I hate Final Destination, so I don't know why I'm writing this.
SMALL VICTORIES
We never really loved each other, Alex and me. If it hadn't been for the whole death thing we never would have even been friends, but when you know you're going to have to hang out with someone for pretty much the rest of your life it makes sense to pretend there's a real reason for doing so. And hang out we did. We couldn't afford to ever be more than a few feet away from each other at any given time. We were each others' lifeline, literally.
Death looped around sixteen times in total. For the last fourteen it was just me and Alex. Taking it in turns. It became almost easy after a while. When you first get targeted the attacks just seem to come out of nowhere but once you've seen them a few times it becomes as simple as black and white. I suppose when death interferes directly it can't help leaving big stomping tracks. Death. The Grim Reaper. The Spectre of Time. Whatever.
I guess we just got careless. When you beat it so many times you start to think you can live with it. Live a normal life. Normal for Alex was leaving our shared apartment one day for a bottle of milk when I was ill and getting hit on the head with a brick transported from ten miles away by a rogue wind storm.
I didn't admit myself to the institution out of any emotional feelings of not being able to go on without him. It just made sense logically. I couldn't save myself, it didn't work like that, and I didn't trust anyone else. Only Alex had the experience. So I had to just make sure I was in an environment where I didn't present any opportunities. Of course, there were plenty of ways my own body could kill me without any help from heavy or sharp implements. Blood clot. Cancer. A premature stroke. I was expecting cancer, to be honest. Every day I woke up in my padded cell thinking, this is the day when one of my cells malfunctions and starts a tumour. And then I die from a big overblown explosion. What are the chances?