Trigger warning for swearing, mention of self-harm, suicide, blood, death/murder (I know it’s a lot, okay? I kinda went a bit too far with some of it)
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The biggest mistake I’ve ever made was you. We were so young, like freshly minted money, shiny and ready for the world. But we didn’t realize how harsh the world was. In a few weeks, we’d lost our shine. In a month, we started to lose our original beauty. After half a year, there was irreversible damage.
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When you finally decided to end things with me, I don’t know if I was relieved or devastated. I thought I loved you. But maybe I loved the idea of you more. I loved the idea that someone could love me for me. I’d read so many books about teenagers falling in love and everything working out perfectly. I fell, and got broken. I know now that this fantasy wasn’t real life. Our relationship wasn’t a fictional story told by a writer. It was two kids working through the messy thing that is a first relationship.
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You did it over text. I don’t know if that made me feel better or worse. I don’t know if I would have been able to say anything. Typing it made it easier. You said you ‘needed a break to take care of yourself'. I agreed. We both needed to take some time for ourselves. Two weeks passed, and you finally called me. You were in the car, driving home from your first swim meet of the season. I’d wanted to be there for you, but I had a stack of homework with my name on it. When you called me, I needed to say something first. I needed to know what we were. Were we still together? Had we already broken up? It was so confusing. You said, ‘Yeah, we broke up. I thought you knew that.’ How should I have known if you didn’t tell me? Taking a break means that you’ll continue it later. Taking a break from our relationship meant that we would still be together once you sorted everything out. Looking back on it now, I feel stupid. I was so stupid then. But now I’ve grown up. I know things I never could have imagined when I was still dating you. The harsh world caught up to me. And I’m still recovering. I’m still dealing with the consequences of that relationship.
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We broke up two years ago. Right now, I’m holding my phone in my hand, sitting outside. We haven't talked for months, maybe a year. I stopped keeping track after week 42. I type your number into my phone. My thumb hovers above the call button. I can’t. I don’t want you to think that I need you. I don’t. I’m fine alone. I don’t need you. I don’t need the validation of you loving me. But you help keep me whole. You helped me when I was on the verge of falling off the deep end. You helped me swim when I wanted to drown. You helped me. I press ‘call’. The phone rings once, twice, and then, “Hello?” You asked. I hesitated before saying, “Hi, Casey.” There was a moment of silence. “Do I know you?” My heart broke. Did you not care enough to even remember my voice? “Er, yeah, you do. It’s Noah.”
“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry. Your voice sounds so different. You’d only been on T for a few weeks when we spoke last.” I scratched the back of my neck. I’d forgotten about that. I came out as trans a few months before we broke up, and started T a year after. I loved my ‘new’ voice. “Anyway, what’s up? How have you been? It’s, like, nearly midnight.” I didn’t respond. “Noah? Are you still there?” I nodded, even though you couldn’t see me. “Are you okay?” Those three words broke me. The same way you broke me when you ended our relationship. Tears started to spill over my eyelids. I took a few shaky breaths, trying to formulate a response. “No, I’m really not,” I said. That was the first time I ever admitted that. I always pretended to be strong. I pretended that I wasn’t hurting. But I was. I was hurting a lot, and I didn’t feel strong. “Hey, where are you?” I chewed on my lip. “Noah, answer me. Where are you?”
“In the woods. The ones near my house.”
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“Why the fuck are you in the woods? What are you doing?” I looked up from the phone. A large tree was standing in front of me. At my feet was my flashlight, shining a light on the tree. A long coil of rope was slung over my shoulder, bumping into my backpack. “I’m contemplating the reason for life, and wondering what happens after death.”
“I’m leaving my house right now. Noah, don’t do anything. Stay on the phone with me, okay? Don’t do anything you’re going to regret.” I knelt down at the base of the tree and placed the phone down. The speakerphone was on, so I could hear you get into your car and start driving. “Noah, I’m on my way. Hold on, okay?” You said. I didn’t respond. Instead, I started humming the chorus of a song. 314Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqNthHadNPT
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A few minutes later, I saw the headlights from a car shine through the trees. “I’m here. Where are you?” you asked. I hung up. The car lights turned off. I picked up my flashlight and started tying a knot into the rope. “Noah!” you shouted. You actually came. A figure started approaching me. I squinted and turned the light towards them. It was you. Once you saw me, you ran to me. “What are you doing? Are you fucking insane?” You exclaimed, grabbing the rope from me. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m too crazy for this shitty world. That’s why I’m ready to leave it,” I said, trying to grab the rope back. “Noah, are you serious? Don’t say things like that. You are perfect for this world.” I gave up in our little game of tug-of-war, sending you falling backward. I reached into my backpack. I’d come to the woods prepared. I pulled out a pocket knife. “Noah, put the knife down,” you said firmly, climbing to your feet. You approached me like I was a rabid beast. “Why should I listen to you? You have no say in my life anymore. You gave up that privilege when you broke up with me.” You rolled your eyes. “Is that what this is all about? It’s been two years, Noah. It just wasn’t working, okay? I felt like I was the only one trying, and I didn’t want to be in a relationship like that.” I scoffed, twirling the knife in my fingers. “I was giving it my all. That relationship was draining me, but I needed it. I needed you. I’ve been falling apart.”
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I pulled up my sleeve to reveal my wrist and forearm. Thin scars dotted my skin from cutting. I opened the knife. I was ready to leave this all behind. “Give me the knife, Noah. We can talk this out. Don’t do this,” you begged. I shook my head. “It’s too late for that. I’ve gone off the deep end. I don’t care about the consequences anymore.” I pressed the knife to my skin as you lunged forward. Blood spilled out of the wound as you knocked the knife out of my grasp. It flew away, landing a few meters away. You tumbled to the side. I jumped to my feet. “Do you hate me that much? I’m done with this! I don’t want to be here anymore. You just always need to interfere. You’re too selfish to just let me go.” You stand up again, rubbing your shoulder. “I don’t think trying to keep you from killing yourself is selfish. I don’t hate you, Noah. When we broke up, there was a reason. You never even bothered to ask me. You never bothered to check in on me, to see how I was doing.” I bit down on my lip, hard. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I looked down at my wrist. Blood was dripping down my hand, dying the grass red. “Fine,” I spat. “If it’s so important to you, tell me. Why did you break up with me?”
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“My mental health was deteriorating, faster than it ever had. I needed to get rid of all the distractions in my life to take care of myself. I spent nearly a month and a half in a psychiatric hospital. I didn’t just end my relationship with you. I pushed away all my friends and even some of my family members. It was the hardest time in my life.” My eyes widened. I’d never known this before. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, tears falling as quickly as the blood. “You never asked about me. You completely shut me out. I didn’t want to put effort into rekindling our relationship if that was how you were going to treat me.” I started to walk away. This was too much. I wanted to reverse time, go back to before I wanted to die. I could rethink it all. The consequences of what I’d just done were catching up to me. “How do you feel now?” You shouted at me. I bowed my head. “I feel… I feel like I want to kill you.” Consequences, consequences. They became nearly irrelevant when you wanted something enough. The thought of what would happen didn’t even cross my mind as I reached into the pocket of my sweatshirt and pulled out a second knife.314Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMrzawacgdP
