I made sure of it.
The tremor taking over my limbs has me knocking into the sink. The toilet. The phone on the floor next to me lights up because of them.
The beam from the screen rises through the darkness like a beacon I resist.
One call could end this.
But what would I be left with?
My head spins, snuffing out the hope that something will be on the screen. A notification from some helping hand, reaching out to me.
All that’s there is the lock screen of my note.
I can’t read it through the waterfall on my face, but I know what it says. It’s the thing that’s festered inside me for longer than anything else I’ve ever known. It’s the thing I screamed in the face of my addict parents who blamed me for things I couldn’t control. Teachers who harmed more than they helped. To myself in the mirror every time I added a fresh mark from the needles. To every orange bottle that numbed me and every song that made me feel something.
I’m not fucking sorry.
It goes dark as my vision, yet the pain remains.
The tears come harder.
Fear pulses deep inside me and I bite back its rearing face.
I don’t want to be afraid anymore.
That voice in my head tells me that even this is something I’ve managed to fail at.
My chest shudders from the biggest rush of panic I’ve ever felt. Threatens to cave in under the pressure of my mistakes.
I can feel my heart fighting. My head pounds and shakes. My soul crying for the help I know isn’t coming.
This is it.
The echoes of my wailing sound faint against the tile floor.
Reaching for the phone takes all my strength. Tapping on the screen with the violent tremble to my fingers is next to impossible.
All I can see is the numbers on the screen, but I can’t make out what it says. Not that the time of my death really matters to me anymore. Not when it’s too late.
Too late to call out.
Too late to make a different choice.
Too fucking late to—
It’s okay, my angel promises through a bloodied and misplaced smile.It’s okay.
Chapter 1
Tristen
Three hours into myshift and I’ve already busted my watch, taken an elbow from an unruly elderly man, and been pissed on.
This day can go to hell for all I care.
“Dude,turn it down.”
My partner throws a grin over his shoulder and presses the skip button instead, flooding the bus with a blast of 90s grunge that I secretly love but wish wasn’t harassing this headache that’s determined to take me out before lunchtime.
