I am an idiot. Everyone says it; mum, dad, Martin, Douglas, even passengers, people I don't even know.
I know they're right because, until now, I thought I wasn't… And I'm always wrong, so they must be right.
I though Douglas and Martin were my friends. I always keep them entertained and they trust me.
Martin even cried in front of me the other day, he doesn't trust anyone else with it; he usually waits until he thinks we can't see or hear him, but I can. I don't know if mum and Douglas know. I just don't know what to say. I only put my arms around him because I couldn't think what else to do, because I'm an idiot, but I think he appreciated it. I am a helper, after all. I held him as we put bandages around his arms as well as colourful sticking plasters as they bled onto the tiles of the bathroom. He told me he just wanted to feel something.
I'll end up telling mum and Douglas, because I am a traitor, even if I don't mean to be. Martin will hate me and it will make him even more sad and empty. I think about him a lot. I worry. I think he should get help, but he told me it would go away soon and he'll be himself again. I hope he's right.
Douglas has dark thoughts too, but they aren't as bad as Martin's. It's when the bottle of vodka in his hotel room starts whispering, that's what he said, though I've never heard a bottle whisper. I help him as best as best as I can, but I think he's tired of trying.
I help mum when dad phones, she cries because she can remember hands around her neck and bruises on her cheek. I sometimes think of the pain of being thrown down the stairs. I think they're flashbacks. I don't know, because I'm stupid. I'm a stupid son of a bitch who doesn't know anything!
But that's just dad talking… I hope.
I am helpful. I am a shoulder to cry on. I think I am deluded.
