, I tell myself, nothing more.
Needless to say I don’t sleep well. My old wounds and the new ones I would more than likely sustain kept me awake. I was dreading school. I could think of plenty of things I’d rather do and, believe me, dying was pretty high on the list. Around two in the morning I was finally emotionally exhausted enough to fall into something like sleep. My dreams were turbulent and random. They mostly consisted of Dylan. Every once in a while, I would see flashes of something else, but they would always go back to him. For once in my life, I thought to myself when I woke up for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, I would like to sleep.
I wake up with a seed of dread in my heart that I know will be watered soon enough. I shower and dress in my usual apathetic manner. I feel like I am going to my execution. I see something out of the corner of my eye. Thank God, I think, Dylan came to see me off. I want him to hold me, to tell me it’s going to be okay. Of course, we both know how much of a lie that is. Even in his death, I’m sure, Dylan knows how evil those kids at that school are. Just thinking about what they were going to do almost makes me panic.
I start the long five-mile walk to school. I could have driven, but after what happened to Dylan, I don’t trust my parents. It happens to be unseasonably cool this morning, so the walk isn’t as horrible as I thought it would be. Plus, it gives me time to prepare myself for the torture I will soon encounter. I am so tempted to turn around and go home. It would have been so much easier to just quit. I have enough credits to graduate. Why I was still in this God forsaken place I didn’t know. Despite all of that, I push forward.
“Hey Erik, have you seen your boyfriend’s ghost lately?” Is it starting already? I mean give me time to get in the damn door before you rip into me. I don’t even know who said it. At this point, I really don’t care. All it does is confirm my worst fears. I sigh with relief when I realize that I don’t have a class until third period. I silently thank God for my brain and go straight to the library. “Hey, I thought you offed yourself over the summer.” “Seen any ghosts lately?” “Found a new boyfriend yet, Eauxvier?” It’s relentless. I just put my head down and walk as if I have tunnel vision.
I look up and see the library. Luckily, there’s no one else there to torture me. I walk in and look around for a second. Then I sit in a corner in the very back of the library and cry. A lot. For a good twenty minutes, all I could do was writhe and sob. “Why did you have to leave me Dylan?” I choke, “Why did you have to die?”
“I knew that little worm was in here.” I recognize the voice immediately. I was the same twat that said something to me when I walked in the school. I see his face and my heart drops. It’s Mike Stewart. Along with his “posse.” He (along with scores of other people) had made my life hell since elementary school. Please don’t see me, I think desperately. However, as my rotten luck would have it, he comes directly to me.
“Well what have we here?” he says with a sneer on his face. I try to make myself as small as possible and ignore him. “Don’t ignore me, weirdo.” I don’t even dare to look at him. I’m scared I’ll start crying again out of frustration. “Fine, ignore me. Keep pining away for your dead boyfriend.”
“He wasn’t my boyfriend, you ignorant prick,” I spit out. I’m not a violent person, but I knew if I didn’t do or say something I would find the nearest sharp object and shove it into my chest.
“Okay have it your way. Let’s check this freak’s arms and see if he’s sliced and diced lately.” Crap. That was the one thing about me that no one at school knew for sure. They had only speculated. I want to run out of there, but it’s five against one. It takes everything I have not to sob hysterically when they pull up my sleeves. They saw both my recent cuts and the botched suicide attempt from a couple of nights before. “Oh so the rumors are true. Eauxvier is a razor freak.” I keep hoping a teacher will walk in, but to no avail.
“Well guys our work here is done,” he cackles. They let go of me and walk out of the library. As soon as the door shut behind them I start crying again. Great now everyone is going to have new ammunition to torture me with. I check the time. It’s still only first period. I just want to run home. But I know my parents will only torture me more. I literally have nowhere else to go.
You are so pathetic, I think to myself, you are the saddest, most depressing piece of crap to ever walk the Earth. It’s one of those moments when I question why I’m even alive. I stop sobbing, finally, and sit there for the rest of first period in my pit of self-loathing.
When the bell rings for second period I start thinking of other places to go. I definitely don’t want to stay in the library in case someone else decides to add insult to injury. The cafeteria’s out of the question because so many people like to cut class there. The gym has classes this period.
It doesn’t look good for me. I have never felt so trapped in my life. I decide to take my chances and stay inside the library. I make myself as small as possible. If anyone comes in I am ready for them. Fortunately, no one else makes me a victim.
Somehow, I felt Dylan was watching over me. I even saw him a few times. I wanted so desperately for him to be with me again. I didn’t know if I’d survive the school year without him. Hell, I wasn’t sure if I could make it through the first day without him.
Finally the bell for third period rings. I go to my class – Creative Writing 1 – and wait. After about ten minutes I was really confused because no other kids came in there. “Excuse me, Sir, how many students are in this class?” I ask.
“It’s just you Mister...is it pronounced Oh-vee-ay or Oh-vee-air?”
“It’s pronounced Aw-vee-air, Sir. And am I really the only one in here?” I’m both excited and scared.
“Yes indeed. And I’m Mr. Jamison.”
I am seriously shocked. I had been in a few advanced classes and even they had had at least fifteen people in there. I know that this is going to make me even more of a target. I consider going by the counselor’s office at lunch and asking them to change my schedule. I decide against it because that was the only class I had that semester and the only one available at that time that I hadn’t already taken. That would l mean that I would have to stay home with my parents all day and there is no way I am going to do that. I decide to stick it out.
Mr. Jamison spends the rest of the class explaining what the course entailed. The more I listened, the more I actually liked the class. I might actually survive this year, I thought to myself. I walk out of the room feeling like I might want to actually live to my eighteenth birthday. “Hey there’s Butcher Boy.” Well so much for not wanting to die. It isn’t Mike this time. It’s a female voice. News sure got around fast.
I don’t rack my brain trying to figure out who said it because I know I will hear a lot more of it. I’m just ready to get out of here. I hate this place. I hate this life. The only things I don’t hate are the people. No matter how horrible, how mean, how freaking ridiculous people are to me, I can’t hate them or retaliate. I’m a perpetual victim.
“Oh don’t be mean to him, he might slice his arms again.” Deep sigh. “No his boyfriend’s ghost will tell him to cut you.” Keep walking. “Hopefully he’ll off himself.” Finally I lose it.
“Will you all just stop it?!” I scream to no one in particular, “Just leave me alone?! What have I ever done to any of you?! I’m tired of this! So! Freaking! Tired! For two years I’ve put up with this bullshit. Two. Freaking. Years. Just stop!” Then I literally collapse and start sobbing. In the middle of the hallway.
That’s when I hear it. A giggle. Then full blown laughter. Followed by more laughter. Before I know it there is a group of about thirty people surrounding me. Laughing at me while I’m in the middle of a meltdown. I’ll just sit here and wait for them to go to lunch and leave me alone or for a teacher to come out. But, per usual, no one comes and no one leaves. They just stand there and laugh.
I stay here and shut my eyes until they eventually go away. I sit in the hallway alone for a long time. There’s only one more class period left in the day and I know where I’m going to spend it. I repeat the path I took that morning and hope that no one sees me.
This time I manage to escape torture. I sit in furthest corner in library and don’t turn on any of the lights. I take a couple of deep breaths. I know what I’m about to do next. I want to avoid it. I know I shouldn’t. But I can’t avoid it. I take out the razor blade that I knew I would need that day and proceeded to carve all sorts of profane language into my arms. I sit there for a full half hour carving and bleeding. I keep thinking that someone is going to find me in here, but for once I am actually alone.
Now that I’m done, I feel that familiar chill in the air and I know that Dylan must be watching me. Then I hear his voice: Why Erik? Why must you hurt yourself this way? I honestly don’t know. Before I can say as much he is gone.
I start to mentally prepare myself for when I get home. I hope my parents left early for a vacation (of course I can’t go with those bastards) and the house was empty. The time that is passing seems like hours but can’t be more than twenty minutes. Finally I hear that familiar alarm-clock-mixed-with-a-dying-bird sound and get up to leave. I hate to go out there because I know they are waiting for me. I shudder to think of what they’re going to do when I get out there. I think I’ll take my chances going out the other way and risk getting caught by a monitor.
I manage to make it of campus without anyone noticing what direction I went out. I make the same trek I did that morning. I feel another seed of dread inside me. I hate this. I have nowhere to escape to. I go to school and get tortured. I go home and get tortured. I hope my parents aren’t home. I don’t think I could take anything else right now.
I finally arrive home and realize that the house is empty. I have the whole place to myself. My brain starts wandering. I know where I need to go. The only place that didn’t make me want to end my life. The one place that I felt close to him. Our place.
I start the long walk to Dylan and I’s favorite hiding place. It was the place where we blurred the lines and didn’t care one bit. It was deep in the woods and the path was hidden so no one would ever find it. I hadn’t been there in so long that I almost passed it. But somehow I remember the little turn off the path that led to our sanctuary.
I’m suddenly terrified to go in. What if someone found it? What if someone knew about what had gone on in there? I’m being ridiculous. Of course no one knew. How could they? I swallow my arrant fear and go in. Fortunately nothing’s been messed with. Everything is just as we left it.
Just like I imagined I would I feel his presence. But I feel something else along with it. A longing that’s completely foreign to me. Yeah I miss him. Yeah every day without him feels like hell. But this is different. This is something that tugs at the very core of my soul and festers like and open wound. This isn’t the dull, chronic ache of sorrow. This is a sharp, raw pain. Something that no human being should ever feel.
I can’t even stand anymore. I fall to my knees and start sobbing. Sharp, wracking sobs that take over my whole body. Sobs that rob me of my breath. I feel like I’m dying.
I’m starting to come out of the grip that this place has me in. I look around at some of the things he left in there. I see something that I don’t remember. It’s a letter addressed to me. In Dylan’s handwriting. I feel a chill go through my body. I had been in there the day after he died and I don’t remember this being in here. What am I even saying? It’s not like his ghost wrote it, right? Or maybe he did. Maybe I should just read it.
when i left you two years ago, i made a promise to myself that i would watch over you as long as you needed me to. i know life is hard for you right now. don’t pay attention to those stupid kids at school. they don’t know the great person you are. you’re almost there. this will be over soon, i promise. i know you’ve always been a fighter, especially if you have something to fight for. please don’t end your life. heaven is a great place and i want you to be here with me. i know you’re scared to try to connect with me, but i want you to try. i miss you as much as you miss me. don’t dwell on me too much. live your life. fall for someone. remember: live, laugh, and love.
p.s.: don’t worry about your parents. they
will be taken care of.
I drop the letter in disbelief. No. This isn’t possible. Someone is screwing with me. There is no way Dylan wrote this. It had to have been him though. No one else would know that we didn’t capitalize anything when we wrote to each other. I feel his presence again. Oh I wrote it all right, he whispers. I hope you take my advice.
I can’t believe this. He actually wrote me. From beyond. Of course I can’t tell anyone. Everyone already thinks I’m crazy. I’m waiting for me to wake up from whatever unconscious state I’m in and get back to a reality that makes sense, but then again, my reality has never made any sense. I will hold on to this letter as a good luck charm. I think I’m going to need it.
I explore our spot a little bit more. I feel like there is something missing (besides Dylan, of course), but I can’t put my finger on it. The sinking feeling that someone found this place won’t leave me. If Dylan himself hadn’t told me that he wrote the letter, I wouldn’t trust it. I hope I’m wrong.
As I walk home, I feel completely unnerved. What did he mean “they will be taken care of?” Dylan wouldn’t hurt them, would he? Granted if he did, I wouldn’t complain too much. But somehow, and I know this for certain, I would get blamed for it. Even if I was in a completely different place at the time.
As I’m walking in my front door, I realize that my wounds are not only open, they are raw and festering. I really wish I hadn’t gone to that place. It opened up something in me that had been locked away for two years.
I still can’t shake the feeling that someone had invaded our sanctuary. My life would become more hellish than it already is. There were so many things in there that went in depth about our live, things that our parents hadn’t found out.
I know I’m not going to sleep tonight. At all. I will be too paranoid about this. On top of that, I will be in the house alone. As much as my parents despise me, they only hurt me when I was awake. It was those stupid kids from my school. They had done things like that to me before. I’m not afraid though. I can’t really explain how it makes me feel. It’s just this overwhelming anxiety.
I look at the scars I made today. I feel thoroughly disgusted with myself. I feel even more disgusted as I realize that I’ll probably make more before the day is even over. Erik you are such a worthless piece of human garbage, I think to myself, why are you even alive? Your one purpose for living has been gone for two years. Stupid school. Stupid death. Stupid scars. Stupid razor blades. Stupid suicidal thoughts. All of this is completely ludicrous.
I should probably start getting ready for bed. As if I’m going to sleep at all. Paranoia plus grief plus self-loathing is not a good recipe for resting. More like a recipe for me sitting up all night trying to resist the urge to do something crazy (do I really have to say what it is?). When Dylan was alive I would go to his house on nights like this. He would talk me down from my proverbial ledge and just be there. Now that he’s gone I have to sit here and let my own thoughts torture me.
I can’t stand it anymore. Screw everything. My family hates me. Everyone at school hates me. I have no friends. I’m definitely going to sleep. Permanently. This plan depends upon if my parents left the gun safe unlocked. I’m sure they did. They knew I was going to try this.
I go into the den. Sure enough they left it open. I take out the gun I always use at times like this. I start my death march up to my room. I have the same feeling I had this morning on the way to school. Like I’m about to be executed. Except this time, I actually was, only it was by my hand and not someone else’s.
I’m sitting on my bed turning the gun over and over in my hands. I look at the cuts on my arm. That pushes me over the edge. I put the barrel of the gun in my mouth. The metallic taste on my tongue is on I’m familiar from being here many times before. Don’t think, Erik, just pull the trigger. You can end this now. You never have to see any of these people again.
Wait, I can’t do this. I can’t kill myself. I take out Dylan’s letter and read it again. He wouldn’t want me to do this. “I’m sorry Dylan,” I say while sobbing, “I’m sorry I almost failed you.” It’s alright Erik. At least this time you didn’t need me to stop you, he whispers in return. He’s right. Usually he has to tell me to put whatever weapon I’m holding down. This time it was me. I was strong enough this time.
I am so emotionally exhausted that I actually fall asleep. My dreams are as confusing and abstract as they always are. I wake up several times during the night, convinced that someone was in my house with the intention of harming me. Thankfully, no one comes the entire night.
I hear my alarm clock screaming at me. Off to another day of torture, I think to myself. I get dressed in my usual apathetic fashion. I skip breakfast. My stomach is too full of fear and worry. As soon as I step out of my front door I start panicking. What if they’re waiting for me outside today? I feel my hands trembling. No. Not now. I can panic when I get to school. I can panic when I’m in the library and the door’s locked. Not here.
Somehow I’m able to make the walk to school. As I’m walking on campus I see Mike. I can’t be starting already. “Hey there Butcher Boy.” Well I guess it is. I don’t respond this time either. I know there’s no point anymore. I only hope I can get to the library before I break down completely. “I know you hear me, Eauxvier,” Mike yells, “And by the way I found you and Everly’s little sanctuary in the woods.”
I stop dead in my tracks. No. There is no way. “I know you hear me now. You two lovebirds probably shouldn’t have put your names on the entrance.” I knew it. I knew someone had been there. At least nothing had been tampered with. I’m sure Dylan would have told me if there was. This was an absolute nightmare.
I can’t take it anymore. I start sobbing again. I can’t even move. All I can do is stand here and sob. I hear the familiar sound of laughter. I don’t even care. He found the one thing that could hurt me and he used it. Viciously.
Slowly I start to make my way toward the library. I walk in and lock the door. I look at my wound-ridden arm again. If I cut anymore on this arm I’ll probably have to go to the hospital and that is the last thing need right now. I guess I have to use my leg this time. One slice. How dare they disturb our space? Two slices. I can’t believe he said that in front of the entire school. Three slices. Why didn’t I say anything? No just stood there and cried like a little bitch. Four slices. I hate this damn school so much. Sixteen cuts later I finally stop. Twenty in all. The most I’ve ever made on my legs.
I feel lightheaded. I’m not sure if it’s because of the blood loss or because I haven’t eaten anything in a week and a half. Probably both. Either way if someone comes in here, I’m toast. I really need to think of somewhere else to go until third period. This is too open and too accessible.
I am so stupid. I know where I could go. The basement locker rooms. They don’t use them anymore, but they didn’t close them off, thank God. Dylan and I used to go down there all the time to escape. I hope they didn’t suddenly decide to close them off this year.
Just as I’m about to leave I hear the door open. “Butcher Boy! Oh, Butcher Boy! We know you’re in here.” So the torture continues. It isn’t Mike this time. It’s some other poor excuse for a human being. Sometimes I want to find the person that didn’t give this library a back door and punch them in the face.
I decide to take a chance. “Yes I’m in here. What do you want?” I say without even turning around. I have no choice but to stand up to them. It’s not like they’re going to leave me alone any time soon. “Will any of you ever get tired of making me feel like crap all the time?”
“No we won’t, Eauxvier. It’s pretty fun to torture you all day. And by the way, you didn’t go deep enough on your leg.” I look down at my leg. Of course I forgot to roll my pants leg back down. Whatever resolve I had to stand up for myself evaporates. I run. That’s all I can think of. I’m sure they’re shouting at me, but I don’t even hear them.
I just need to get to the basement. Then I can freak out as much as I want. Just not here.
I finally get to the basement. As soon as I walk in the door, I lose it. I cry so much in the span of five minutes, that I’m worried I might dehydrate and die. Of course dying is exactly what I want to do right now. I have to fight with myself to resist the urge to cut again.
I can’t take this anymore. I need to find out what they took from our place. I know they took something. I know they did. I just can’t figure out what. When I went there everything was in its place. Or at least I think it was. With that state I was in a plane could have crashed right behind me and I probably wouldn’t have noticed.
Wait a minute. There was something missing. Oh no. Not that. Anything but that. Dylan’s journal. Everything he’s been through. They’re all going to know his secrets. And mine. This is horrible. This cannot be happening. I need to get it back.
All of a sudden I hear the loudspeaker crackling. “Erik Eauxvier to the office, please.” What could they possibly want? It’s the second day of school. I make the walk upstairs expecting the worse. The worst is exactly what I get.
The secretary proceeded to tell me that I was now legally emancipated. “Legally emancipated?” I asked, confused, “What do you mean legally emancipated?”
“Well, essentially, your parents have cut all ties with you. This letter explains everything,” she replied. She almost looks as if she feels sorry for me.
The letter basically says that my parents are in prison in Europe for embezzlement and they won’t be out for a long time. They signed me away and left me the house and pretty much every penny they own in the States. I am almost happy. This is too good to be true.
I remember Dylan’s letter. Eli, did you do this?, I think to myself. Of course I did. I told you I would take care of them. They can run all they want, but they can’t escape themselves., he whispered in reply. This is the happiest news I’ve had in two years.
For some reason, I suddenly feel scared. I feel like something really horrible is about to happen. The universe has to keep itself in balance somehow. Why can’t I just enjoy being free? My screwed up brain has to immediately go to the worst case scenario. The scary thing is, my gut feelings are usually right.
I go through the rest of the day with mixed emotions. I am so caught up in my own thoughts that not even Mike and his cohorts can get to me. At the end of the day when I am getting ready to go home, Mike’s friend Trent yells my name. This can’t be good.
“Hey Eauxvier, I think this belongs to you.” I turn around to find him holding Dylan’s journal. I decide against reaching for it because I know he won’t let me have it. I’ll just stand here and wait for something else crappy to happen to me.
“Now that we’re done extracting information you can have this back. And just know, if you think your life is hell now, just wait until tomorrow.” That is an ominous statement if I ever heard one.
I just want to get home now. I don’t care about anything right now. I am terrified. Completely and utterly scared. What did they read in there? How are they going to use it against me?
When I get home, I am shaken beyond belief. I knew it. I knew something would come along and ruin my life again. And I can’t do anything about it except bear it and hope to God that I can resist the urge to put myself out of my misery.
September 18, 2012
The past two days have been hell. I have been essentially orphaned (which isn’t that bad actually) and someone found Dylan and I’s hideout. At t his point, I’m not just suicidal, I’m wondering why I was even born. I want to just disappear. N o one would notice if I was gone. And even if they did notice they wouldn’t give a damn. I made so many scars today. I’m surprise d I didn’t bleed to death. I should also eat something. Hunger isn’t helping my hallucinations right now. It’s making them downright scary. I should at least try to get some sleep. At least now I don’t have to worry about someone beating me in my sleep. Now if only this giant blood-soaked knife would go away.