You said you'd stop but I still saw brand new scars on your wrists and your thighs. "You're staying over at my house tonight!" I screamed at you in the toilets, you smiled at me pitifully like I didn't understand. Of course I didn't understand. You had me to help you. I wanted to help you.
Why couldn't I help you?
The day you kissed me was the happiest day of my life. I literally jumped on you and we fell over. Sure you had a sore back and I nearly broke my arm but it was the kiss of a lifetime and I was happy.
You also looked happy, were you just pretending?
The first time we made love I was in heaven. I've never had sex and to have it with a woman you love…It was amazing. You were amazing. I traced my fingers over your scars and you said that it made you feel better, like I was healing them for you.
THEN WHY COULDN'T I HELP YOU?
It's been 10 years since I got your letter but I still can't stop thinking that it was my fault, that if it weren't for me you'd stay. That if it weren't for me, that day would have never happened.
I woke up on Monday, texted you a good morning as usual went to school, didn't notice you didn't reply until my first lesson was 15 minutes in. I kept on looking at my phone so much my teacher got sick of me and kicked me out of the lesson. Instead of going to the head teacher like usual I went to the gates. They were still open. I ran to your house. I kept on thinking 'Why haven't you replied yet? You always reply on time.' When I got to your place it was quiet. Your parents must have been already at work. I snack into the back and I kept on shouting your name. Nobody answered. I walked to your bedroom, you were probably just sleeping I assumed. When I opened the door I finally got your text. It said 'Good morning, I love you. Don't miss me. I'm not worth it. I'm sorry.' I looked at the bed.
There was so much blood.
Your wrists. Your thighs. The razor blades on your bed and one in your hand. I couldn't feel anything. I whispered your name and you didn't move. I called the police and your parents, then I sat on your bed staring at your face. I could see you cried but you were happy. Your phone beeped. It was a screensaver of us. I looked back at your face. You were smiling a bit. You looked at peace. The police came after some time. They told me to move. I was too numb to move away from you. Your parents came. I could hear your mother in hysterics. Your father was yelling at the police to hurry it up.
They moved me. They packed you in a black bag and left. A police man had to take my statement. He asked me where I lived. I didn't reply. He gave me a tissue, apparently I was crying. I told him what happened when I ditched school. He then asked me again where I lived. This time I told him.
My mum hugged me and cried as the police man told her what happened. My dad put a hand on my shoulder. I went into my room.
I didn't come out for a week.
On the 8th day after your suicide, your mum came to bring me a letter. Apparently you wrote me a letter. I sat on my bed and read. You were such a cliché, you put in all the 'it wasn't your fault' and 'I just couldn't handle it anymore' and 'I love you'. You also put in a razor blade in there, you painted it purple, your favourite colour and signed 'To remember me by'. It was horrible but it was wonderful at the same time. It was as if you were still there with me. I stared outside the window until the next morning.
It's been 10 years and I still haven't forgotten you. I still hate you for leaving me. For giving up on me. For giving me up. You left me. And you didn't even tell me why. You just gave me a razor blade.
You were my first love. And I miss you. I wish you would come back. Come back to me. Please. Come back to my life.