I looked down at the damp and crumpled tissue in my hands. The tears had only just started to fall. Alex was gone. The boy I’d met two years ago, the one I’d fallen hopelessly in love with.
I’d never hear his laugh or look into his beautiful green eyes again.
He was dead.
I was sure it was all my fault and hated myself for it. If I hadn’t told him to cancel his plans and see me… if I hadn’t insisted, he wouldn’t have been in the crash. Everyone told me that I shouldn’t be like this, but they didn’t know this pain. When I saw Alex’s mother and his friends, I knew they blamed me too - my angst was justified.
I’d hardly slept in the two weeks since he’d died. Barely eating or speaking to anyone. I couldn’t help but fear of dreams; not nightmares; but dreams of the past, the ones that taunted me so much.
I found a new way to relieve my pain. Every now and then, when the guilt was too much to bear, I’d drag a tiny blade; broken out of my sister’s pencil sharpener; across my skin, scraping where Alex had been cut by the windscreen as it shattered. Sometimes, somehow, it felt like it helped. Other times I’d watch the blood flow and desperately wish that I was dead instead.
Ugly, raw-looking scratches covered my arms and hands. There was a cut across my stomach which I’d push against during painful conversations. It was a distraction and a punishment. The final injury, the one I hadn’t mirrored went across Alex’s neck. It had slit the main artery. I hadn’t thought I’d ever replicate that one… Until one particular day.
It had been a horrible few days. My head teacher invited me into her office in an attempt to get me in a good mood.
“I know it’s a tough time for you, my dear” she said, in her monotone voice. “But it’s silly to let it affect your school work.”
The final straw was when my parents agreed with her. I realised that no one would understand and that the love that Alex and I shared was too powerful. Living apart was the most terrible thing I had to endure.
I finished writing the note, watching my tears mark the page and blur the ink before reaching for the blade. This one was longer and sharper.
The wounds were no longer superficial. Trying to swallow the lump in my throat, I headed for the bathroom.
I stared at myself in the mirror. My face was pale with dark smudges under my bloodshot eyes. I looked a mess.
I focused my mind on Alex and put the blade to my neck. I shivered as it touched my skin. Soon, I’d be back where I belong with him. Slowly, I increased the pressure until I felt it break through my skin. I gasped and opened my eyes. I gasped again, staggered by what I saw in the mirror. Behind me, leaning on the wall, I saw Alex, his eyes blazing with fear and rage. I couldn’t believe he was with me.
How could this be possible?
“What are you doing, Hayley?” he asked, his eyes locking with mine. I didn’t hesitate. He had to know how I felt while I still had the chance.
“Joining you…” I squeezed the words out of my throat. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too Hayley. But please, you can’t do this.” I turned to face him, feeling his ghostly hands on mine.
“You have so much to live for. I can’t let you do this. You are not the reason for my death. It was my time but now is not yours. Promise me you’ll stay strong and stop this.” He traced a translucent finger over my tattered arms.
“When I see you do that, I bleed a little more.” He kissed my forehead, causing shivers down my spine. “I’m watching over you. Don’t you forget it.”
And with that, he was gone.
I turned, tears streaming down my cheeks, to the mirror. I was stunned - the bleeding had stopped, the pain had lessened and the blade - like Alex - had gone.
