Out With a BANG (I'm Left in the Smoke)

A Story by LadyFluff

Every night I lie down and stare at the ceiling of my bedroom. It’s covered in glow-in-the-dark stickers in the shape of constellations. Do you remember when we put those up? It was a rainy day. Dad came home with the stickers. You and I pasted them to the top of my room while the sky lit up with lightning and thunder rang in our ears. It hurts to look at them, but I’d never have the heart to remove them.

My days have gotten better. I find myself smiling from time to time. I don’t spend all of class staring at your empty seat. I can stop thinking of you for a few minutes. I don’t see you in everything anymore. I don’t cry quite as often.

But I still cry myself to sleep.

Every night, I lie down, and I stare at the ceiling of my bedroom. And I gaze at my little sliver of the night sky and remember.

I remember you. I remember your face, the shape of your eyes, the softness of your hair, always messy like you just woke up. I remember your smile, your laugh. I remember the way your nose and eyes crinkled when you smiled or laughed. I remembered the times when you laughed so hard that you couldn’t breathe. I remember the soothing melody of your voice, the sweet timbre of your laugh.

I remember the years before that day. I remember the year you moved to our town. I remember saying hi to you in school, and I remember talking to you for all of lunch that day. I remember all the times we played in my yard, all the times we jumped into puddles, all the times we play wrestled on my bed. I remember the games we played, the stories we told in the darkness of my room when my parents were sleeping.

I remember the bullies. The ones who started mocking you in 6th grade after your dad lost his job and turned to alcohol, once your clothes started to get shabbier and shabbier, once your school supplies became more and more worn, once your lunches started to get smaller and smaller. It was just that until the first year of high school. Then they pounced on you, choosing you as their special target. The bullying got worse, so much worse. The bullies took the demon residing within them and raised it until it frothed at the mouth and demanded more pain, more misery, more tears.

I remember everything. I remember the things they did, the things they said, the things they made you do. I remember. They hit you, beat you up and sent you home with bruises covered by your clothes. Sometimes they didn’t even bother with that. They called you horrible things, horrible, horrible things. B*****d. W***e. S**t. F****t. Worthless. All lies.

The things they made you do were small at first. Do their homework. Let them cheat on tests. Do all the work in projects.

Then it went to them using you as a slave, making you clean up after them. They made you carry out their dirty work so you got the blame, so you would go home and see your mother’s disappointed face.

Then it went even further. They made you do the disgusting things. Lick a toilet. Lick the base of a desk. Chew gum they found under a desk. You couldn’t afford medicine, so you went to school sick. There was nothing you or your mother could do.

All because of what? I ask myself that every day, and I’ll never have an answer. Because you were poor? Because you were feminine? Because you were pure and kind and good, better than them? Why?

I remember all the nights you called me, sobbing. The frantic calls you made, crying that you were tired, you were tired and worthless and didn’t want to keep going. And every time I told you no, don’t pull the trigger, don’t pick up the blade, don’t get the rope because I love you, you’re my best friend, the best person I know, and hold on because eventually this will all be a testament to how strong of a person you are. I told you that you mean so much to so many people, you mean so much to me. You still do. I remember breathing a sigh of relief every time you sniffled and whispered “Okay. I’ll try again.”

I remember that day.

You called. Thirteen times.

You called me thirteen times.

And I didn’t pick up.

I was with some of my other friends, and my phone rang, but I ignored it, thinking “Oh, it’s probably not important.”

I opened my phone once I got home. And I saw the messages, and I’ve never felt dread as cold as that. I immediately called you, praying “please, please, let it just be about homework, about school, about his dad, anything but that.” You didn’t pick up, but I didn’t hang up. You had changed your voicemail, and I listened with terror and guilt and misery suffocating me and rising in my eyes.

“Leo is not available at the moment and will never be available again. Leo is gone, he’s been gone for a while. Leo does not exist, he ceased to exist a long time ago. Leo has been killed. He has been murdered and hung up for all to see. Leo is nothing anymore. Don’t try to bring me back, don’t try to save me. I can’t be saved, I don’t want to be saved. It’s too late.

“Griff… Griffin… if you’re listening, I love you. My best friend, my only friend. Thank you for everything. Don’t blame yourself, please. I’m the only one to blame. I’m sorry, Griff, I’m so sorry. I’m tired, so tired… I can’t do this anymore. I’m so sorry, i promise I tried, but it’s too much, this is too much. I can’t fight it anymore” The recording cut off, and I stood still as a statue for a long moment.

The dread solidified to fear, fear in as pure of a form as I’ve ever felt it.

I remember running to your house, as fast as my legs could take me. I got to your house and I saw one of my worst nightmares come to life. I remember every single thing in heart-stopping detail. The ambulance outside your home. Your little sister screaming while your younger brother held her with tears streaming down his pale face. Your body on a stretcher. The sound of your mother screaming, crying, pleading with the EMTs to find a pulse, sobbing that she’d take you any way she could have you. Paralyzed, disabled, blind, deaf, anything. I remember being numb.

I picture your final moments. You went home, your heart aching. You called me, hoping that I would pick up, but there was a little hope that I wouldn’t. You gave up after the thirteenth time. The voices in your head murmured that you were all alone, that no one cared. You went to your father’s room and opened a drawer. You brought the object back to your room and faced the mirror. You held your father’s gun in your soft, delicate pianist’s hand, and you lifted it to your head so the muzzle touched your temple. You looked your reflection in the eye, closed your eyes and let another tear join the streams flowing down your face. You pulled the trigger, and you fell, the walls behind you were painted scarlet.

I stare at the ceiling and I play a thousand, a million, a billion, an infinite amount of scenarios in my head. What I would’ve said if I had picked up.

“Leo, I love you. You’re my best friend. Please don’t do it, I need you, you mean so much to me, you mean the world to me. Just wait a little longer, I’m coming over and I’ll bring ice cream and we’ll stuff ourselves and I’ll wipe your tears away and tell you it’ll be alright, because it will be. Everything will work out in the end. Please, believe me. Trust me. Please don’t pull the trigger because if you pull the trigger, you’ll shoot not only yourself, but all the people who care about you.”

I miss you so much. There’s a hole into my heart that can never be filled, a chasm that separates me from everyone around me, a void where you once were. I’ve cried oceans for you. For months after you died, I’d cry every time I saw something that reminded me of you. I’d see you everywhere.

I’d see your smiling face out of the corner of my eye and turn around to find nothing. I’d feel your hand in my hair, but it was always just the wind. I’d hear your laugh and whirl around, looking for the source, but I’d find nothing. I’d see a person wearing your favorite hoodie and run to them, your name at the tip of my tongue, only for it to fizzle away at the sight of the person’s face. I’d feel your light touch on my shoulder and put my hand there, but all I’d find was my shirt. I’d hear your voice but it was just my head playing cruel tricks on me. I’d see you smiling at me in the mirror, but you’d vanish when I blinked my eyes.. I’d feel your blood on my hands, but I’d look down and see my hands, clean and dry. I’d hear your screams in my ears, but when I shrieked your name you never responded.

The sunny sky disrespects your death with its beauty, the wind whispers your name in my ear. Flowers decorate the fields, I wake up to birds singing and sunny, beautiful days. Even the rain comes lightly. It’s not fair, it’s not right. The world should be crying and cold, dark and lifeless. The skies should weep poison tears, the sun should hide behind stormy clouds. The birds should shriek of death, the flowers should die in tribute to you. The sun is gone, my sun is gone, my world is gone. The sun, the flowers, the birds, the sky, they all mean nothing, they’re not beautiful anymore. Without you, they mean nothing at all. Beauty died along with you, life died with you. There is only survival, bare survival.

I couldn’t leave the house without breaking down because I’d remember that I’m not going to walk around town with you. I won’t hear your voice again, I won’t hear your laugh. I won’t see you smile, I won’t see your eyes and nose crinkling in the adorable way it does. I won’t play with the soft locks of your hair again. I won’t have deep midnight talks with you, I won’t chat with you over lunch, I won’t laugh so hard that I can’t breathe. I can’t. You’re gone, you left me alone, and I want you back, I want you back here with me because it’s so hard to live without your steady presence at my side. Happiness is gone, I don’t even remember what it feels like to be happy, truly happy. You took it with you, took it away from me, and all i can do is remember and wish and dream. I don’t even have the strength to reach out a hand to try and grasp those last remnants. It takes all my strength to just breathe.

Why didn’t you just take everything? Why couldn’t you have taken my memories of you? Why did you leave them? It would hurt less if I didn’t remember anything, if I never knew that you existed. I’d be empty, I’d still ache, but maybe it wouldn’t burn so much. The hole in my heart, the edges are messy and they hurt. You ripped the hole into my heart. Every time I remember something about you the hole gets a little bigger. Soon everything will be gone, and there will be nothing but emptiness.

I’ll live the rest of my life regretting not picking up the phone, I’ll live the rest of my life hating myself for not doing something to stop the abuse. I’ll live the rest of my life miserable because my best friend isn’t around to enjoy life. I won’t graduate with you, I won’t see you get a girlfriend or boyfriend, I won’t be at your wedding, I won’t play with your kids, I won’t grow old with you because you’re gone, you’re gone and you’re not coming back, you’re never coming back.

Why couldn’t I have picked up the phone?