Intervention

“This is an intervention.” he says My hands dance on the table on which I've laid my keys. “W-why?” I stutter. A thousand thoughts race through my mind. What do they know? What did they find? The Razors? The knives? The gun? The letters? The bloodstained sheets for every time I lose my little bit of self-control? The bottle for every time I want to lose that self-control? “Not for you” he says. My lungs deflate. Not me. Not me. Not me. “Who?” “Danny.” Danny? “Why?” “We think- we think he might me suicidal” “What?” What? Danny? Suicidal? No. They're clueless. Danny- Danny keeps me alive. He keeps me from using that gun. I'm the one close to the edge, not him I want to scream. To tell them how stupid they are. Can they not see it’s me- not him? “W-why would you think that?” “We found a gun.” My mind spins. A gun? In Danny’s room? Why? “And a note.” A note? No. No. No. No. This can’t be happening. Danny’s supposed to be strong. He’s supposed to be my angel. I’m the one who’s supposed to be broken. Not him. “We think he’s trying to convince himself not to. The note- it said ‘Don’t do it. Think of all the good things. Think of the people who have no idea. The people that love you, would be devastated if you pulled the trigger. Don’t do it.’” My heart stops. I want to run into my room grab my bottle my razors, maybe my gun. I should have seen it. Helping me was helping him. “C’mon, sit down. Wait for Danny.” I sit, curling my legs under me so my knees don’t shake. We wait in silence My mind is in my room. controlling the pain, watching the razor glint in the sunlight, slicing through flesh, silent. My mind is watching the blood well up, watching t run down my wrist, watching it fall slowly hitting the sheet being soaked up in a perfect ring. My mind feels the cold metal as I run my hands along the contours of my escape. My mind wonders what death is like. What if I pulled the trigger and found out? What if-? The door opens. My mind is jerked back to the present. “Danny. This is an intervention.” His keys drop onto the table next to mine. “Why?” he asks, confused, but calm. “Danny, we are your friends. We care about you. We’d miss you if you were gone.” He hangs up his coat. “What are you talking about?” He sits across from me, staring into my eyes. Looking for some clue to what was going on. I look away. I can’t take it. “Danny, we found the gun.” His head snaps up. His eyes bore into mine. “You found that?” “Yeah, and the note too. Danny, we love you. Don’t do it.” He looks away from me for a moment. “Excuse me?” Jake puts a hand on his shoulder. “Danny, we know you… want to- commit suicide.” “What?! You think I- that I that I’m suicidal?” He leaps up. “Danny, this is a safe place. We love you. You can talk to us. We just want to help.” He stares at me. “So you all think I’m- suicidal?” “Yeah, we do, Dan.” Jake says. I can feel Danny’s eyes on me. I keep staring at the floor. “I- I guess you got me.” My head snaps up. What? Got him? He’s really…? “It’s just sometimes- sometimes I feel as if-“ I recognize these words. “life’s not worth living.” They’re my words. Exactly what I told him only six months ago. “I don’t know why.” he repeats word for word His eyes say glued to mine. Oh my God. “I know I’ve got people that love me. I just can’t help it sometimes.” I want to run. I don’t want to hear this. I understand now. It’s not him. He’s doing this for me. “I’m sorry.” Hours go by. He repeats what I said to him. Word for word. I need to get out. Now. I might go crazy. I might scream. “IT’S NOT DANNY! The gun is MINE! The note is for ME! I’m the one who’s suicidal. Look at MY wrists. Danny keeps me alive, he’s not suicidal. You’re so blind. You don’t realize how close I am to just ending it all. You don’t see past all the half-hearted ‘I’m fine’s ‘I’m okay’s and ‘Don’t worry about me’s. They’re all lies I’ve been telling you for over a year. Wake up.” Then I’d run to my room, pull out my razors, start there. Let the pain numb my mind. So that when I pull out my knives I don’t feel the increase in pressure. I don’t feel how deep I’m going. Blood streams down my wrists. I close my eyes. I don’t want to. I try to force my eyelids apart. They open a tiny bit. Everything is still black. I can’t see. My head feels light. I’m floating. I can’t feel anything, just one arm. It’s warm. It tingles. Faintly, I hear something slam. Voices, shouting in whispers. I can’t understand. They need to speak up. I try to open my mouth to tell them. I can’t. Something presses on my warm arm. I barely feel it. I feel something lifting me. I’m being carried. Downstairs. What is going on? I hear something familiar. I can’t figure out what it is. Wee woo. Wee woo. Wee woo. Sirens. What is going on? I’m being laid down. I hear doors slam. I’m moving again. Some kind of vehicle. Oh. My God. Blackout. Shouting. Sirens. Vehicle. Oh. My. God. I went too deep. I’m dying. After a year of wondering, I know. I know what dying is like. It’s calm. I’m surprised. I thought the process would hurt. But no. This is nice. Somehow I know death will be better. I try to let it take over. I can feel it trying now. It wants to consume me. to pull me under. Make me fall asleep and never wake up. I want it to. I’m not fighting. But I still won’t die. Why? I try to relax. I try to pretend I’m already dead. I’m floating just in nothingness. It works. I feel myself drift off. Before I lose consciousness, I have one thought. ‘Goodbye.’ Something stings. A sharp pain in my right arm. Why? I’m supposed to be dead. There shouldn’t be pain. My left arm is stiff. What is going on? Maybe this is Hell. Maybe that’s why I’m in pain. Oh my God! I am in Hell! Why? What did I do that was so awful? Suicide, I know, but still. I don’t deserve Hell. I try to open my eyes, but everything is bright. Too bright. Artificially bright. Something smells weird. Like anesthetic. Cleaner. I hear a beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Why does Hell feel like a hospital? I force my eyes open. Everything is white. White bed. White walls. White door. White floor. A machine is sitting next to me. Beep. Beep. Beep. A green line dashes across the monitor, following five double triangles. My arms still stings. An IV leads to a bag of clear liquid. My left arm is heavily bandaged. What kind of Hell is this? The door opens. Danny walks in. “Hey.” he says. “Hi.” I say quietly. He sits in the chair next to the bed. carefully, he takes my hand. “What were you thinking? I thought you said you’d never go this far. You said you had it under control. You were trying to stop.” He stares at me. Waiting. “I- I don’t know. I was trying. Just… hearing what everyone said. Hearing my words come out of your mouth. Realizing how stupid they are. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t listen to it anymore. I had to get out of there. So I screamed what I did. Then I went in my room and- started cutting. I didn’t mean to go so deep. I didn’t realize I did it. Danny, I’m sorry.” “I know. When you- lost consciousness, you had- a smile on your face. Why?” I close my eyes. I try to remember. Everything is hazy. I remember darkness. I remember being pulled down. I remember letting myself be pulled. I remember wanting it. Wanting to die. I shiver. “I- I thought I was going to die.” Danny’s jaw tightens. “And that was a thought to make you smile? I thought you said you didn’t mean to go so deep.” “I didn’t mean to. It just… happened. And once it did, well, there wasn’t anything I could do. So I just- welcomed it. I wanted it. I was happy about it.” He pulls his hand from mine. “You wanted to die.” he says calmly. “You knew that. You’ve known that for six months.” “No. I knew you thought about dying. I knew you thought about finding an easy out. I knew you wanted an escape. If I had known that you wanted to die I would’ve kept my mouth shut. I wouldn’t have bothered trying to save you. If only I had known you were a lost cause, we wouldn’t be here.” I’m speechless. What do I say to that? How do I respond to hearing I’m not worth saving? “D-Danny. How could you say that to me? You know how I- how I am. You know what started this. You know-“ “I know what I know. But I didn’t know how far gone you were. If I had… Well, what’s the point? You’re intent on ending your life. I can’t stop you. I wish you wouldn’t. But it’s out of my control.” He stands, and I’m surprised I have no tears to shed. He’s right. I would have messed up eventually. Or I would have done it on purpose eventually. I’m not savable. There’s no hope for me anymore. Assuming there was any to begin with. I glance down at my arm wrapped in white the end tucked somewhere I can’t even see. I suppose that’s so I don’t unwrap it. They must have told what happened. Though I think it’s pretty obvious. I feel along it, trying to find a way to unwrap it. This is it. If I had died before, it would have been an accident. An accident I could have avoided and that I caused, but I had no intention to commit at that moment. But now? Now it’s intentional. I slip the fingers of my right hand under the edge and pull. The bandage begins to unravel, so much fabric! I find the stitches holding my life in. I pull the IV put of my right arm, letting the tube dangle above the floor. I take one last deep breath, and yank at the stitches. My blood starts poring out, soaking the sheet and the bed and dripping to the floor. The last thing I hear, before I lose consciousness for the last time is the IV. Drip. Drip. Drip….

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