Elsa

*Two Weeks Earlier*

"Can't, sorry. I need to study for finales." I sigh, declining Jack once again over our night calls. "I really am sorry, Jack. I just- there's so much I need to do and- I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay, really." Jack says, probably disappointed.

"I'm not trying to ignore you Jack, I'm just so stressed and busy, I-" I ramble on, trying to make Jack feel better for my mistakes.

"Elsa, it's okay! Really. I understand, honestly." Jack says calmly.

"Okay, good. I'll make it up to you later."

"You don't have to, alright? It's totally okay. Now, I'm gonna go so you can get some sleep, okay?" Jack's always been good at keeping calm.

"Okay..." I say. "Sorry."

"I'll see you tomorrow at school, okay?" Jack asks.

"Ya, okay." I sigh.

"Hey, it's gonna be alright." Jack says, and I hang up on him.

Frustration kicks in, and I kick the wall beside my bed. How could I be so despicable to this boy? All he's trying to do is help, and I can't even be nice about it.

Jack and I aren't dating. We're immensely close friends, but I can't date him. Not because I don't want to, or because I don't think of him like that, but because I'm to much to handle for him. He's lowkey; relaxed, and chill. I'm an explosion of emotional and trauma.

I can't date him because I can't let him deal with me. I'm protecting him by doing this. It's how I will always be. I can't get close to anyone. It would be too detrimental.

Besides, Jack is very attractive to any standard. He could swoon anyone he wanted to. He often wants me to get out. To breathe. Maybe it's because he's been around since the time before the depression decided to cripple me. Maybe it's because he knows I used to genuinely smile.

But that was before the wight of the real world has decided to inflict its horror upon me. That was before I realized just how saddening most everything is.

I slid down against the wall beside my bed, and run my fingers below my right wrist. It's an uneven spread, holding slices that contain built up pain and anxiety which I'm to terrified to share.

Nobody has dared to learn this about me. I'd hope to keep it that way.

It's been a few months since my skin has been broken by any sharp blades. I find myself stuck between letting the wounds on my flesh heal, and deciding to create new ones.

I get up, refusing to create any new decorations on my wrist. I turn off the light, and crawl into the comfort of my bed. I close my eyes, while my mind is wide awake.

I heart my phone go off from a text.

Jack: You okay?

I turn off my phone, and shove it under my pillow. I hear it go off again, but I just ignore it. Soon, silence, my familiar accompany, returns to my room.

I battle the idea of sleep, checking the time often. The numbers light by my clock feel immune to me. The time rolls by as if it was nothing. 11:03pm. 12:43am. 1:37am. After rolling are pointlessly, I go to the bathroom.

After frivolously attempting to get myself sleep, my temporary escape from feelings, I decide medication is the way to go. I open my medicine cabinet, and stare upon the options of drugging methods.

Between the mess of headache/fever pills, pain pills, and allergy pills, I decide on the nighttime cold relief for a sedative. It's not harmful, I don't think, to take just to go to sleep.

Yes, this is the best choice.

I take the medicine, crawl back into the comfort of my bed, and let myself fall into a drugged sleep.

The obnoxious gong of my alarm interrupts the peace found from sleep. I lousily get up, collecting my things for the day. I walk down the hall into the kitchen. Anna is already eating her breakfast, which I skip, as always.

Unlike me, Anna has done well in recovering from the loss we both share. She eats regularly, sleeps well, and works hard on her grades. She even has started dating a boy a year above her; Kristoff. He is awfully nice and they do cute things all the time, and it makes me feel better about everything that Anna has found happiness.

I'm glad she's doing well. I wish I was able to be so.

Anna and I drive to school, but I let her drive since she's only 16 and still trying to get all her permit driving in. I slug into the building, and into the joyous accordance of Spanish II for first period.

I sit in the back, keep quite, and sleep all I can. I'm so exhausted, despite having done nothing much in a while. But it's always like this. I don't feel like doing anything.

The bell rings, and I lift myself up to the crowded hallways. I shuffle through the countless kids, heading to my locker and into second period, World History.

This is the class Jack and I share, along with Calculus after lunch. But unlike the other class, this one is so lenient, I'm sure I could shoot a firework in here and the teacher wouldn't care. She's the most nonchalant teacher I've ever had.

I walk in, and set my things in the back desk, and slouch down. Everyone else takes their places in their desks, whilst Jack had chosen to be beside me. Partly because we're really the only friends in this class, and also because I'm pretty good at getting the correct answers on worksheets.

Like any other day, we receive a study sheet to fill out based on the chapter of current study. I begin to page, eager to finish so I can go back to sleep.

"Hey, Elsa, did you get my texts?" Jack asks.

"Oh, no, sorry. I haven't checked my phone since we hung up." I try to laugh off, but I'm not very convincing.

"Oh." Jack says, reserving back to himself.

I feel pretty bad for everything, but I don't know what to do, so I just pretend it didn't happen. That seems to be the subtle solution to things.

The room, although very relaxed and free, is also uncomfortable. The air feels dry, and smells like an old cereal box. It's pretty hot, and I don't want to sweat much in my hoodie. I pull the sleeves up, trying to aid in the deprivation.

I continue the sheet, almost finishing it.

"Elsa..." Jack says quietly.

I find my eyes following his fingers, which point to the scars still healing on my wrist. Despite the heat, I quickly shove down my sleeves again.

"It's nothing." I say, hoping to the heavens he doesn't figure out what it is.

"Elsa, that's not nothing. Please." Jack urges, and I can't tell if he actually cares or is just wanted a conversation. He's not exactly that kind of person, but you can't trust anyone completely.

"Jack, it's nothing, okay." I harshly disclose.

Jack keeps quiet after so, and the bell rings almost immediately after to release me from his peering eyes.

He saw. He thinks you're disgusting. He thinks you're insane. He doesn't like you at all.

My thoughts torture me throughout the rest of the day.

Jack is a good kid. He wouldn't try to make me uncomfortable. He will try to understand. It's just who he is.

I try to reconcile with the possessing rumors floating in my thoughts. I try to prove myself wrong.

Calculus rolls around, but that class is strict, and there is little availability for free talk. Our teacher is not harsh or crude, she just likes things to be accomplished. Her thought process is very aligned and coherent.

Jack sits towards the front, and I am a few rows over, in the middle section. Through the quite of confusing mathematics, I can feel his eyes peer towards me at times. I can sense his worry and anxiety for me, and I'm unsure how to process it.

I rush out of the classroom when the bell rings, and avoid him best I can. I'm terrible at being a decent friend to him, especially after how amazing he is, but it's just who I am; a sad, pathetic human, barely clinging to the depressing confusion she calls life.

Once all classes for the day have ended, including the mandatory jogging for those not in sports, I quickly head to the old truck Anna and I share. I slam the door shut, locking the doors.

I bite my lip, trying to hide back oncoming tears that sting the back of my eyelids.

I pull out my phone, and don't read the ones from Jack. I read, instead, Anna's message, which says she will be going home with Kristoff to do homework, then she'll come back. I text her back, making sure she knows I'm okay with it.

Then the curiosity nags me. The desperate need to know what Jack said tugs at my heart. So I open his messages.

Jack: You Okay?

Jack: seriously, are you?

Jack: Well, if you need anyone to talk, I'm a phone call away.

All those from last night, but then an oncoming call dials on my cell phone. It's Jack. I reject the call, partly because I don't what to say, but also because I'm on the verge of tears and letting him hear that is not in my agenda.

A text message arrives.

Jack: Please talk to me.

I decide to answer.

Me: I can't. I'm sorry.

Jack: Yes you can. I'm here, okay? You're one of my best friends, and I have to make sure you're okay.

Me: I don't want to. There's nothing to say. I have to go no

Jack:... okay. please be okay.

I put the phone in my backpack, and let the agonizing tears sting my cheeks. I sit, walling my own snot and salty tears for several minutes, crying over... I'm not sure what.

Over the fact that I can't be as amazing of a friend as Jack. Over the fact that he's so much an angel, and I'm practically a demon. Over the fact that living has become an endless cycle, and how everyday I grow more eager for living to end for me.

I dry my tears, and take some tissues from the compact box in the truck to wipe away my face, and drive home.

I fall into my room, throwing my things aside. I sit on my bed, feeling nothing. I don't feel like crying. I don't feel like talking. I just feel empty.

Empty and dead inside. Like there's no reason to exist. Like everything I do just causes consequences to others who dare care about me in any way.

I could end it. I could just go, right now. It could happen. I have some bottles of pills. It's possible.

My destructive thoughts begin chipping away at my soul. I hide under the covers, feeling numb to the world. I put in my earbuds, and turn the music up pretty loudly, tuning out everything. I don't feel anything. I feel nothing.

I am nothing.