The feeling of a tie around my arm had never been so good before. The way the tightness made my arm almost unmovable, the cut off circulation sending ache down through my veins that were beginning to show, the smile that forced itself onto my face. It really was almost worth more than the opiates I was about to use. The syringe was lying next to me; a burnt spoon and lighter that everyone had thought were long gone were on a shirt I had been wearing earlier. The only thing around me that was unfamiliar was the tie wrapped around my arm. I had never owned a tie in my life, much less a suit or dress shoes, and I felt awkward about having snuck through my parent’s bedroom and finding a tie. The one I had found was one I knew that my father wore it on special occasions, and now it was around my arm instead of my neck. I guess I could have used anything that would wrap around my arm, but I figured that because the first time I had done this a tie was used, I might as well use a tie again on what I thought then would be the last time. The last time. The last time, not because I was going to quit heroin, but because I planned to end my life with it. I guess the tie wasn’t so awkward then – this was a special occasion, wasn’t it?

I bought all that the guy selling had on him. No one around here wanted to carry heroin, much less wanted to use it after the news reported there was a bad batch circulating around the states and killing people. When the dealer told me that, I grinned and hoped that maybe he was carrying some of that bad batch. It would have been all the more better – at least my death from a bad batch would be thought of as an accident, unlike the one I was planning when I got home. So many things were done to try and budge the mindset I had constantly telling me that life was not worth living, to give me some kind of new view on the world or at least to prevent me from killing myself. Dying from a heroin overdose seemed much more acceptable than suicide at this point. Dying that way would mean I wouldn’t really get it my way, at least in the majority’s eyes. Dying in such pain, maybe it might have made up for the hurt I was always causing for everyone else. Maybe everyone would think I was dying just like how everyone else does – completely out of control. Psychiatrist. Well, fuck it. Fuck what everyone else thinks of this. A coffin and a one time burial is going to cost less than another five years of therapy.

I raised the syringe up, grinning at the familiar blue vein with the wounds of previous pricks ready and waiting. Picking one that seemed the most direct to the vein, I gently tapped the needle on the scarred wound and then pushed down as hard as I could. The sharpness still shot the unavoidable fear up through me again. I didn’t even have the willpower to watch the content of the syringe empty into my arm before I was falling down towards my bed, my head grazing the pillows, the laughter shaking my shoulders and giving me barely any strength to remove the needle. My lips started moving, and I wished desperately for a song to mouth the words to. My eyes closed and I buried my face into the blankets. I clutched handfuls of it, feeling the world beginning to tilt backwards, tipping farther and farther back until I thought I was upside down, now holding onto the mattress out of fear that I would drift away if I let go. I must have had my face buried for half an hour at least, seeing pure white, the world continuing to spin. The effects of the opiates didn’t last for long, and the batch I had gotten was, unfortunately, not the bad one. When the white began to fade to the world I was really in, when the axis of it stopped spinning off course, the only thing the opiates did for me then was remind me of how they had such a tight grip on my life, and that the comedowns were always harder with every ending. When my eyes opened, I was staring at the syringe on the floor, apathy and hate battling each other for how I should feel. Tears began spilling out, and I lay wishing I had never even bothered, the thought that now I must seek for a different way of ending my life beginning to eat away at my insides.

It wasn’t long before I was lying on the floor, my eyes trying to peer through the darkness under my dresser, fingers searching for the razor blades I had taped to the bottom of it. I was relieved to feel the first of many blades that were stacked upon each other, and I ripped the tape off. I pulled my hand out and stared at the blades, eyes wide like a kid finding Easter eggs. I could barely contain myself, and I didn’t even have my complete balance before the blades were in my skin, blood surfacing and making trails down my arms.

I couldn’t feel much of anything, and no wound looked severe enough. Gashes began to appear everywhere. The sound of skin opening up and splitting became background noise, and it seemed that the blood flowing down my arm was thicker than the skin it covered. I could see some of the blood had dripped down onto the floor. I grabbed the same shirt that the spoon and lighter had been on and I wrapped it around my arm, but just as if I had forgotten why I had grabbed it in the first place, the shirt was on the floor and I was back to hacking up my arms. Diagonal, downward, and slanted slashes were covering my arms, the deep gashes like yellow and white stripes on entirely red sleeves. But, being in the state I was, I didn’t realize how bad these wounds were. I didn’t realize I had managed to hit veins, arteries even, the blood that had once been carried through them now making the trail of blood behind me as I stumbled out of my room, lightheaded and sick, wandering towards the bathroom to splash water onto my face to help the migraine that was settling into my skull.

The hallway was cold and dark, nearly pitch black. If I hadn’t had the light in my room on, which illuminated just a small part of the hallway in front of me, I wouldn’t have been able to see what was out there. Stupidly, I reached back into my room and flicked off the light, leaving me to wander through the dark. I could barely keep walking, and I had to use the walls to steady myself. When I finally stumbled into the bathroom, I barely found the strength to turn on the lights and shut the door behind me. What was I doing out here again? Oh, right. The water.

I turned the knob on the sink and watched as water spurted out from the faucet. I watched it fill the sink before I sunk my hands into it. Before I had even cupped my hands into it, I saw how darkly tinted the water had become. It was then that seemingly for the first time I realized how deeply I had gone. My eyes traced up my arms, looking at how deep each wound was and how blood still dripped from them, my heartbeat speeding with every drop that I watched fall into the sink. Looking up, I tried to look at myself in the mirror, but the scent of blood distracted at me and I was back to staring. The gashes in my arms became more serious with every second; it reminded me of a plastic bag full of water with multiple slashes, the way the blood surfaced and ran down my arms terrifying me. I had finally done it, hadn’t I? This was where I needed to be. The world was fading rapidly, the colors around me blending into each other. I couldn’t keep my focus on anything. I once again looked at my reflection, trying to hold onto some sort of physical image of myself before I disappeared.

My eyes were so dark. The flesh around both eyes was red, and I could almost see every single vein that surrounded my iris. I couldn’t even tell what color the iris was anymore. I knew it was blue. I knew both of them were blue. I couldn’t tell myself why then that I knew they were blue, but somewhere, I knew. They looked so dark, I could have sworn they were brown, maybe even black. I couldn’t see an end to them. Black holes, pulling in everything around them, stretching life to its breaking point, destroying everything... I suddenly felt something cold hit my face, and I snapped back to reality to see broken glass in front of me, a weak reflection of my eye mixed into it. I reached back and gripped onto the sink, pulling myself back to see a small cut now on my left eyebrow, a small bit of blood coming to the surface. I was so surprised I could still bleed from anywhere but my arms. I didn’t know when my parents were supposed to be coming home. I knew they had gone out for something, I think it was a dinner party with a few of their friends. I could barely remember them telling me they’d be back late in the evening. Did they even tell me that they were going out, or was I just assuming? Fuck. Everything was so fuzzy now… was I even really bleeding? Yeah, a quick look back to my arms answered my question.

The counter I was gripping onto had puddles of blood on it. I had to clean up. What if my parents came home to blood everywhere? Blood soaked shirt in my bedroom, my tracks into the bathroom, the counter… I could explain the crack in the mirror and the cut on my face, but not all this blood everywhere else. I had to hide the shirt, the needle and the spoon. The lighter wouldn’t be that much of a problem, my parents knew I was a smoker. My arms. Did I need stitches for these? No, I don’t think so… I’ve survived with cuts this big and zero stitches. I would have to wear long sleeves again, but that would be okay. It was fall again, and it was supposed to be a colder than average winter this year. The cut on my face. I could say I had slipped while in the backroom after I took a bath and I smacked my face on the mirror. I’d have to get a towel wet and drop some water on the bathroom floor.

Wait, wait. If I did take a bath, then I could cleaned up quickly - then the water on the ground would be legit. Besides, maybe a bath would help settle the ache in my head. Before I had my thoughts together, I was standing in the tub, cold water seeping through my shoes. I twisted the knob up to turn the water from cold to hot, teeth chattering and legs shaking, feeling so lightheaded. When I felt warm water starting to fill the tub, I stepped onto the drain, pushing down the plug above it. I looked up, the light bulbs in the bathroom hurting me, the near fluorescent lighting whitewashing the few senses I was able to hold onto it. Without thinking, I stepped out of the tub for a moment and I switched off the light.

I got back into the tub, my knees feeling as if they were about to give out on me. I knelt down and rolled onto my back, resting my head against the wall pressed up to the tub. The water absorbed quickly into my clothes, wet jeans almost anchoring me to the bottom. I sat with my eyes closed, listening to the water fill the tub, becoming encased.

It was only a few minutes until I could feel water starting to lap at my neck. I lifted my hand up above the water, skimming my fingers over it until I felt how it was nearly leveled with the top of the tub. Afraid the water was about to overflow, and my clothes too heavy to let me move forward, I raised up my foot and pushed the knob down, the water stopping, the last few drops echoing in my ears. The water felt like layers of thick blankets, but I could feel the warmth of it slowly slipping away. I had a pounding headache, and in a halfhearted attempt to make it better, I slipped under the water.
The only thing I could hear was a low ringing, almost a buzzing. The water felt so much thicker than it should have been. Now, when I think back to it, maybe it was all the blood I was floating in that made the water different. I tried to press my back against the bottom of the tub, but the water pushed my head up to the top. I emerged, the breath I took worse than any I could remember. I sighed, feeling droplets running down my face. Shifting my eyesight just slightly, I could see a soap dish that was built into the shower wall. I flattened my right hand under the dish and I eased the fingers on my left hand under the sliding glass door for the shower, pain shooting through every inch of my hands. I pushed down, feeling the water come over my face like a mask, closing up and over my nose, trying to fill my nostrils and crack open my mouth. I felt my head graze the bottom of the tub, and, almost so quietly that I couldn’t hear it, I told myself that I would not resurface.

I don’t remember so much beyond that, at least of what happened while in the tub. At some point in the suspension, I had rolled over, my nose now touching the bottom instead of my head. I felt two hands shoot under me, arms wrapping around and yanking me to the surface, the air like ice as I was pulled out and thrown to the floor. My eyes were closed, and it was if I was watching myself without sight, my feelings ten times more sensitive to every movement my body made. I could almost imagine myself as an outline sketched into some notebook, and nothing that I felt could shock vision back into me.

Fists were being pounded against my chest, I would later understand, but it only felt as if gentle fingertips were poking me. My lips were separated and air was trying to be forced down my throat, but no result came about. Pressure on my stomach, terrible and painful pressure, lips separated again and air passing down my throat, pressure… then something burning coming up. My eyes opened at that.
Glass was the first thing I saw. Framed glass on someone’s face. The burning kept coming up, and hot liquid filled my mouth. Arms reached out and flipped me onto my right side, and water began to come out of my mouth, spilling onto the floor that was already soaking wet.

“Come on, come on, keep coughing it up...”

Those words seemed to trigger something in me, and nearly seconds after hearing them, the burning went up through my nose and eyes and I heaved water. I gave at least three good heaves of it before my head fell back into the same water I had puked up, the side of my face resting in it. Too exhausted to raise my head, I raised my eyes instead.

There was someone above me. My head was titled up; soft hands were on the sides of my face. There was suddenly a bright light in my eyes, and as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. I could still see glass from behind what seemed to be a burned patch of air. I tried to keep my focus on the glass, and it finally registered in my head that it was someone’s glasses. There was a man next to me. He was now pulling up my arms, and I felt a finger tracing one of the wounds on my right arm. I couldn’t tell who it was… everything was so familiar now, but still so distant. The confusion made me want to cry.

“These are all very deep… go get a phone. Call 911. These need to get stitched immediately.”

“Is he alive?”

Those two voices were familiar. Both were male, and both were calm. Maybe even in shock.

“His pupils were dilating when the light was in his face.”

A panicked female voice broke through. “Is he even breathing?!”

I grinned. Hi, mom.

“It looks like it. He needs to get to a hospital immediately. Call 911.”

The hands left my face, and I heard footsteps running down the hall. The man who was at my side came closer towards my head, and he reached out and held my head up. I saw a man stand over me, across from the one already by my side. The man standing bent down and took a closer look at me.

“Is he responsive?”

“A little bit. He’s watching us.”

The man grinned. “At least he’s not staring off into space.”

We all seemed to hear the screaming that came from outside the bathroom, the screaming of the name ‘Raleigh’. The two above me jerked their heads up.

“Raleigh! I can’t find the phone, where the hell is the phone?! Help me!”

Raleigh? That was my father’s name. And the phone was in my room. I had been using it earlier in the day…

The man standing looked over at the one kneeling down. “I better go help her. Can you handle him?”

The one kneeling nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Alright. Keep trying to get him awake, Trevor.”

Trevor? Trevor was the one who I was on the phone with earlier. I asked him if he was free to come by on Thursday. Today was Thursday, wasn’t it?

… Fuck. I knew exactly where I was, and who this was next to me. My father was trying to help my mom find the phone, and the only friend I had was next to me, wrapping a towel around my arm, trying to keep me from bleeding out even more. I tried to open my mouth, but the dull ache that was settling into the back of my throat made it too painful. A small noise came from my chest.

He looked down at me, and he titled his head slightly. “Did you try to say something?”

It took nearly all my might to nod my head. The look on his face softened. “Yeah? What were you trying to say?”

Tears were starting to form in my eyes, the heat from them too much for my lids to bear. I blinked a few times, and a few single lines began to slide down my face. Despite the ache in my throat, I again tried to speak.

“The… the phone...”

He leaned down slightly. “The phone?”

“It’s… in… my room… it’s in my room, Trevor.”

He grinned. “Well, that’s a relief that you remember me.”

I tried to grin back. “Relief… that you remembered… to come today...”

He sighed. “Yeah. Lucky me to come to see you for the first time in months and I find you in a blood filled bathtub.”

Another set of tears rolled down my face. “I’m sorry.”

He looked away from me and closed his eyes. He sighed once again, then said, “I know you aren’t.”

I took a deep breath, the cold air soothing my sore throat. “To be honest… I’m not sorry to anyone… but you.”

He looked back at me, then looked to my arms and lifted a towel. He leaned over me and lifted my other arm, then began to wrap it with a towel. “Eh, at least you feel some sort of sorry emotion to someone, right? Makes you look a little less like a psycho.”

After he had the towel around my arm, as he was making sure it was wrapped tightly, I took control of my arm and I lifted my hand. I reached forward and, in pain, I curled my fingers around his wrist.

“Don’t say that. You aren’t just… someone.”

He looked at my fingers around his wrist, then put his hand around mine. “It hurts you to hold on, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t think anyone has ever said it so clearly.”

He grinned. “I mean your hand around my wrist, Christian.”

“.. Oh. Yeah, it does.”

He looked back down at my arms, and his eyes became wide. I looked to them as well, and I could see blood was beginning to soak through them.

“Jesus… you’re bleeding out everywhere… you figure that someone your size and so pale right now would already be drained…” he said.

“Yeah… I’d love to be asleep right now,” I said quietly.

“Soon. They’ll hook you up with some good shit at the hospital. Speaking of which…” he said, then looking to the door, “Shall I let your father know where that phone is?”

I nodded. “Go for it.”

“Alright, Mr. Reils. Get ready for an ambulance ride.”

Way ahead of you, Trevor. I was ready for a hearse.