Everything is a blur. A rush of light and sound hit me all at once, waking me up. I was still there… in the forest. The birds were chirping, and the sun shone through the holes in the forest canopy above me. Everything was so peaceful. I turn around and I see my favourite tree. I sit there on the weekend to read. That’s when something catches my attention. 

I look down, and what I see has me in complete and utter shock. It’s me. My mouth is hanging open, and I’m hunched over at the stump of the tree. My face is pale and ghostly white. I’m dead. And by my hand, having fallen out, was a bottle. 

Scattered on the ground were the pills I had stolen from my dad’s medicine cabinet. There weren’t many on the ground, maybe 5 or 6. I can’t even push myself to imagine where the rest of the pills were - even though I already know.

The way that I feel right now is unexplainable. It’s terrible… except that it’s not.

 This is what I had wanted, right? I had no need to feel terrible. People don’t need to worry about me anymore. No more behaviour charts, no more people checking to see if I’m okay. Nothing. It’s all gone; everything I have ever known has been abandoned.

 Except for one small thing.

Michael.

 All of my hope is pinned on Michael. 

He’s the one person that I trusted. If he can’t turn this situation around, then nobody can. 

He always knows how to make people feel better, even though he barely talks. He can explain everything. He can make everyone okay again. He better, because it’s not like I’m going to explain anything.

 Dead people can’t explain anything. Nobody would hear- and I guess I didn’t want anyone to hear, either. Michael has ways to make people heard. Despite not speaking much, if anyone needs help, he’s always there to clarify that they are not alone. He made me feel like that, too.

The thing is, I think I was a bit too much for him to take care of at times. Actually, I know that I was too much for him to take care of. It makes a lot of sense. I wasn’t ever happy unless we were here, under the same tree I’m sitting under now. 

Somehow, this place seems to take your worries away for a second. It was nice. At school, however, he had to deal with the worst side of me. The terrible, rude, and crazy side of me. The side that nobody wanted to see. The side that I  didn’t want to see. Well, nobody has to see it now. 

Now, both sides of me are gone. Dead. 

It was the first day of senior year, and I had already found my way into the bathroom. I didn’t know how long I’d be able to stay in here without getting caught, but at least it was somewhere to hide. I brushed my long, messy hair to the side of my face as I looked into the mirror. I hated who I saw staring back at me. It’s like I didn’t even know him. 

He’s a wreck. He has bags under his eyes, he never smiles, and his hair is an ugly shade of brownish-orange. Everything about him is so terrible. And the worst thing about him is, he’s me. 

I had stood there crying for what seemed like hours, but I had no idea that someone else was there. I heard a clicking sound, and one of the bathroom stalls swung open. 

A boy with curly brown hair walked out of the stall. He had most likely just stopped crying because there were traces of tears on his face. He walked over to the sink next to the one I was standing at and began to wash his hands, and afterwards, his face. I stared at him for a moment. 

“What do you want?” He had asked bitterly.

 I stepped back in surprise. “I’m sorry,” I said apologetically, “I didn’t realise you were in here.”  

He looked down at his shoes. “Oh… sorry.”

“No no no no! It’s okay!” I said, trying to reassure him. 

 Then, he made eye contact with me for the first time. That moment is something I’ll never forget. His eyes were the most beautiful, rich brown colour I had ever seen. There was such depth in those eyes as if they were hiding a treasure chest full of secrets. The amount of emotion I could see just from his eyes was truly amazing; I could almost sense his emotions. There was a large amount of sadness in those eyes, but there was also a twinge of curiosity. 

“How long have you been in here?” He asked. 

“Around 30 minutes,” I said softly, “but it seems like 2 hours.” 

He frowned a little. “I’ve been in here for an hour.” 

I sigh.

“What’s your name?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood. 

“Michael,” he said, struggling to look me in the eye. 

“Michael,” I echoed, “that’s a pretty name.”

 He stared at the bathroom tiles for a moment, not saying a word.

 I had just realised something about his name, and I said it aloud. 

“Michael in the Bathroom.”

“Huh?”

I grinned. “It’s a song,” I said, “from a musical.”

“Oh!” He said, “Isn’t that from the new musical based on that book by Ned Vizzini? Be More Chill?” 

I was surprised that he actually knew about it.

 “Yeah,” I said, “Have you read it?” 

He nodded. “Yeah, I’m actually in the middle of reading it, so no spoilers, please.” 

I giggled. “Alright, but no promises. I’m not very good at keeping things from others.” 

That’s when he smiled in front of me for the first time. His smile, though slightly cheesy, was one of the most genuine smiles I had ever seen. It wasn’t perfect, but it was him.

It was Michael.

And that was enough.

When he smiled, it was impossible not to smile back. There’s just something about it- what it was? I couldn’t tell. But whatever it was, it was beautiful. 

…

We would see each other in the hall every now and then, but we were never put in any classes together. We would always have to sneak out of class to hang out, and he never wanted to, because he wasn’t a rulebreaker. Me, on the other hand? I was a rulebreaker. No, not a chew-gum-in-class kind of rulebreaker.

A real rulebreaker.

A get-suspended-once-every-three-months kind of rulebreaker.

Okay, maybe not that often, but you get the point. 

Eventually, Michael and I would exchange phone numbers and text each other every night. His texts never stayed on my phone, though. Every conversation was deleted after it was over. Our conversations were ours, and nobody else needed to see them. They were everything to me. Now, I bet Michael is trying to recover those conversations. He’ll probably search through his deleted folder, trying to find the last one we had: 

December 2, 2016, 1:56 PM

S: Hey. I miss you

M: Me too

Happy birthday btw

S: Thanks. Wanna hang out?

M: Can’t. Family is over

S: Oh

M: Sorry

S: Can we please call later? I really need to talk

M: 👍

December 2, 2016, 8:23 PM

S: You available now? I really need to talk.

Read 12/2/16, 10:46 PM

December 3, 2016, 12:34 PM

M: Hey

I’m sorry I couldn’t respond. Still grounded

from hanging out with u in the forest too late

U there?

Sal

You always respond within 2 minutes.

What’s wrong?

Sal?

Phone dead?

December 4, 2016, 6:45 AM

M: Hey

Are u mad at me?

Sal. Please respond

Have you even read these?

I’ll try again later

Sal and I had gone to the forest every week after we met. I liked it. It was peaceful there. Usually, I would just snap small twigs and talk, but I thought it was gratifying. The sound of the leaves rustling above me was something that always reminded me of Sal. I haven’t heard from him in months, and saying that I’m worried would be an understatement. I try just to tell myself that he’s fine, and I have a mental list of reasons why.

He’s probably in recovery.

Maybe he’s sick.

His phone probably got taken away.

Maybe he forgot his phone at his dad’s house.

He’s fine.

He’s fine.

He’s fine.

If he were in recovery, Henri would’ve texted me. She always does. She knows that I care.

Henri is like a second mom to me. I miss her just as much as I miss Sal. It’s too bad she works so late. Usually, on Saturdays, her days off, she would invite me over for dinner. She’s an amazing cook. 

Not only that, but Henri and my mom are best friends. Well, best friends is an understatement. They’re dating. My mom has been crazy worried lately because Henri won’t answer her calls. I’m worried, too. What if this ends their relationship? Henri is the second parent I wish that I’d had.

I never had one.

The wind begins to pick up. I should probably get home, as it’s never safe to be in the forest when there’s a storm. I could feel the humidity in the air. I slowly made my way back to the bike rack, where I pictured Sal’s bike leaning next to mine. However, when I go to grab my bike, it’s only mine. I carefully unlatch the bike lock and begin to pedal away. The wind brushed the side of my teary face, flinging small droplets of salty water into the air. The skies were getting dark and I pushed as hard as I could on the pedals, trying to get home as soon as I could.

…

By the time I got home, my mom, Lilith, was waiting for me at the dinner table. She stared down at my soaking wet clothes. “Michael,” she said softly, “you’re late- again.” 

I stared down at the ground.

“I know.”

She forced a small smile. “I made you a homemade pizza. I know you like it.”

“Thanks,” I said, not making eye contact.

Her smile slowly faded as she continued to stare at me. Her look of warmth suddenly became a look of worry. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, waiting for me to sit down. I slowly slipped my jacket off and sat down.

“Henri invited us for dinner tomorrow,” she said, breaking the silence. “She says that she misses us- I can’t help but wonder why she wasn’t talking to me.”

I immediately started to sweat, though I didn’t know why. I haven’t been over to Henri’s place in months, and I can’t help but wonder why she just randomly decided to invite us again. 

“Cool,” I said softly, not making eye contact with Lilith. 

She pulled me in for a hug. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, “I’m sure that everything will be okay.”

I didn’t look Lilith in the eyes for a solid 3 minutes before I said, “Yeah- you’re right.” 

Just by the way I had said it, I could tell I didn’t mean it. Just the fact that we haven’t seen either Henri or Sal in months was a very bad sign. To be completely honest, I’m not even sure if I want to go to Henri’s. 

I know it sounds bad, but I don’t want to know what she’s been up to lately. I don’t want to know how Sal’s been.

I don’t want to know because I’m scared.

I don’t want to go because I know that Sal’s not okay.

I can feel it in my bones.

I just have to tell myself that he’s fine, even though I know it isn’t true.

Michael’s car pulled up in my driveway. I always know it’s his because I don’t know anyone else who drives a PT Cruiser; especially not a bright blue one. It’s not a normal blue, either. It’s almost bluer than the sky.

When he and his mom, Ms. Lilith, rang the doorbell, I felt relieved, just to see that Michael was okay.

Henri opened the door, welcoming them inside. Her hands were shaking, and her smile was uneasy. She didn’t look ready to have guests over.

Michael was a wreck. He nervously stepped inside, taking his shoes off. 

I hate seeing him upset. Something about him being upset, and specifically him, makes me almost more upset than he is right now.

Henri pulled up chairs for both Michael and Lilith. I sat in the empty chair next to Michael, not making a sound. I didn’t feel like saying anything, anyway. Nobody would even hear me.

Everyone remained silent when dinner was served. All I could hear were Michael’s sharp breaths as he waited for someone to say something…

But nobody did.

Nobody even dared to make a sound.

The food was getting cold, and nobody was even eating it. I was so tempted to yell at them. What was the point of a dinner if you didn’t even eat? 

Finally, Lilith broke the silence. “Isn’t the food just amazing?” She asked awkwardly.

She hadn’t even touched the food. Michael and Henri stared at each other for a moment.

“I’m glad you er- like it,” Henri said, letting out a nervous giggle.

I rolled my eyes. I get that it’s awkward not seeing someone after a while, but this? This is ridiculous. It looked so stupid just watching them stare blankly at each other with cold food in front of them. 

“Where’s Sal?” Michael suddenly asked.

Henri froze.

Her face- it was something that I would never forget.

Something that I would regret forever.

The amount of pain on her face hurt so much. It hurt worse than being punched in the stomach. It hurt worse than dying. 

Henri sat up from the dinner table, not saying a word. 

This was the first time I realised-

I just ruined everything.

TO BE CONTINUED