Hi! Feel free to skip to the story below if you don’t want to read this disclaimer. This is the first story I’ve ever written for here, feel free to leave feedback as long as you are respectful. Also tw for suicide and alcohol abuse in this chapter. Please enjoy I greatly appreciate you reading this.
Part one - The End
Tears fill my eyes and blur my vision for a moment, just until blinking releases them down my cheeks, only for the cycle to repeat. I can barely focus on the keypad on my phone between my foggy vision, wiping tears off of the screen, and gasping for air between sobs. I weakly reach for one of the wrinkled shirts piled onto the heap of unwashed laundry on my bed, I grab a hold of one and slowly pull it close to me, burying my face in it to collect my tears and snot. Between my best attempts to calm myself down, I dial Cody’s number. The phone rings for an endless nine seconds before he picks up.
“Layla, Layla what is it? What’s wrong?”, his voice, despite its concern and urgency, slowed my breathing and helped me focus on one thing, only for a brief second.
“I’m , I’m sorry Cody”
“Layla, Layla Thatcher respond to me right now, please, Layla please. Please stop not tonight. I can’t do this again Layla I can’t” I can hear him slowly break down as his voice begins to crack and the sense of panic in his voice dulls to a desperate whimper. I’ve said basically nothing, but he understood exactly what was happening. The silence between us is filled by my heavy breathing and sniffling. It is deafening.
“I’m sorry Cody, I love you.”
There is a pause as I take a deep breath.
“Goodbye.”
This feels like the most difficult thing I’ve ever done, saying goodbye, not even saying it to the rest of my life, just to Cody. I feel like the most selfish person on earth, like I deserve this. Like this is the punishment for burdening someone with my presence in their life. After more silence, I hear what Cody is saying, but it has become the background of my focus. I realize there’s no point in listening to him anymore. I’ve said my goodbyes after all.
“Layla stop please, please Layla no!”
Cody’s plea’s become more distant to me as I open the bottle and pour nine or ten pills into my palm and take them, slowly, one at a time.
“Layla what the fuck?!” Cody shouts, I hear him throw something. This makes me jump and I begin to put him in the foreground of my thoughts again as I think of all our memories together. I thought about how I slept at his house when my dad would get drunk, or when we would go to the bridge to throw rocks and talk about gossip and other stupid stuff, or even the time that we went to the lake together and I nearly drowned. The more I think, the more I am weighed down by guilt. No matter how happy the memories made me, I felt I had to put them behind me; I didn’t want to think about them any longer even if I had the strength to. So I hug the phone, hang up, and tuck myself into bed, ignoring Cody’s cries and begs. As I get closer to sleep, the trash and dirty laundry covering the floor of my room feels less important, the fact that I hadn’t showered in weeks, and hadn’t gone to school in nearly a month, feels less important. The world started to drift away from me just as I had been wishing for.
Moments later lights are blaring through my window onto my ceiling. I am grabbed by my wrists and my ankles and dragged out of my room. I try to kick and scream and fight, but all that I can muster up is slurred speech and an attempt at picking up my own head. I feel so heavy, like I am strapped to weights and chains, and as I take in everything around me. I cannot form a single thought, and once again everything goes black. Time is passing so slowly, I hear people talking, I see flickering and flashing lights through my eyelids, but I cannot move a single limb on my body. Thoughts begin to form in my mind again and I wonder if I am passing on, or if I am damned to my reality for another chance at my excruciating life. I start to wonder who is speaking around me when my thoughts slip away once more, and my eyes flutter open to a hospital room.
My dad is standing over me, the bright lights above him make him look like merely a silhouette, but I can sense his distress. My body begins to feel heavy again, and I am struck with the worst nausea I have ever felt. My head is spinning, and I try to pick myself up to puke, but I am too weak. What I presume to be a nurse puts her hands beneath my back and lifts me. She holds a bucket in my lap and I throw up into it. It takes minutes to get everything out of my system, I come up, trying to get the smallest bit of air in between violent gags and retches. Once I am done, snot is dangling from my nose and my face is flushed and red. I take big deep breaths and try to pick chunks of half digested food out of my teeth. The nurse gently pulls my hand away from my mouth and takes the bucket to the sink and brings me a towel to clean myself. I blow my nose onto the towel, and use the other side to wipe the tears off of my puffy eyes. I look over at my dad and he is sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, he tugs on his hair and shivers quietly. The nurse brings me a cup of water and lets me drink, she then lays me back down and I try my hardest to recollect my memories and figure out what happened. I look over at the nurse, then at my dad again, and I begin to wonder if maybe this is just a nightmare, or maybe it wasn’t the pills and I just got sick. I want to go back to sleep, every second that I am conscious I become more scared, I want to go. I want Cody, I am so scared. The only thing I can feel as I try to fall back asleep is fear.
When I awake I am still in the hospital bed, the reality sets in that this isn’t a nightmare or a weird dream. I am alive. My thoughts strike me all at once and become more rapid than they have been in months. I am in no state to be frantic, but it’s all my mind can seem to do. My dad presses the call button to let the doctors know I’m awake and one comes in. He is an older man, he has bad posture and a poorly shaven beard. He bites his cheek and slowly rubs his temples as he walks in. He then grabs a rolling chair and pulls it over beside the bed, as he sits down he lets out a grunt, and introduces himself as Dr. Warner.
“So, Layla, how are you feeling?” his voice sounds drained of emotion, like he would rather be doing anything but this.
“I feel fine, I’m dizzy. What happened, I-, where’s Cody? Dad?” I start to become frantic again, this is the first time I’ve spoken since before I got here, my lungs feel weak and like they can barely hold any air.
“Listen, I know you’re in a rough state right now, and you don’t have to talk about this until you are ready, okay? We just need to know a little about what led to this. Do you think you can do that Lylah?” He raised his eyebrows slightly, provoking a response, and began to bite his cheek again and look down at his laptop.
“I don’t know, I… don’t even know how I got here. Where’s Cody, is he alright?” My breaths start to get faster and I begin to bite my nails to calm myself down. My dad looks up at me, he examines my state, I am shaking, weak, and I don’t want him to have to see me like this. He rubs his eyes and lets out a long, exasperated sigh, then leaves the room. My eyes follow him, desperately wanting to know what is going on in his head. I wonder if he will ever come back. Dr. Warner clears his throat, seemingly to gain my attention back.
“Cody called an ambulance for you last night, you know you were lucky Layla. You could’ve died.”
“No shit dumb fuck”, I think to myself. I didn’t think Cody would call an ambulance, I honestly didn’t even consider it. My whole head fills with anger towards him, and I can’t seem to fathom why someone who knew what I was going through, who knew about my suffering, would try to keep me in it for longer. I mean, I know why he called an ambulance, I guess he wanted to be a hero, he cares about me. Despite this, I know that his decision will only cause more suffering for the both of us. I wonder if he knows that too.
“Oh, okay”, they are the only words I can seem to respond with.
“Can you tell me a little bit about what happened Lylah?” He leans towards me slightly, and prepares his wrinkled hands to begin typing.
“What do you mean? About the pills?”
“In a sense, yes, could you just talk to me about what led up to it?”
“I don’t know, a lot of stuff did.” I said, I’m not exactly sure what he is asking for, and I don’t want to give him any information he doesn’t necessarily need.
“How are things at home Lylah? Your father told me about your mom… is that hard on you?”
“I don’t know, I guess I’m just used to it now, it’s been two years.” I twiddle with my thumbs.
“Do you feel pressured to help take care of her?” He pauses his typing and looks up at me. I don’t respond for a moment, concocting the right answer in my head before I say it out loud.
“I mean, yeah. But she’s my mom. I love her, I want to help her.”
“Of course, but situations like that can take a lot from a young person’s day to day life.” He says this as he examines his laptop and pulls a notepad out of his breast pocket, there is a pen attached to it with an elastic, and he jots down some notes.
“Before last night, did you have trouble eating, sleeping?”
“Yeah, I mean, most of the time I guess.” He jots down another note and then clicks some buttons on his laptop, scrolling and examining them carefully. He wriggles his nose as if it is itching, before saying “It says the pills you took were prescribed to you last year, does your doctor prescribe you refills?”
I start to become uneasy at the mention of the pills, a feeling like I’m in trouble. My stomach turns as if I were at the top of a roller coaster about to fall, and the answer to his question can’t seem to come to my mind.
“I can come back later if you don’t want to talk about this right now. Are you sure you’re okay Lylah?” He puts the notepad back in his pocket along with the pen, and tilts his head slightly.
“No, I’m okay. I don’t really know, I think my dad would refill them like every other month maybe? You can go ask him if he’s still here.”
“That’s okay. How was school going? Were you experiencing any bullying or teasing?”
“No, not really”
He nods his head and looks at the laptop screen while he scratches his neck.
“When do I get to go home?” I ask, I want to see Cody and go back to my room, everything is so overwhelming here.
“Well, to be honest, that’s partially up to your dad. We can let you out tonight if he just signs some forms and we can get you in to see a psychologist. But there are also other steps that we could take, if you or your dad don’t feel safe we could admit you into the teen mental health program we have here.”
I pretended to care about his fancy terminology for a psych ward, but all I could think about was finding my dad and having him get me home.
“Okay, can I talk to my dad now?”
“I’m not exactly sure where he is but I will let the front desk know that you are waiting on him. I have to go run some paperwork and I’ll send you some food.” He stands up as he closes his laptop and pushes the chair back to its original spot. He gives me a small wave on his way out the door, I wave back.
I have been watching the cartoon channel on my TV and eating my food for about 15 minutes when my dad comes back into the room.
“I signed all the stuff to get you out tonight, the doctor told me that I have to cancel your prescription.”
“Okay, thanks” I am so glad that my dad is getting me out of here, but I can tell he is not in a good mood. His eyes are puffy and have dark circles under them, his face hangs low like a wilting flower, and he sighs after every sentence he says. He grabs his bag from the couch and throws it over his shoulder then stomps to the door, “I’ll wait for you in the car” He says.
Another thirty minutes passes and a nurse comes in to take my food tray, she tells me that another nurse will be in soon to talk to me. I sit there and watch more TV while I wait. About ten minutes later a new nurse knocks and slowly comes into the room. He introduces himself as Micheal and tells me he is a discharge nurse. He is very tall and stands next to me by the bed.
“Do you want to go on a walk?”
“Why?” I ask cautiously, but he flashes me a warm smile and holds out his hand. “I have to make sure that your physical health is in great condition before you can head home. So we can just take a walk and make sure that you’re doing fine. How does that sound?”
“Okay” I say, I take his hand and climb out of the bed. It feels weird, I’ve been laying here for over 12 hours. My legs start to tingle and I shake them out one at a time. Then I take a big breath and I stretch out my arms and back. I slowly start to feel more normal. Micheal holds the door open for me and we walk around the wings of the hospital. While we do this he talks to me.
“So, before you go, I have to go over some rules and regulations with you. There will be a mandatory Doctors check up scheduled one week from today at whichever doctors office you attend regularly. You will also have to be enrolled in a mandatory form of therapy or mental counseling, that’s more of your dad’s job to sort out though.”
“Okay, thanks” As he speaks, I start to realize all the bad things that will happen with me returning home. What people would say when I go back to school. What Cody will think of me, what he will say to me to fill the space between us when I see him, alive. I will have to see my mom again, I will have to loom over her and watch her rot in her own self. I will have to spend more excruciating lonely nights in my disgusting room. I will have to find refuge from my dad’s outbursts.
“Well now that you know, let’s get you home.” He gives me another smile and walks me out to my dad’s car. The walk is long and painfully silent. I examine all of the rooms, nurses and doctors discussing things in the hallway, and people waiting for their loved ones, the look of fear on their face unmistakable. I am still in my hospital gown when I get in the car, the clothes I came to the hospital in were covered in vomit. I slide into the passengers seat and look over at my dad. He looks more disheveled than me. He flashes me a look before he starts the ignition and I know that this will not be a pleasant drive home. After minutes of silence and me staring out the window to entertain myself, he finally speaks.
“What the fuck Layla?” He says it gently but there is so much anger behind his voice. He hits his hand against the steering wheel and then clenches it into a fist. I stare at him, not sure how to respond. My lip starts to quiver and I can feel my throat start burn as I hold back tears.
“Do you ever think of anyone other than yourself goddamnit? I do so much for you and I guess this is the thanks that I get, right? Jesus, my wife bedridden, my daughter trying to kill herself.”
He is starting to talk to himself now, and I still don’t know how to respond. I feel so selfish and rude. My dad did try hard for me, and I would’ve just left him all alone, it’s not fair to him. He looks over at me and it makes me flinch, I pull my knees up to my chest and bury my head in them. I say through a muffled cry. “I’m sorry dad.” It’s the only thing that I know how to respond with.
“I guess I’m not even good enough for a goodbye, right Layla?” He was right partially, I didn’t know how to say goodbye to him, I wouldn’t know what to write in a note to him. “I’m sorry dad.” I longingly and silently beg to be anywhere but here. To go far away and never see anyone I know ever again. Maybe all my troubles would disappear if I started over in a new town, with new people, new scenery, new parents, everyhting could be so different.
“You’ve always been selfish, always.” My dad mutters under his breath.
The rest of the car ride is silent, and I am glad. We arrive at our house, the grass overgrown onto the sidewalk, moss creeping across the dirty red bricks. A panel of the fence in the front porch is snapped in half. The metal swing that my dad bought my mom for her 35th birthday is rusted and weeds are latched onto the legs. The slide I had played on when I was a toddler remains in the yard, covered in dirt and dust. I walked up the stairs onto the porch, each one creaking at the pressure of my foot. I opened the screen door, then put the key in the lock, carefully turned it and entered my house, I looked back at my dad, who was still waiting in the car, he was looking at something on his phone. I shut the door, leaving it unlocked for him to enter later.
I never realised how bad my house reeked of cigarette smoke and alcohol. The carpet is stained and there is trash everywhere. None of the lights are on, and the windows are covered, but just enough sunlight creeps through the curtains to illuminate the living room and kitchen. I see the piles of paperwork on the kitchen table, the last meal we ate there as a family was when I was 9. I decide to go to my moms room before doing anything else. I walk down the hall, the family photos gathering dust and even one had a cobweb on the corner, at the end of the hall laid her room. I knocked, knowing there would be no answer, and carefully entered, leaving the door cracked.
“Hi mama” I said softly, sitting myself in the chair by her bed. I grab her hand, it is bony and pale, it shakes as a childs would before taking a test. I hold it tightly. She opens her eyes ever so slightly, just enough to see my face.
“Hi mama” she says. Her voice is weak and raspy.
“I’m not your mama Mary, I’m sorry”
“Wheres Mama?” She asks, it’s the same question every time we talk. If you could even call it talking.
A black and white cartoon is playing on her TV at a low volume. I hate to see her like this, trying to imitate a normal human life. She doesn’t know who I am, she doesn’t know where she is. The 13 years I spent growing up with her as my mother, before she got sick, were less than memories to her now. She lays in her bed every day except for when she has to use the bathroom, in which case she usually gets lost in the house. She occasionally forgets how to walk and I have to help her, even with her walker.
“I love you mama” I whisper, hoping she doesn’t respond.
It pains me too much to say anything more. I miss my mom, I wish to see glimpses of who she was when I was a child in who she is now, but I cannot find any. Her hair is falling out, her teeth are yellow, and her mouth constantly hangs open. I give her a kiss on the forehead and quietly leave the room, knowing it will destroy me to spend any more time with her. When I leave the hall and return to the living area, my dad is sitting at the table on his computer, I assume he is doing work and I quietly pass him to my room.
Just the sight of my room exhausts me. I debate calling Cody, but I am worried that I won’t find the words to say to him. I never planned on talking to Cody again, I haven’t even registered benign back home, or even being alive. I am too tired and confused to worry about him. I think to myself that I will talk to him another day, maybe even tomorrow. He can worry about me for a little longer, there are more important things that I have dealt with. I turn on the TV, play a random kids show channel, and twist, turn, and stretch till I fall asleep.
I awake at around two pm, my throat is dry and scratchy, I get out of bed and slowly trudge to the kitchen. My dad is at the table, still on his computer. He looks up at me, only with his eyes.
“Lylah…”
I walk over to him by the table and he slides me a pamphlet, face down, not looking away from the computer. I pick it up while I walk over to the sink to get water. But the contents make me stop in my tracks. Up at the top of the paper, it read “Silver - Lining Wilderness Retreat Therapy”.
“Dad what is this?”
“I found it at the hospital, it’s just for a couple months, you’ll feel great when you get home. Pack your things, we’re leaving tonight.” His voice is cold and careless.
“You could’ve talked to me about it first?” I stepped back, as if he were going to attack me.
“Lylah, pack your things, please.” He takes a drink out of his mug as if there was coffee in it, but I know what it really is. I stare at him, scowling under my breath, clenching my jaw.
“Why? I’m literally fine dad, I swear.”
“No, Lylah you’re not. You’re not fucking okay, and I can’t take care of you anymore.”
“So you’re just shipping me off to go live with strangers after I almost died? You think that’s what’s going to make me want to live?
“Lylah please don’t make me the bad guy.” His face dropped the angry expression and his muscles relaxed, but I could see right through it.
“No, no, dad I’m not going, you can’t make me.” I was getting defensive, I don’t want to, but maybe he will let me stay if I make a big enough scene. I am so scared. I didn’t think I would be alive today and now I have to leave my whole life behind, not knowing what is ahead of me.
“Lylah” He snaps, standing up violently, the chair nearly flying back behind him. “Pack.”
“Dad, please” Tears well up in my eyes and the burning sensation in my throat returns, but he starts walking towards me, and all of a sudden begging doesn’t seem so worth it anymore. I start to run to my room, crying.
He stands, leaning against my door frame, tapping his foot as I dig my luggage out of my closest and throw clothes into it. I look up at him from the floor, and he shoots me a look that makes my blood curdle. He then turns around and traces back to the kitchen, a few minutes later I hear the door to my moms room slam shut and he screams an agonizing, painful scream. I zip up my suitcase and weep.
I ate leftover soup for dinner, it was cold. I notice my dad left his phone on the counter, it started to buzz. I picked it up to see who it was, a woman named Margeret Howard. I hung up the phone and sent the automated “Can’t talk right now” message. I unlocked his phone and saw that they had been calling for almost half a year, at least twice a month, but they had never texted each other. I become more inquisitive and try to look at everything to find out what is going on, his email, his deleted messages, and his facebook all had nothing. I decided to look at his camera roll, the last photo he had saved was from six years ago, when I was nine. It was of me and my mom on the swing in the front yard, she is tickling me and I am crying of laughter. I marvel at the picture, trying to grasp the memory and the sense of comfort it brought me. However I was interrupted by a door opening. I quickly lock the phone and slide it back across the counter.
After 2 hours in my moms bedroom, my dad has emerged. He was crying. He gets my suitcase out of my room, grabs the keys off of the wall, and signals for me to come outside. I nod my head in agreement. I’ve wanted to call Cody all evening, but I felt too bad. Saying goodbye, just to call and get his hopes up, only to leave again. I was too scared of how it would happen. I heard the car start and quickly turned off the phone to join my dad.
On the way to the camp I examined the pamphlet more, there is a photo of girls and boys riding horses and smiling. A photo of kids, and what I presumed to be counselors, sitting around the campfire eating sandwiches, and a photo of a woman and a man standing in front of the mountains, smiling. The caption of the photo says “ Meet our founders! Harry and Margeret Howard!”