Do It

A Story by Dark_Hearts

The single worst thing to say to a suicidal person...

“Why the hell can’t you be normal?!” she screamed at him.
“I don’t know!”
“You know what? Do it. I don’t care. Go kill yourself. It’s not like you matter!” her voice became louder.

Asher was ready to fire back at her with a snide remark, but her unexpected words sucked the breath out of him. At that moment, all his senses were heightened. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest, pumping the blood all around his body. He could hear his own breathing, shaky and loud. He could see, but he couldn’t focus. He chest was heaving with the gulps of air he was taking, yet he still felt that he couldn’t breathe.

Finally, he met her gaze again, eyes dark and clouded with emotion, the silent battle going on in his head.

“I thought you of all people would understand… or at least be willing to listen,” he breathed.

Without waiting for her reply, he spun on his heel and left her room, closing the door of his own before breaking. The suppressed tears well up in his eyes, lips quivering, body shaking. He knew he was worthless. He knew he was useless. But never had he felt so unwanted.

He slipped the scissors out of the cupboard and slashed his forearm, gasping for air. He let the blood trail down his arm and onto the tissue on his lap, the red mixing with the salty tears. As hard as he tried to remain silent, a choked sob escaped his lips. It was followed by another and another and another. Before long, it was uncontrollable. He wanted to scream and destroy himself, but he didn’t have the energy to go and do it.

Layla sat silently on her bed, recounting the events of her outburst on her best friend. He was sleeping so early, it was only six o’clock! She had knocked on his door and told him to get up. He replied that he was too tired, but still did, coming into her room to see why she called him.

“What do you want Layla,” he asked, the tiredness evident in his voice.
“I want to know why you sleep so much! You don’t even hear your alarm anymore! And now this? Sleeping at six! That’s too early! What is wrong with you?” she ranted.
“I’m tired. That’s it,” he lied to her, looking into her eyes as if it was second nature.
“Cut the crap! You’ve been so moody these last few days! What’s happening?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he made to leave.
“Look, I know you’re a teenager and the hormones are driving you insane, but that doesn’t mean you should be acting like this!” she said angrily.
“You know nothing about me!” he snapped.
“Because you tell me nothing!” she explained.
“Maybe because you always judge me!” he said.
“No I don’t! What is so bad that you can’t tell me?” she asked.
“I… I’m,” he looked away, as if he was ashamed of what he was about to say, “I want to die…”

“What?” she whispered, shocked, anger ebbing away.
“I’m s-suicidal,” the tears pooled in his eyes.
“Why would you say that? Your life is perfect!” she said.

His gaze drifted around the room quickly, avoiding meeting hers. He swallowed and licked his lips, brown eyes troubled.

Layla was scared inside, but she couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he appeared. His soft black curls fell in front of his eyes, jawline at a perfect angle, long lashes brushing against his locks. Upon looking closely, she noticed the teardrops sitting on them. He looked almost angelic. In a twisted, tortured sort of way, he was so innocent.

“I want to die, Layla. It hurts so much. I can’t even describe it,” his voice cracked and he turned around. Layla was exasperated. How could someone be so complicated? Before she could control herself, she blurted it out.
“Why can’t you be normal?”

“I don’t know!”
“You know what? Do it. I don’t care. Go kill yourself. It’s not like you matter!” she yelled, trying to keep her anxiety to herself. Little did she know what she had done.

He had had enough. He couldn’t keep going. No one wanted him there. No one cared if he lived or died. He never thought it would come to this. He didn’t want to live if no one cared. He knew most people didn’t care, but he always thought Layla would. She was the only person he trusted enough to tell something like this to.

Now he had no reason to live.

He held up his hand, knife gripped tightly, hand shaking in fear of what would happen if he succeeded. Gulping, he brought down the blade and pierced his skin, a cry of anguish escaping his lips. His eyes widened and he panted, still in shock and recovering from the pain. Before he backed out, he slid the bloody silver blade up towards his hand, moaning in pain.

The cut hurt like hell, but it felt so good to forget about the emotional pain by being distracted by the physical. He sat at the door, consciousness fading with each drop of blood. While he could still write, he grabbed a paper, and scribbled quickly.

With a gentle smile of peace, he drifted off into an eternal sleep.

Layla felt bad. He had confided in her, a dark secret, and she had shunned him and yelled at him. It must have been daunting to admit something like that. She decided to talk to him. At the end he would forgive her, he always did. She rehearsed her apology and knocked on his door. There was no reply. Maybe he was asleep?

She stepped inside. The lights were on and the bed was messy and empty. The bathroom door was closed. She knocked there, “Asher? Are you okay?” Again, there was no reply. Tentatively, she opened the door, but it was hard, something was pushing against her.

“Asher? I won’t be angry, just let me in, please?” but there was no reply again. She pushed with all her might and stepped in. She shrieked!

Blood covered the entire floor, and her best friend lay lifeless on the floor. His lips were parted from his final breath, a small smile gracing his face. His eyes were closed, like he was sleeping. She cried, tears racing down her cheeks. She bent down to take his pulse, but to her dismay, it was no more. Clutched gently in his fist was a crumpled piece of paper, half blood. She slipped it out and read what is said.

Happy?