(if you are looking for some music to listen to while reading this, I suggest anything by the seven mile journey, specifically 'simplicity has a paradox' and 'purification')

The Sea Is A Good Place to Think of the Future - 2

The smell of watery snow mixes in with the excitement of winter break freedom. Teenagers hold hands on park benches and children build snowmen. You sit with your legs dangling in the almost-frozen pond, watching the chilled fish swim away. Snowcold. I kneel next to you and pour you a cup of hot chocolate. You used to love eating chocolate ice cream so I thought hot chocolate would be the next best thing. You don't touch it.

I offer you a bite of my lunch and you stare blankly at the water. I think that you aren't even looking at the pond, you are just looking. Staring into nothing. Thinking of nothing. Doing nothing. Feellikenothing.

I bite my lip and realize that I'm crushing my dog. Dogs don't drink hot chocolate. I rise and pull the leash, he follows. We stroll along the icy path before heading back home. The snow travels in with us, leaving an insignificant and troublesome mess of frozen water on the rug. My father is still away. My mother is in her office and Ami is upstairs. I walk up the stairs and her door is open slightly. You are holding her neck and kissing her cheek. She giggles. You don't bother looking in my direction until my hand is closed around the doorknob. She screams at me for walking in and you say nothing. Sorry. I don't realize I'm standing in an empty room until Ami comes up behind me. Move. I step out of her room and wipe a tear from my cheek.

Ami's room is still messy. My room hasn't changed either. I haven't touched my desk or my bookcase in months. If it weren't for the rumpled bed covers my room would look like one out of a furniture catalog. I don't remember when it got so organized. I faintly remember my mother knocking on my door and asking if I needed help cleaning. Did I say yes?

You used to sneak in after midnight through my balcony doors and cover up in my bed. You didn't always, only when you had a fight with your parents. I would find you covered in bruises and scratches. Why did I devote my time to helping you? Waste.

You shook my shoulder until I opened my eyes groggily. Your eye was black and your lip was swollen and bleeding. Did you chip a tooth? Your arms had long streaks going across your wrists. Nothing. I didn't know if you were beat up or you were cutting again or if both. The only thing I could do was give you a hug. I was so afraid that I would end up breaking you, so I didn't squeeze you. You didn't ask for help or love or affection. You never asked for help. What was I supposed to do when you couldn't speak? How do you help someone who needs it but doesn't accept it?

Risks. You tower over the window ledge. You laugh when I cry and scream, getoffgetoffgetoff. Sometimes I think you like torturing my feelings, you like knowing someone cares. "It's only two stories," you say in a deadpan voice. You close your eyes and fall back. I run to the window and you are laying on the lower roof, laughing. "I'm not stupid enough to kill myself."

You force your foot down on the pedal and swerve in and out of cars. You let go of the steering wheel and look back at me and smirk. "Scared?" I try to grab a hold of the wheel and you push me back. "Watch." You twist the keys and pull them out of the engine. We are sitting in the middle of the train tracks. I hear the whistle and scream. You laugh and put the keys back in the engine, but don't drive off until the last second. "What the fuck is wrong with you I hate you why did you do that we could have been killed!" You don't react when I punch your chest. Sorry. You don't say anything when I walk the rest of the way home.

You walk slowly in front of me with your hands in your pockets. I watch you look around the store in the corner of your eye, then watch your fingers curl around a candy bar and slip it inside your pocket. "Don't." You pretend not to hear me. You turn around and yank on my arm, pulling me out with you. One of the cashiers follows us out and you push me behind the dumpster. "No I didn't steal anything." You hit the cashier in the jaw and grab me and half-carry half-drag me to one of the nearby parks. "Why did you steal I have food at my house you can always eat there." You don't answer. You pull the wrapper slowly, break off a chunk, and push it in my mouth. Don'tspeak. You keep doing this, breaking off bits of chocolate and feeding them to me, until the first square of the bar is gone. You pull the wrapper back up and stuff it in your pocket. You turn and look at me. Kiss.

You walk me home and say goodnight and push me in the door. You tell me not to say anything. You kiss me goodnight and I am surprised and I don't know what to do. Goodbye.

Fast forward three hours and you are in the hospital hooked up to a hundred different machines. Sorry. Fault. Goodbye.

Wake up and realize that I'm at your funeral and there are thousands of kids who don't care standing around because they'd rather be celebrating the life of someone they used to bully over solving algebraic equations. Your sister is too busy churning out the crocodile tears for attention and your mother isn't speaking. The wake was open-casket but it should have been closed. No one bothered looking at you besides me, anyway.

Fast forward one week later and everyone is talking about the affair that a teacher had. Fast forward one month later and everyone is too busy with winter break to remember what happened. Fast forward a year later and I'm sure no one would even remember who you were.

I lock the bathroom door and drag out the pill bottles. "What is the point in existing if no one notices?" Ibuprofen, Naproxen, Vicodin. What was the one you used? OxyCotin. The caps don't come off right away and I break open one of the plastic bottles from the side, spilling fat white pebbles everywhere. My hands reach around the sink and fill my palms with pills. One by one they pour down my throat. I choke on gulps of water. Walk, stumble, trip. Bang. The ceiling is white and there is mold spot in the corner. My eyes flutter close and I throw up words. Someone bangs on the door and this is doesn't feel real. What did I just do? What did I just do? This is the way to go, isn't it? Alone and isolated and freeing yourself from the world because "no one cares." Fuck you, I cared. I cried and screamed and I took care of you and I kept you from doing stupid shit like this but you still went and tried to kill yourself and actually succeeded and all you did was play with me like a fucking toy and I hate you I just fucking hate you. I crawl out of the tub and my hands shake when they try to play with the lock. This is fucking stupid, you worthless coward. You were a fucking coward. Ami pushes open the door and there are tears streaming down her face.

"Oh my god, oh my god, Amu, what the fuck, seriously," she yells. Ami picks me up and drags me to the stairway. "Mom!" she screams. You stand at the bottom of the stairs. I narrow my eyes and bite my lip. Sorry. My mother runs up the stairs and helps me walk to the car. You slide in the seat next to me before the door closes and smirk. Sorry. I plug my fingers in my ears and pretend I'm not here and pretend I don't care. Ami jumps in the front seat and my mother pulls out of the driveway without bothering to shut the garage door.

You cuddle up next to me and whisper in my ear. Nopoint. You show me your scars on your wrists and laugh when I cry. Useless. You play games with me and fuck with my head. You don't say anything when I try to tell you what you're doing. You deny that you need help. You're living but you aren't really living. You're just dead on the inside and everyone knows it and everyone was just waiting for the day you would off yourself.

I close my eyes and rest my head against the window. You curl up on my lap like a little child. Wait. I don't open my eyes again because I'm afraid I will actually see you, not just imagine you. Sorry. You don't follow me into the hospital and you aren't waiting in my room or in my hallway or at the park or on the roof of the school. Sorry. You aren't waiting for me when I get out.

I unlock the balcony doors and open the blinds up again. You knock on the window and wave. You smile apologetically, and I nod. You turn around and crawl down the tree, and somewhere between the snow and the fence you disappear in thin air. Goodbye.