#editswillcome

Paper fluttered out of her hand down to the floor. That was it one more, and final, letter wrote. Two minutes more. That’s all she needed. Two minutes of pain and sorrow; then everything would finally be still. Eye lids fluttered closed. Her breathing evened out. She smiled.    

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“Alex!"    

She breathed in and out, lost to the world. The last thing she heard is a sob and the sound of a siren in the distance.   

He holds Alex in his arms, hugging her as if he let go she would disintegrate. The smell of her hair and the colour of her cheeks seems to simultaneously overwhelm the room and fade away. He heard the door open.   

“How long has she been out?” “I need to take a pulse.” “Sir, please move away so we can do our jobs.” “What did she take?” An endless barrage of questions fall on deaf ears as he clings to his friend. Strong hands ease him away from the scene, pulling him to the edge of the room and facing him towards the window. It’s snowing.   

He’s unsure how many hours have crawled by before a woman in a uniform ushers him from the now empty attic bedroom. All he can think of is the ashen colour of her skin and the paper crunching under foot. The paper! He grabbed it before the officers arrived. Before he could slip away to read it his train of thought was interrupted by the women, Officer Jennings he remembers, asking him…uh something. Blinking he responds, “Can you repeat that?"   

“I understand this must be a traumatising occurrence Mr…” “Elliot, Elliot Norton.” “Mr. Norton. In effort to understand what led to Miss. Braley’s efforts to take her life I must ask you a few questions. Can you handle that Mr. Norton?"    “Uh…yeah, I think I can do that.”    

“What happened when you arrived at Miss. Braley’s house?”   

Elliot shivers. He recalls the events of today. All of the warning signs. Her comments and subtle attempts at distancing herself from the people around her in classes. How she didn’t respond to his phone calls. How he wasn’t fast enough.   

“Is Alex going to be okay?” Mind reeling, that was all he could focus on. “Miss. Braley…Alex…should be just fine, thanks to you Elliot. Can you please tell me what happened before you called us?"   

“Okay,” Elliot sighs. “We were supposed to study at my house today and she never showed. When she didn’t answer my phone calls,” crap the messages, “I came over. No one was home so I used the spare key, I house sit for their family, to let myself in. She wasn’t in her room. That’s when I called you, because she was either missing or something had happened. I heard something come from upstairs and I ran up her to…to find…she was…” He couldn’t say it.  “It’s okay Elliot. We don’t need much more from you. Did Alex give you any clues that she was thinking of self harm?"    

“I don’t…no…not that I…” He couldn’t finish.    

“It’s okay Elliot. Do you have someone I can contact to take you home?"    

“My sister. Ros. Her number is…it’s ahhh…I can call her, it’s in my phone.” Elliot removes the hideous shock blanket someone must have bestowed on him when he was ushered out of the attic. Pushing through the officers he manages to escape into the kitchen, trying to breathe. How many times is this now? Six? Seven? He doesn’t have a clue. At least his shocked facade was growing more believable. The police didn’t even do a second round of questions. He doesn’t want Alex to suffer more than she already does. It's always hard, seeing your girl, no your friend-just friend-in that situation. You’d think the teen boy would be desensitised a bit by now. He thought that Alex was getting better. It had been over a year since her last attempt, an attempt that shook Elliot to his very core. He found Alex on the bridge—the one that he crossed everyday on his way home from downtown. An old stone thing, ivy growing everywhere, he and Alex would sit there sometimes watching the water and talking for hours. He found her passed out, blood spilling everywhere, on the far end of the north pillar. The place they always sat, hidden from the road if you didn’t know it was there. That one had been hard to handle. Sometimes the boy had to stop and wonder if this was supposed to be a normal pat of life. Is one supposed need more than one hand to count the number of times he’s written a letter or found a friend?    

He opens his phone, the smooth glass is warm from his back pocket, and dials Ros.  

“Ros here.” Her bell tones were rough, she must still be at work.    

“Ros, it’s Eli. I have a situation…” His voice was a whisper.     “

Did you get arrested?” “No.” “Are you in the hospital?” “No.” “Are you hurt?” “NO.” Are you in immediate danger?” “No, Ros shut up for a second. I’m fine. It’s Alex. She tried again,” he explained.    

“Oh…Did you find her this time?” Her voice filled with concern for her little brother.    

“Yeah, the police won’t let me walk home so I need you to come get me."    

“El, my shift doesn’t end for another 30 minutes. What happened?"    

“She slit her wrists this time. She left a note."    

“Okay, let me get Kelly to cover my sections.” She hangs up without waiting for a response. She’ll be there in 20 minutes. Elliot returns to the living room where the last two officers are whispering over their pads with intense looks on their faces. Shit. They turn towards the teen as he edges in and towards the couch. Elliot knows they have probably figured out that this is a common occurrence for Alex. There hasn’t been a year since her 13th birthday when Alex hasn’t been hospitalised at least once for self destructive behaviour. She’s always been on the edge of going over into that place—you know, the one that causes its victims to drown in the sun and collapse under the unseen boulder crushing their lungs; the place right on the edge of not being able to turn back. That’s where she has lingered for the past five years.    

“Mr. Norton, were you aware of Miss. Braley’s history of self harm?” The male officer steps towards Elliot, the click of his boots echoing off of the stark walls in the Braley residence, “She has a record of suicide attempts spanning almost six years and hospitalisations littering that time due to severe self harm. Were you aware of this history?”    

“Yes officer, but I did not know she was declining. The last time I saw her she seemed completely fine and exhibited no symptoms of her depression worsening.” He never once looked away from the officer, if there was one thing Elliot knows like no one else it is how to lie.    

The past few weeks had been incredibly dicey with Alex. She was irritable to say the least. Eli had noticed her wearing longer shorts than normal and her eye makeup has been much heavier. What she had told him was disheartening to say the least. A memory stirs.   

“Eli, can I be honest with you?” Alex curls up next to him as the opening tones of Star Wars ring through the empty house. “I know you mean well,” she cooed and ruffles his hair, “but can we not talk about my sessions any more? I already have to deal with them once, and that’s enough for me.” Her eye pleaded for a relief. She’s crying out silently for help; Elliot could see it plainly. The thought of ‘you can lead a horse to water’ comes to his mind. He knew Alex would come to him if she really needed help. The past has taught him that words don’t always speak their meanings clearly especially where Alex is concerned.    

“Okay A. I only wanted to be here for you.”

“I know Eli. I know. You are, but I need something different right now. Can we just watch the movie?"    

“Sure.” They turned back to screen and only the score and the crunch of popcorn accompanied the thoughts screaming in Elliot’s mind.    

The officers were packing up as Ros pulls up in her black chariot of junk as Eli calls it, her Dodge Neon. Without checking Elliot bolts to the car, through the living room and out the front door, faster than he though possible at, was it 11:30 already? Ros takes off before he even has his seatbelt fastened. She was still wearing her uniform, the fabric barely enough to cover her, and wrapped in the faux-fur coat she wears for show. She doesn’t say a word until they pull up to the house just across the neighbourhood, a subdivision with two divisions—the rich and the not so rich. Keeping up with the Jones is a real syndrome in Willow Brooks Acres, the peaceful smell of neighbourly rivals and seared skin from pruning bushes for three days straight a common occurrence as neighbours try to top each other’s lives. Both siblings hate the bull pen they live in, but know that it is not permanent. Ros shuts the car off and turns to her brother. “Okay. Dad is home so we need to talk now. What happened?"    

“I’m not sure. She’s been bad for a while. I told you about last weekend right?” His sister nods and encourages Elliot to continue. “Well, I had texted her to see if she wanted to avoid her dad by coming over to work on her radio. She didn’t respond until I was already out walking to her house. Her text was robotic so I ran over. She had already slit her wrists, but I think she took some pills too. I’ll visit the hospital in the morning. I’m probably not going to sleep anyways.”    

“Do you want me to cover for you tonight instead?” His sister offers as Elliot shakes his head.    

“Nah. She’s not going to be awake anyways. Besides, they won’t let me in until tomorrow, she looked pretty bad.” He trailed off, the image of his best friend rising to the forefront of his mind. “I’m going to read her letter anyways; that should keep me busy for a while. It looks like a big one.” The two stiffly end their conversation and hurry inside to find their father sprawled on the couch and mother no where to be seen. A usual Wednesday night. The kitchen is a mess, also fitting within status quo, and the mud closet looks as if a heard of elephants had trampled through it, knocking over the shoes and recycling bin that was only one third filled with beer bottles and coke cans. The stairs are just to the left of the entrance and the pair tiptoes up to their respective rooms. It may only be eleven but waking their father after what looks to be a night of drinking and a sizeable row with their mother is not the way they want to end the day. Ros slides into the first door, black and covered with chalk writing, and locks it behind her. Elliot’s door is third. He whispers a goodnight to his sister and closes his normal white door behind him.    

The door is about the only normal thing in Elliot’s room, or cave as he calls it. It’s littered with books and posters and post it notes stuck to any surface flat enough to hold them. His desk is a mass of paper and note books with just a large enough space clear for a laptop. Eliot slides into his bed after changing, wrapping himself in the thready Shakespeare bedspread Alex made him at camp when she was 14. He clutches her letter, daring himself not to open it. The rip of paper is louder than Elliot expected. Gingerly he unfolds the pages, five of them this time, and thumbs them before adjusting his bedside lamp and adjusting his glasses.    

Hey Eli. Listen if you haven’t already, don’t cry. We’ve been through this a lot. I’ve been through this a lot. I’ve put you through this a lot. That’s why I’m making this one last. No person is worth the pain I cause. You’re the only person I have and that’s why this letter is only addressed to you. I never know what to write in these things. Just don’t waste my memory okay? Don’t put me on the shelf in a little box like everyone else will. You know there’s more to me than that. And for fucks sake please don’t tell your sister anything I put in this letter.