|How to Save a Life
Author: andromeda311 PM
Sometimes, the only thing to do is give up.Rated: Fiction T - English - Tragedy/Angst - Words: 458 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 2 - Published: 02-10-07 - Status: Complete - id: 2317947
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
did I go wrong?
I lost a friend somewhere along in the bitterness.
And I would have stayed up with you all night, had I known
( how to save a life )
She won't listen. Ignores every attempt at reason, pretends I'm in the wrong, won't even flirt with the idea that she's messed up. And everything I say just rolls off her back, like I'm a nonentity or something. Like I don't know what I'm talking about. She gives me this look, as if she knows everything and everything is perfectly okay and I'm being stupid.
So I go. Knowing, as I do it, that I'm going to regret this - sorely regret this - later on. Hell, I regret it now. Because I know that my giving up on her means she has no hope. None. I'm leaving what used to be my sister out in the rain to fade away and die because I'm sick of worrying about her.
Sick of caring. Of bothering with dragging her home from parties, drugged up and delusional. Of hearing the whispers of whore and junkie and pretending I don't know they're true. Of acting like I think she's only drunk when I pick her up at 4:30.
And so I walk away. Close my eyes against the rush of self-loathing and anger, and turn around because she won't listen, not now, not ever. I've got to choose my battles, and this one's just not worth fighting.
Sickened with myself for thinking that my sister's life isn't worth fighting for - which it should be, and I should be the one striving to save it, but it just isn't - I step out the door, willingly letting her down for the last time. I've run out her drugs and her druggie friends and all the guys coming around for too long now, and why keep doing it if it won't get her anywhere?
It's raining, but I know they'll be able to tell that it's not all rainwater on my face. I taste salt and pain and worry and fear as I take the steps toward home, wishing bitterly that she'll come running, begging me not to leave her, claiming as she has before that she'll quit, that this time, she'll really stop. I'll believe her. If she comes, I'll play the game, keep up the pretend, give her one last chance to turn her life around.
She doesn't follow.
And I don't go back.
one cries at her funeral. Not even me.
(A/N: Think about it.)