Hey Everyone,
Hope you all had a wonderful New Year and holiday season.
This chapter was originally slated to be posted in mid-October, but given the real-life tragedy that befell the Nash family at that time, I couldn't in all good consciousness go ahead and post this chapter without giving it some time. In case you are not aware, Kevin and his wife, Tamara lost their son Tristan right around that time. This as one might imagine is quite a devastating event and as a parent myself, I can't even imagine.
I took some time to consider the trajectory of this story where I was considering abandoning the projected path. Ultimately, I concluded that the events of this chapter are a pivotal catalyst for things to come and the story I am trying to tell.
That being said, there is no way to sugarcoat or beat around the bush with the content and subject matter. I don't like feeling as though I'm spoiling things for you, but I feel it necessary to give a trigger warning, but the blunt truth of the matter is Heather will carry out a suicide attempt in this chapter. Although this chapter has been planned nearly since the beginning, the timing on my part is absolutely horrible and for that, I deeply apologize. I want to make it unmistakably clear that I am in no way attempting to make light of or exploit the suffering that the Nash family has been through these past few months. Again, my timing is just awful, I know and had I not been such a lazy ass at times, we would have been far beyond this point.
Thanks a million to Idcam and Marrowsong for sticking with the story.
Now for your official warning.
*TRIGGER WARNINGS* Suicide attempt, drug use
A few days later Mark had left for the road which meant Sara and the girls returned to their ranch home, much to their relief. Truth be told anyone would be surprised that Mark even still had a job after the way he had threatened and physically assaulted Vince McMahon of all people. It would appear however if one was too great a talent or too valuable an asset, there were oftentimes transgressions that were overlooked. Such had been proven time and time again.
Sara hadn't spoken to Mark since the morning he and the girls had come home. She had turned off her cell phone and although he had called her parents' landline several times over the course of those few days, they never answered knowing it was him. He never left a message either, except that morning to let her know that he was flying out to Seattle. That's when Sara packed the girls up and flew out of her parents' house like a bat out of hell.
Heather sat on the edge of her bed. She was holding her cell phone in her hands. The weight of it felt heavy, like a brick. Her father had confiscated both her and Reves's cell phones once her dastardly deeds had been discovered. Her mother had just returned it to her. It was apparently discovered in a lock box belonging to her father.
Heather found herself regretting that she had not gained Kevin's number at some point. She was short-sighted at the time and he had never offered it to her. Just what would she say if he did? Would she speak to him about how she had ruined everything with her naive selfishness? It was better that they remained without contact. It would make her final task much easier.
Staring at the tiny screen, she noted a host of voice messages and a couple of text messages from Jeremiah. Heather sighed with despondency. She didn't bother to listen to the messages or read the extensive text he had sent. She was an atrocious friend, but she was going to remedy that.
With Jeremiah's number highlighted, her thumb hovered over the call button for a brief moment until it shifted to the power button. Pressing it for about three seconds, the cell phone powered off. Heather folded it shut and placed it inside the drawer of her bedside table. She would have little use for it from this point forward.
Heading to her closet, she traded out the newer pair of Converse she had been forced to wear for her beloved battered ones. She left the newer set on the floor of her closet to collect dust and perhaps keep the other skeletons company. There was just something about the familiar wear and tear that set her somewhat at ease.
Heather grabbed her plaid backpack that was hanging off of one of her bed posts and slung it on her shoulder. Releasing an anxious huff, she had to steel herself before closing her bedroom door behind her. She paused, staring at the door that was directly across from her own. As the memories from that night came flooding back, she hastened down the hall. She could not afford to lose her determination, not when she had a task to complete.
As she descended the stairs, Heather ignored the photos of her family; more importantly, the ghosts reflected back in them. Reaching the bottom, it dawned on Heather that it had been the last place she had seen her father. She should have felt contrition in regards to the words she had spoken but she could not bring herself to. The first floor of the house was quiet. Peaceful yet eerie, somehow making Heather feel like she was walking in a dream. There was no indication of her mother nearby, which meant she must have been upstairs in her bedroom. That suited Heather perfectly fine for now.
Making her way through the living room and into the foyer, she headed towards the front door. Opening it, she was hit with a surge of heat from the Texas Summer sun. It enveloped her comfortably after being inside the frigid air conditioning, however she knew it would swiftly become vexing as it was already early afternoon.
Squinting, Heather stepped off the front porch into the sweltering inferno. She attempted not to pay any mind to the heat for she may very well be headed to a far worse destination. Heather walked across the driveway that was paved with bricks. It added to the rustic atmosphere of the home and somehow Heather had always appreciated that. Moments later, Heather reached the threshold between where the Calaways' driveway ended and the long dirt road to civilization – at least that was how Reves described it – began. Heather prohibited herself from glancing back at her once home, lest she lose her nerve and turn back inside.
Inhaling a deep breath as if venturing on an invisible platform, Heather stepped onto the road. Thus, she began her trek down the extensive road that led to the outskirts of the city, her tattered sneakers kicking up dust in their wake. Taking in the green of the pastures and fields lining the path, Heather noticed the heat radiating off of the earth. It sizzled in visible waves, evidence of the inferno the atmosphere could sustain at times.
The bees buzzed from flower to flower going about their business. They had but one purpose in their fleeting lives. And then all too soon they were condemned to die. It was a cruel fate, being doomed to their nature, but suffice to say that they fulfilled their purpose nevertheless.
A flock of birds soared overhead. Their melodious chirping and tweeting once was a comfort that Heather would welcome jubilantly. Today she stared up at them in bitter envy of their freedom and their urge to sing for no particular reason other than they had the ability to do so.
Eventually, Heather reached the fork in the road that veered off towards the Bedson's extravagant estate. Heather could see it from where she stood. She wanted to run on passed it, putting as much distance between it and herself as possible. However, something stopped her there for a moment. She had spent much time in that excessive abode in her younger years. That was indeed several years ago and it taught her that things can certainly change in the blink of an eye and that people are not always as they appear. It would be false to say that the people in that home were not a catalyst to her journey today. She knew that she should not give them the satisfaction of such power over her, but they were only a small cog in the machine that had been devouring her life for some years now.
The great and terrible machine was following her now, trailing behind her, waiting for the opportunity to strike. Dragging itself along, grinding and squeaking horribly, it towered over her, gnashing its teeth and biding its time. Heather willed herself to continue forward. Ruminating on such unpleasantries would do little to benefit her now. She had a catalog of tasks to complete and only a finite amount of time to do so. The machine would have to terry for now.
When Heather finally reached the outskirts, she was exhausted. She hadn't considered quite how far the road was. Heather was aware of the bus shelter not far off. She took a seat on the bench after viewing the schedule. Luckily, the bus would be making another round in approximately fifteen minutes, so she waited as patiently as she could. When it pulled up to the curb, it opened its doors to let a few passengers off.
Heather climbed the few steps onto the enormous vehicle. Taking her cues from the man in front of her, Heather dug into her wallet, produced four quarters, and deposited them into the coin receptacle before choosing a seat. The bus was a tad overcrowded for Heather's liking, but when she reasoned that for some, this was evidently their only mode of transportation, she forced her preferences aside. This would soon be of little consequence to her and these people would go on about their lives once all was said and done.
Heather clutched her plaid backpack to her chest as the bus was set in motion. She had a moment of doubt and thought of standing up and yanking the cable overhead, indicating that she wished to exit. She remained seated, however, stealing glances at the various commuters, and finding herself wondering about their lives. Where they happy? Did they have someone that loved them? A few of them she looked at and said yes. Others, not so much.
Before she knew it, Heather's stop was swiftly approaching. She had just reached up to grasp the cable when another individual had gotten to it first. Heather murmured a thanks to the bus driver as she exited and found herself in front of her current destination: the library. She believed she could attribute the advice, "When in doubt, go to the library," to Hermione Granger and it seemed the natural place for her to seek refuge for a short while.
Entering inside the grandiose building, Heather was struck with the urge to abandon her designs and spend hours poring over the pages of numerous tales as she journeyed through the stacks, losing herself as she delved deeper inside the labyrinth. Knowing well that she must be steadfast in her campaign, she ejected the thoughts from her mind.
Approaching the front desk of the ground floor, Heather asked in her reticent manner to be directed to the legal section. The fairly young library assistant gave her a peculiar sort of look and after a few follow-up questions informed her that it was located on the third floor to the left. Giving her thanks, Heather made her way to the elevator. Normally she wouldn't mind in the slightest taking the stairs, but she was still thoroughly fatigued from her long and tedious trek.
Once she arrived on the third floor, Heather headed towards the left as the woman had told her. Sifting through the drawers of the enormous card catalog, Heather discovered the location of the correct volume that she was seeking first. Venturing down the aisle, Heather procured the tome that she was searching for.
As she pulled it from the shelf, she could swear that she had heard the sound of giggling. Brushing it off Heather turned back to bring her book to an empty table when the sound rang out again. This wing of the library was, for the most part, deserted, leading Heather to wonder who would be making such a commotion in an academic institution such as this. Her curiosity winning out, Heather crept in the opposite direction, towards the sound.
Peering around the corner of the stack, Heather caught sight of a couple apparently engaged in a heavy make-out session. There was a boy seated in one of the gigantic plush chairs in a corner, near the window. A girl sat across his lap; arms snaked around his neck as their lips locked together feverously. Heather felt her face explode with color as she gawked at the display which she felt she should in no manner be privy to. The girl severed the connection and after the boy seemed to whisper something in her ear, she broke into full-on laughter. Throwing her head back and leaning away, Heather was given a clearer view of the boy. He had a handsome face from what she could tell, but what was most attention-grabbing was the shaggy, neon-green hair he was sporting. For a moment, it put her in the mind of Batman's arch-nemesis, The Joker. Heather released a tiny gasp when his eyes traveled straight to her as if he was aware of her presence the entire time.
Mortified from having been caught prying, Heather turned on her heels and hastened away as swiftly as possible without breaking into a full-on sprint. She chided herself for foolishly snooping into others' affairs. All the while she was simultaneously revolted and envious of their overtly intimate display. What individuals possessing even a shred of dignity would engage in such private acts in a public setting?
As Heather seated herself at one of the empty tables in the far corner a sense of covetousness coiled around her heart. Memories flooded not only her mind but her body as well when she acknowledged that she would never again experience such intimacy. As she brushed away a lone tear, she expelled these thoughts. They were only impeding her in her course and she had little use for them at the present time. There were plenty of lovers in the world. There wasn't a necessity for more.
Heather cracked open the weighty tome and an odd sense of tranquility washed over her. She was seeking answers to the consequences of her transgressions – not for herself that is, but for Kevin. She wanted to be certain that no legal repercussions would follow him as a result of her insulant decisions. She had it on good authority that once she had carried out her task, he would be rendered beyond reproach. If she could ensure that much, it would offer her infinitesimal peace of mind.
Diving into monotonous legal jargon, Heather sifted through paragraph after paragraph gleaning what she could. Procuring a small notebook and a pen, she jotted down notes and points of interest. For what exactly, she wasn't sure. She had found her answers long before. Yet it was a familiar ritual and it occupied her thoughts. Or perhaps she was thinking of imparting some form of a clue. When the words in the law book seemed to begin running together, Heather determined she had left no stone unturned and returned the volume to its rightful place on the shelf.
There was a reference librarian located on this floor and Heather inquired about the medical section, specifically, pharmaceutical. The middle-aged woman shot her the same suspicious expression as the younger woman downstairs. Finding it astonishingly simple, Heather informed her that she was in the midst of a research paper for one of her summer courses. That explanation seemed to satisfy the woman and she directed Heather to the section she was requesting.
Heather found another gargantuan tome and referred to the index for the precise curative she was inquiring after. Flipping back and forth through the hundreds of pages, she discovered the information which she sought. After doing some reading to soak up the data, she again took her notebook from her bag and performed a few calculations. She double-checked her work ensuring that her solutions were correct. There was little room for error here. Once she was certain that she had done her due diligence, Heather closed this book as well and placed it on the shelf. The hour was later than Heather thought and it was time for her to move on to her next objective.
Making her way to the elevator, Heather found herself exiting onto the ground floor once again. Heather became startled when the young woman from earlier began speaking to her as she hastened passed. Heather stopped and blinked at the woman as though she was speaking a foreign language. The woman informed Heather that a teen workshop was set to begin and commented that perhaps Heather would enjoy participating. They were going to be crafting jewelry, a necklace, and a matching set of earrings or a bracelet.
Heather had no use for such ornaments of vanity. However, that was not what she told the woman. With a nod, she politely declined and continued in her trajectory. As it happened, she passed the teen room on her route to the exit. Their laughter and jovial chatter reminded her that she would never be permitted to live a normal life as her peers did. She was an anomaly and anomalies were often eradicated from society in order to preserve social order.
Having concluded one leg of her journey, Heather boarded the bus again, this time on its outbound route. Her second ride seemed to be much shorter than the first. Heather wasn't certain whether it was the gathering of fewer passengers or whether her apprehension was beginning to get the better of her. Regardless, Heather soon found herself standing at the bus stop where she began. Thus, she endeavored the long pilgrimage back to the Calaway ranch.
Once Heather had arrived at the front door she nearly felt as though she might collapse. Physical activity was not one of her fortes as it was, but she had severely underestimated the distance. As she made her way inside, her parched throat begged to be quenched. Her first thought was to deny herself. She would have little need of such provisions very soon. However, her body betrayed her mind as she slowly shuffled her exhausted feet toward the kitchen.
Heather was startled when she discovered her mother leaning against the counter as she jotted down something on a notepad, a list presumably. For an instant, Heather panicked, but then realized this was a better location for her mother than anywhere upstairs.
Looking up, her mother greeted and addressed her with a smile and then looking upon her, curiously asked if she had been outside.
Murmuring a hello in return, Heather retrieved a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water from the dispenser on the refrigerator. She felt as though she would never be satiated, drinking as though she had trekked through the desert for days.
Her mother spoke to her and Heather lowered the glass and turned to gaze meekly upon her. She apologized for the delay in dinner but stated that she had some other errands that she was taking care of during the day and that she still needed to stop by the grocery store and pick up a few things. Then she added that she was planning to prepare Heather's favorite, chicken noodle casserole.
Heather was wearing a stoic expression and her mother's invitation nearly caused her to forfeit. Her mother had been attempting greatly to revert things to what they once were and while Heather commended her efforts, she knew that path was no longer recoverable.
Suffice to say, she wouldn't be eating chicken noodle casserole this night. She had a plan to carry out and she knew she couldn't dither. Panic set in again. She had to quit her mother; she couldn't waver in her intentions.
Therefore, she declined. She wished only to be in solitude and gain clarity for her task ahead. Also, the fact that her mother was going to be absent for a while would give her the opportunity to carry out her objective undeterred.
Her grin faded into disappointment, and her mother cast a worrying glance at her although she said no more on the matter and simply nodded. Tearing the list from the notepad she stuffed it into her purse and told Heather she would be back soon.
When Heather heard the front door shut, she released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding as an amalgamation of guilt and relief washed over her. Waiting until she could no longer hear the rumbling engine of her mother's monstrous truck, Heather set about preparing for the task at hand.
Ascending the staircase, she once again ignored the photos on the wall. That girl was a stranger crying for help, too afraid to seek it. Until then, she hadn't realized that no one was coming to rescue her. Like the heroine in Lord Tennyson's poem, she would have to do it herself. Continuing up the stairs, she left the girl there, sometimes happy, sometimes melancholy, suspended in time.
When she reached the upper floor, she didn't head to the right, the direction of her own room. Instead, she pivoted to the left, heading to her parents' room.
Again, she gave a silent prayer of thanks that she had indeed found her mother in the kitchen and not in her bedroom. That discovery would have thwarted her intentions altogether. As a reflex, Heather lifted her hand to knock, before she reminded herself that no one was within. Her mother had gone out and her father had flown out of state hours ago.
Heather didn't entertain the thought that she should have been on that flight as well. She wouldn't wish to be a part of any WWE shenanigans that she may be thrust into during the absence of a certain someone. That was all irrelevant, however. She was exactly where she was meant to be at this moment. And he was far away. The best possible scenario.
Slowly opening the door Heather stepped cautiously inside her parents' domain. Closing the door behind her with a gentle click, she took in the room that seemed both familiar and foreign to her. Although she was a little older by the time the house was built, she would often creep into her parents' room and scramble into their bed whenever there was a particularly unpleasant thunderstorm or she had a nightmare. This without question often enraged her father, especially in the few instances where – much to her own mortification – she had happened upon them in the marital act. At times her mother would win out and let her stay, although she always awoke in her own room.
Remember your purpose, Heather chided herself, reiterating that she had little time to terry as she moved across the bed chamber toward the master bathroom. Although she was certain her mother was away, Heather closed the bathroom door behind her – a precaution so that she may be alerted to someone approaching in the unlikely event that she may be discovered there.
Knowing exactly what it was that she was seeking, Heather began prudently opening drawers and rifling through their contents, wasting little time from that moment. The first yielded nothing, so she moved on to the next. She was somewhat flabbergasted by the flotsam and jetsam crammed into these drawers. When she came up emptyhanded a second-time dread began crawling inside her that her design may be all for not. No, it was here. She was certain. Softly closing the second drawer, she crouched down to examine the third. Scouring through its jumble, she paused when the unmistakable rattle caught her ear. Moving aside some of her mother's feminine hygiene products Heather spotted it; the orange bottle with the white cap.
Her heart skipped a beat once she laid eyes on it. It was like searching for buried treasure and she wasn't positive whether her finding filled her with apprehension or elation. Reaching inside the drawer, she retrieved the container and read the label to be certain that this was the one she sought.
Mark Calaway. Oxycodone.
Drawing in a deep breath, Heather bit her lip as she stared at the bottle in her hand. The doubt was creeping in and she couldn't afford that. Without another moment's hesitation, Heather closed the drawer and stood, shoving the bottle into the front pocket of her jeans. She scuttled swiftly from her parents' bedroom leaving not a trace of her presence, save the missing pill bottle.
Returning to her bedroom, Heather quickly shut the door behind her and locked it. She removed the bottle from her pocket and felt her heart sink a little when she turned it over in her hand. It did not appear to hold the quantity which she had originally anticipated. No matter. She had overcompensated her calculations at any rate. This would not derail her in her devices.
Heather crawled onto her bed, sitting cross-legged in the center. Leaning over after a moment, she placed the pill bottle on the bedside table, the one where she had slipped her cell phone earlier. She stared at the little orange cylinder for a moment before turning away and closing her eyes. She understood that her time was limited. She simply needed a brief period to summon her courage.
Heather picked up her portable CD player from the nightstand. Slipping the headphones over her ears, she skipped to the track, Asleep on The Smiths compilation album, Louder Than Bombs. She supposed the urge to listen to music may seem quite trivial at this time, but if there were ever an appropriate last song for her life, she supposed this was it.
As she closed her eyes, Heather was overcome with a curious sensation. It was a peculiar amalgamation of tranquility and fear. Two opposing emotions that Heather didn't believe were able to occupy the spirit at once. Yet, she learned there was a surprising sense of clarity that accompanied the decision to end one's life once one truly accepted their fate.
That acceptance and that clarity didn't negate the fear, however. Fear of failure for one thing. Fear of the unknown for another. Heather didn't know if there was anything on the other side. She liked to think there may be. Then again, she had always believed in fairytales much to her own detriment.
Fairytales were what had gotten her into this mess in the first place, were they not? Yet, contrary to Disney's happily ever after, at least the origins of most were quite befitting to her own tale. The Little Mermaid turned to sea foam. The Lady of Shalott left her tower although she knew it would be the death of her once she had floated down the river.
Heather had contemplated leaving a note, but she surmised that there may not be an adequate number of words to recount all of her transgressions and the anguish that she had caused others in her life. She really was a wretched girl, who was far more burdensome than she was useful. Her father would certainly revel in her departure. He had proven countless times that he did not care for anyone beyond himself. Her mother could live her life unimpeded and finally explore the opportunities which had been elusive to her for nearly twenty years. She was still quite young, but Heather couldn't help scolding herself that she should have carried on with these measures years prior.
Once she had expired, Reves would, at last, be free to flee far from this place and never return just as she wished. Heather had known all too well that her sister had sustained her for many years of their lives. She had endured the abuse and neglect all for Heather's piteous and disgraceful sake; in order to guard and keep watch over her. It was perhaps why Reves had at times harbored some form of contempt towards her, although Heather could not slight her in that regard.
Heather had already resolved that Jeremiah would also benefit from her departure. He had such a light about him, it did him little good to stand next to her dark and shadowy disposition. One could not spend more than five minutes in his company and not be taken by his magnificent aura.
Jeremiah had yet to reveal his true nature to his parents. While Heather may have possessed a sense of regret over the prospect of breaking her promise to her friend it merely attested to her insignificant value as a human being. Moreover, she felt Jeremiah had little cause to be anxious in that sense. Mr. and Mrs. De Sanchez loved both of their children unconditionally. It had always been apparent to Heather that their children's happiness and health were paramount for the doting parents. On some level, perhaps Heather could even confess that she was in part, envious of their familial bond. Then again, if anyone was deserving of true joy and pure love it was Jeremiah and Jazzy.
In truth, there was but a singular soul for whom Heather had retained sorrow in her demise. As self-interested as they may be, her lamentations were not borne out of contemplation for the devastation that her passing might induce, but rather out of mourning for her own sentimentality and attachment. Heather's thoughts turned to the man who had occupied her mind and heart these past several months. She wished that she hadn't discovered these complex emotions for they seemed to render this attempt more challenging than the first. And yet, it was all the more vital that she not fail.
She now understood falling in love was little more than pure unadulterated torment. And it seemed to serve little purpose for anyone. Oh yes, it appeared that there were those who could be blessed with joy and happiness but she was certainly not among those ranks.
Heather thought of two star-crossed young lovers. One is fickle and impulsive. The other is impudent and naive. It was then she realized that she embodied the very concept that she had openly scoffed at. That was certainly irony at its finest. Was she not in such an emotionally turbulent state she may have even laughed at the very idea.
Heather glanced at the bottle again and discover another coincidence. In her last attempt, she had slit her wrist and unfortunately, she was unsuccessful. The knife had failed her, but with any luck this time the poison would not.
Closing her eyes again, Heather felt she could do little in the way of atonement for all the strife she had caused those around her. Even her death would be poor penance for their grief.
Her thoughts drifted to Kevin again and even hearing his name inside her head wrenched at her heart. The one that she had cared for the most was also the one that she had inflicted the most burden on. She was careless and selfish. She had jeopardized so much for him all for her own petulant desires. While he may not face legal ramifications from all of this, there was still a professional and social reputation that one must uphold in society. One that could be obliterated if she were to ever be revealed as his paramour.
Once she was a mere memory, Kevin, just like all the others would be free to move forward with his life. Heather had no doubt that he would find a beautiful and accomplished woman to fall in love with. He was after all, charismatic, charming, and magnetic. Those were the qualities that had drawn her to him in the first place, despite her reticence.
And despite her foolishness. How foolish she had been to entertain such a reverie as to be this man's lover? She could not comprehend the hideous attraction he had for her any more than she could understand her own esteem towards him. She only understood when he glanced at her, touched her, and eventually held her in his arms. For those few fleeting moments, she felt precious. Treasured. Loved.
Sadly, that had been an illusion. Whether or not Kevin truly felt those sentiments, it had been a farce. They could never be. He was like the Sun; warm and bright and all manner of people gravitated toward him. She was like the moon; cold, dark, and distant.
I'm half sick of shadows, she heard herself say out loud. It was only then that Heather noticed that the CD had played the rest of the way through and had finally stopped. Slipping off her headphones, she opened her eyes.
That great machine was outside her window making a horrific whirling and chugging noise. The shadows of its long claw-like fingers had stretched across her bedroom, searching for her.
Yes. I know. She replied to it despondently. I'm coming.
She had certainly allowed time to slip away. She realized there was little of it left now and she chided herself for stalling in her own endeavors.
Shifting off the bed, Heather grasped the pill bottle without allowing herself to contemplate it. She headed towards the bathroom and subtly turned the lock on the adjacent door that led to Reves room, hearing it engage with a soft click.
Heather could hear music playing from the other side of the door, a song from Nightwish's Century Child album. Apprehension bloomed in Heather's chest knowing that her sister was in the next room over. But she rarely paid any mind to her unless it was to heckle her for some ridiculous reason or another. She won't notice until I'm long gone, Heather convinced herself.
Holding the vile in one hand, Heather pressed down on the lid and turned it to unscrew the top. After placing the cap on the counter, she emptied a portion of the bottle's contents into her palm. Heather sensed her body shudder before she broke into full-on trembling. Her eyes were fixed on the mound of tiny white tablets. Her heartbeat quickened pace as it pumped blood rapidly through her veins. Heather was gripped by an odd mix of ecstasy and terror as she continued to stare down at the mound that held both her salvation and damnation in a collection of tiny pills.
Stamping out any further hesitation, Heather opened her mouth into a gigantic gaping hole and tossed the pills inside. Snapping her mouth closed, she swallowed hard, attempting to force several pills down her throat at once. Nearly choking on the dry, oblong shapes Heather began to retch as her passage dispelled the objects from her throat. All the pills projected from her mouth as a coughing fit ensued and her hand flew up to catch the sacred provisions of her demise.
Heaving intensely and attempting to catch her breath, she held the saliva-covered mound in her palm as she leaned over the sink, not permitting them to go to waste. Trembling violently, the bitter taste of the pills sat on her tongue as they had already begun to dissolve. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she let slip a horrible keening cry before coming to her senses. Lifting her head, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The miserable creature staring back at her with its dead eyes was enough to stop her heart then and there. Heather quickly jerked her head away.
One might take the rejection of the pills by her own body as a sign that perhaps this was not the best course, however, she was too disgusted with her own existence by this point to heed such a warning. With her free hand, Heather turned on the faucet and cupped it, collecting water in her palm. Slurping up the lukewarm water, she then fed the pills to herself a few at a time until she had reached the necessary quantity.
Once she had consumed her poison, Heather stood there for several minutes, hands braced against the counter, her body wracking with barely restrained sobs. Whether they were tears of relief or tears of dread, at this moment she was unsure. She didn't suspect it mattered much. As it were, she would be shortly expiring and there would be no more to feel or think of the matter.
After a few more minutes had lapsed – which in truth, felt like hours – Heather decided to move into her room. She had begun to feel lightheaded and reached out to the wall and her dressers for support. Her breath was coming in slow, and shallow gasps. Her heart which was racing only minutes ago had decelerated to prolonged and nearly undetectable thump…thump…thumps. What was left of her rational mind if any, entertained the knowledge of fear, while her emotions had none of it and an almost deranged grin stretched across her lips.
Navigating to her bed, Heather plopped down on the edge. How simple it would be now to merely lie down and drift off to sleep, knowing no more thereafter. Yet Heather set her eyes on the congregation of plush animals occupying the space at the head of her bed. She turned away in shame, somehow mortified that her friends would witness her fate. That was preposterous, she knew somewhere in the recesses of her rationale. They were inanimate objects, not even sentient, but they had been her loyal companions throughout her years of solitude. They did not deserve to suffer her demise.
Happily, the thought struck her, she would venture to the room across from her own, the one that Kevin was lodged in that night. Of course, what could make more sense, what could be a more fitting end than to die inside the room where, for a few fleeting yet glorious moments, she felt more alive than at any other time in her life?
Battling against the overwhelming urge to lie back and close her eyes, Heather hoisted her increasingly limp body off of the bed. Vertigo amplified as she staggered towards her door, her strength waning.
Managing to unlock her door, she stumbled precariously across the short width of the hall. As she did, the edges of her vision darkened and tiny white dots formed within the shadows. Stars. Glorious stars and they were shining so beautifully. Just for her!
Right as Heather grasped for the door handle of the vacant guest room, the dreadful machine descended upon her in one fell swoop. Iron jaw gaping wide, it devoured and swallowed her whole, plunging her into the belly of the beast. Sweet oblivion.
If you ever feel that you want to leave this Earth or that it's just not worth it, please know that there is hope. You are enough and you are here for a reason. I know it sounds like hollow and pretty words, but it's the truth. Someone out there cares for you. Someone will listen. It doesn't seem like it, but someone has been in the exact same place you are now. I know I've been one of them and I still struggle at times too. Just know you are not alone. As a society, we are getting better about mental health but we have a way to go. Look for the beauty in each day and if there is one even tiny reason to smile, you are blessed. Until next, take care of yourselves and each other.
If you are in the US and you need to reach out to someone or you want to learn more about support and prevention, please refer to the following:
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 988
Crisis Text Line - Text HOME to 741741 for free, 24/7 crisis counseling.
American Foundation for Suicide Prevention: 1-888-333-AFSP (2377)
Suicide Awareness Voices of Education: 952-946-7998