I closed my eyes and thought of you. I thought of why this was being done. It was because of you. It was always because of you. At first, I was almost positive I was going to cry when it happened. Then, the thought of 'why? I'm finally taking the weight of the world off my shoulders,' stuck to me like glue. From day 1, I wasn't good enough, I was the runner up. Until the agonizing day when you said, "Emma, I love everything about you." Then our friendship went down a different road, an unknown one. I had wanted to go down this road before, but somewhere we took a right turn to a world of wrong, where it is always raining and the arguments will last forever, with one or another never giving in.
I look at the goosebumps on my arms and legs from just thinking about you. You said you would die for me, and with me, if that was the case. Was that a lie, too? Now is the time to try. My toes tapped gently upon the tiled flooring. I pried the tiny medicine cabnet door open, slowly and quietly, carefully not to wake anyone, otherwise the questions would arise. I knew what I was to say if that happened, though. I was aching and needed pain killers. That's the truth, just not detailed. They wouldn't ask WHAT was aching- if so, I'd say my head. Which isn't a lie, I'm aching from thinking about the pain in my heart, hence the pain killers. They wouldn't ask how MUCH medication I was about to use- if so, I'd say 1 or 2. Which isn't a lie, either, because they wouldn't stay to hear my hushed, "hundred," at the end.
The door was open. Though mine was just about to be shut. I reached for the pain killers and took more than I obviously needed. I engulfed them, 10 by 10 and began to lose focus. As I stumbled through the doorway, into the hallway, I fell to the floor. I had just enough life left to dial your number, keeping promises, even if you broke them. You didn't pick up. The last words I said were to your voicemail, and they were, "I'm sorry. You didn't answer. I tried. You didn't."
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