I always thought he was a complete bastard. I'd resented him with every fibre of my being.
He was so perfect. So ungrateful.
I had so desperately wanted to be him. At any cost.
I'd never know how hard being him really was.
He was perfect. The older sibling, smart and cool and athletic and popular and attractive and everything I wasn't. Anybody would have been jealous of him. Almost everybody loved him. He was amazing, he was going to be a doctor or a lawyer or an astronaut or a sports star. He was an arrogant, ego-centric jerk to me.
He got top grades and then taunted me for not matching them. He made a zillion friends and then slammed doors in my face. I always though I was the only person who could see his faults. See that he wasn't a god.
I suppose that was normal to some people. They saw it as the sort of bickering that everybody did. They didn't realise how cruel he was. How much joy I thought he must be getting from making me feel small. He was perfect and he thought I was nothing.
When I saw the receipts I didn't think anything of them. I guess I wasn't that smart. I'd only gone downstairs to get a drink. I'd barely glanced at the pile of papers abandoned on the sideboard. It wasn't until I'd signed back into messenger and started to ask one of my mates what they thought he might possibly want with such a ridiculously large amount of medication from so many different stores that it clicked. I never hit send on the message. It was probably the fasted I had ever moved. He was the athletic one.
I remember slamming into his door. Seeing him on the bed with a stack of pill bottles. The medicine box lay open on the floor. There was a razor on his pillow. He was choking on his own vomit.
I remember screaming.
It was me.
His phone had been sitting on the window ledge. I have no idea what I'd actually said. I remember clinging to him though. That was what we were like when the ambulance crew arrived. Him half-conscious and me sobbing and shaking and hysterical.
There was no note. Nothing saying why he did what he did. I don't think he thought about it that hard. That's why shops limit how much the sell you. To stop you doing it without thinking about it. He found the loophole. Sometimes I hate living in a town with so many places to shop.
They have ways of treating this. Dad's flying back from his business trip. Mum said she always knew she shouldn't have left us alone to go and visit her sister – she's on her way. A guy I remember seeing him talk to is sitting across from me, pale and shaking.
They say they can treat this. That I'd called the ambulance fast enough to let them save him.
He wouldn't be here if somebody had saved him.