I was a little apprehensive uploading this, you know after the happy-go-lucky fluffy alternate ending. But, as a person who as worked in a mental facility and has seen the effects of depression first hand, I have to say it was interesting writing it from that standpoint. Anyway, here you go.
tw: depression; suicide
Time is irrelevant, I figured out, when the person you devoted your life to, filled the voids in your existence, suddenly vanished. It blurs together in this meaningless timeline that seemed to never end.
I laid on the floor of my bedroom, my window was cracked and it made my room uncomfortably cold, but I didn't care enough to get off the floor and close it. What was the point? Even if I did close it, I would still feel chilled, my warmth was gone, robbed by the icicle of guilt and misery in my chest that made me ache so bad that I could've cried out.
But I didn't. I just laid there. Pain, misery, guilt. I deserved it. It was my fault she's gone. These were my wounds to bear and suffer. I couldn't cry out, because Phil would hear it and get concerned and I didn't deserve it. I didn't deserve sympathy. It was my fault. I needed to be punished for making the one thing in my life that was absolutely perfect disappear.
I promised her I wouldn't leave her. I promised her. Instead she left me. She left me.
It was all my fault.
I killed her.
I jammed my fist in my mouth to keeping me from audibly sobbing, the icicle twisted and burned, making me roll into a fetal position to alleviate the pain.
"Dan?" Phil called outside my door. But, I didn't answer him. There was no point. My existence didn't matter anymore. Not without her. "Dan, I left some food outside your door for you."
But I didn't eat. Eating was a form of self-preservation. What did I have left to preserve? This hole in my chest? The pain I created? I didn't want to preserve that, but I didn't want it to go away either. It was my form of punishment.
Time bleeds together when you have no one to share it with.
I forgot how long it was. Awhile, because the stabbing had turned into a dull ache, strong enough to remind me it was there, to make me unmotivated to get off the floor, but dull enough that I could forget about it at times.
But the guilt weighed down on me. It paralyzed me. The guilt is what made me wake up at night screaming for Lia, making still hope it was just some horrible nightmare that just won't end, made everything I touched in my room remind me of her somehow, how she told me she loved me with her dying breath.
The guilt is what made me want to die.
"Dan?" Phil called again. He had stopped calling so much; it was only once or twice a day now, to acknowledge that I was still here.
"What?" I whispered.
"C-can I show you something?" He asked weakly. I gripped carpet fibers and stifled tears. He was hurting himself over me because he cared about me. The guilt made it hard to breathe. I rolled to my knees, blood rushing to my head as I half-crawled to the door. I managed to use the doorknob to stand myself up. The icicle stabbed. What was I doing? I should get back on the floor. I opened the door to Phil, who was holding his MacBook in one hand and a bowl of spaghetti in the other. The sight of food made me want to vomit.
"What is it?" I snapped. This was a mistake. I should've never moved.
"It's about Lia." He looked down at his feet. He was concerned and I treated him like shit. I breathed in a deep breath to keep from having a full on anxiety attack and moved over to let Phil in.
He looked around and sighed a little. I had torn the place up. Every little detail, from her keyboard that sat in the corner to the little white socks that she had tossed on the bed before deciding on sandals that day of the accident reminded me of what I had done. Phil looked at me. "You look so thin."
"Maybe I'll die from starvation." I answered, not meeting his eyes.
"Please don't say things like that." He pleaded quietly. I had hurt Lia and now I was hurting him. The ache moved from my chest to right in between my eyes.
"What was it you were going to show me?" I asked, changing the subject. I watched as he sat down on the floor where I was lying and opened his laptop.
"She wanted me to film this for you." He started to explain. "She wanted to give it to you on your birthday because she said that no materialistic thing could describe how much she loved you."
He clicked 'play' and Lia sat all smiles behind her keyboard. She was wearing a top that I had gotten her shortly after she had moved in that brought out sapphire in her eyes. The sun bounced off her curls and she moved her hands softly over the keys.
"She's so beautiful." I murmured.
"Happy birthday, baby." She started playing a simple, yet wonderful song. It was quite funny, actually and if it was any other circumstances, I would've laughed. But it was still so beautiful I started to cry and the icicle turned and turned and ripped and tore and I couldn't breathe and everything was coming in on me at once and I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't take living in a world without her. It was so unfair. Life was so unfair. It was all my fault and I couldn't take it anymore.
"Get out!" I screamed. I put both hands to my head because silence was the loudest torture and I just couldn't take it anymore. "Please just get out." I sobbed hard in my usual spot on the floor as I watched Phil exit my room. "I can't hurt you too." I breathed. I couldn't control it anymore.
I hurt her.
I hurt Phil.
I killed her.
It was all my fault.
I scrambled to my bedside table where I knew I had some old Oxycodone from the last time I had a tooth drilled. I pulled out the little yellow bottle and saw all the little white pills sitting there. My solution to everything laid in those pills. Death would be my ultimate punishment. But also my ultimate reward.
And like an ocean after the storm, everything became so calm.
The icicle stopped tearing.
The hole stopped opening.
The guilt went away.
I wouldn't have to hurt Phil anymore.
I could be with Lia, wherever she was.
Everybody, everybody would be better without me.
I grabbed a piece of paper and scrawled out the first thing that came to mind, which happened to be the Lullaby song that Lia sang when I had first met her. The lyrics echoed in my head as I started popping pills in my mouth and dry swallowing them whole.
My heart is shattered and broken
I downed the whole bottle and grabbed the small bottle of vodka under my bed that I used to help me sleep sometimes when I would get anxious and downed that too.
This place is cold and dead
The pills started making my world turn around and around, I crawled up on my bed and laid down, hoping the world would stop turning so fast.
And all I have are my demons
I vomited once, but I couldn't feel my arms or legs anymore to stand up or do anything about it. I was there mentally, but it felt like I was detached from my body and floating somewhere. The room kept spinning and I heaved up more vomit.
That live now inside my head
Oh my God, what have I done?