An hour or so passes since my visit from Ellie. I’ve only been out of my coma for less than a day, and my life has already shown signs of falling apart. The nurse had taken the teddybear, and I had changed hospital gowns with her help. The linens had to be replaced as well. I had a chance to notice how gaunt I became. I had also become weaker from my month long coma.

After a somewhat embarrassing sponge bath and the removal of the catheter (also a surprise though I guess it makes sense). I try to relax in my bed wondering what was to come of my friendship with Ellie.

Mom’s perfume fills the room. It’s a gentle fragrance, soft, floral. She must have reapplied it, or I’m starting to notice smells again. I tried not to think about the feeding tube that the doctor described earlier. “Are you comfortable, sweetheart?" Mom coos at me. Something within me doubts her sincerity. I know she does feel something. Guilt? I have no idea whether she feels guilty for the isolation, for the punishment, or both. I force myself to not recoil at her display of affection. Same with Dad.

It feels like I'm the latest crisis and they're managing me like they managed Amber. It gnaws at me that I can't trust their motives. My heart aches because I can't trust that they… Love me. I was so invisible to them, to everyone. Had I not survived… would it have mattered? To whom?

Mom and Dad, they love me, right? I don't know why I'm hurting this much. Could they really love me? Erin?

"Honey, what's wrong?” She can see the expression on my face. I can even feel the pained look that I’m giving. I just can’t bring myself too say it. “Please, we want to be there for you." She pleads with me.

I look up at my mom. The worried look on her face wretches me from the inside. I can't tell you that I don't think you love me. I can't tell you that I don't believe that you care enough about me. I can't tell you anything, but what you want me to say. Through my raspy voice, “Mom, I'm sorry. For everything." She pulls me into her. It’s hard not to bristle. Dad looks on.

"Son…" He cringes, we both do, and corrects himself, "Sweetheart. We're sorry too. We want our… little girl, to be better, okay?"

I look to the band on my wrist. There is only Erin. Aaron is gone. The heartache remains. I can’t seem to leave that behind. It hurts that, when Aaron was most alone, they, my parents, were nowhere to be found.

"Erin sweetheart, it shouldn't have gone this far. Nothing will change the fact that we love you." I can feel the drops of her tears on my shoulder; they’re sopped up by my hospital gown.

How did I get so… Damaged? Why couldn’t they love me enough to be there for me? Their love wasn’t there because they weren’t there. I’ve gone home to an empty house so many times; it’s easy to forget that they actually lived there. They weren’t there when I was bullied; they weren’t there when I was ignored, cast aside. They weren’t there when I was taken off the squad. They weren’t there when Coach T died. They weren’t there in the wake of the incident with Taylor. They weren’t there to stop me from wrapping the chain… Why? Why couldn’t I have just… died? No, that was… that was Aaron.

The nurse peeks her head into the room. “Erin, is everything okay in here?” I’m getting used to the interruptions. It seems like the nurses peek into my room 3 to 4 times an hour.

I force a smile as I settle away from the embrace of my mom. I watch her pull some tissues to dry her eyes. I nod my head slowly.

“Alright, I’ll be back I have to give you your antibiotics. This should be your last dose. We’ll probably remove the IV tomorrow. The doctor will make a decision on that later, though. Okay, hon?” She says cheerfully, then walks out the door.

I settle back resting my head on my pillow. Mom settles back into her chair at my bedside.

My dad walks over to my mom. “Honey, I’m going to grab something from the cafeteria. Do you want something to nibble on?”

“No, maybe in a bit. But nothing right now.”

He leaves the room. Mom still looks on at me with concern. “The doctors think it is best that they keep you here. At least for a little while.” Mom’s voice is soft and sad. “It was Monica that called us about you going to the hospital. She met us when we arrived here. She told us you had tried to take your own life.” The pain in her voice is evident as she pauses. I feel her anguish in my heart.

“Amber was coming home that evening. We got the message on the answering machine.” I can feel her anxiety build. “When we went to the hospital, we were confused why they referred to you as ’her’, ‘she’, and our ‘daughter’. I insisted you were my son.” Mom looks at the ceiling before blinking a few tears out.

“When I walked in to see you. You were there in your bed, asleep.” Mom begins to caress my hand. “I had not recognized you because of your hair. All I saw was this hurt, young girl, bruised and asleep. I just couldn’t understand how this could be you. The girls insisted that it was you. They shared your story with me. They said you were conscious, briefly when they brought you in.” She pauses again to compose herself. “You had become hysterical, and they had to sedate you.’

Her lament continues, “Sweetheart, I just don’t understand why it got this far. Is this what you’ve been hiding from us? You always seemed so detached. The girls said that you were different that day. Like you suddenly came to life.” She grabs my hand, caressing it gently. “Then you tried to take your own life?” Her eyes were begging me for an explanation, one that is too painful to give. “It doesn’t make any sense. Was it us? Were you afraid to show us who you really are? Did it hurt you that much? We don’t want to lose you again.” She pleads with me.

I wanted to keep it in, buried deep within me. The pain of the isolation. It was better for them to know me as Erin, their youngest daughter than being their unwanted son. I couldn’t bear the thought of being rejected again, isolated again. Erin would never be alone, not if I could help it.

The nurse enters. “Knock, knock! Alright, let’s get the last of this into your IV.” She sets the tray with the syringe and a small vial. As she works, she smiles at me warmly. She hangs another IV bag and hangs it to the side of the near empty one. She connects them and proceeds to fill the syringe and injects it into a line on the IV. “Alright, all done.” She removes her gloves and tosses them in a wastebasket. “We do want to get you eating again. The doctor wants you taking in something you can swallow, so semi-solids. I’ll bring you a tray up in a bit. We’ll see how you do with that.” She looks over at my mom then back at me. “You have your mom’s eyes.” It brings a smile to my face; Mom sees it. She gets up from her chair and strokes my hair.

“When you get out of the hospital we may need to remove these extensions. They’re starting to fall out.”

I bring my right hand to my hair to stroke it.

“Don’t worry Honey; it will grow out.”

My hair? My thoughts reach back to the image I saw in all of the mirrors that day. The young woman who reflected back at me, happy, pretty, worth another look. That reflection, that young woman, is my escape. My escape from… him and the loneliness that surrounded him. But, without my hair? I wouldn’t be her. I’d resemble… ‘him.’ I didn’t want to be anything like ‘him.’ I wanted to be free of ‘him,' losing my hair? It would grow out, but what would I look like in the meantime? Would I lose what made me ‘her’ along with my hair?

The hours passed quietly, Mom and Dad eventually went home. Visiting hours where I’m at are not quite as flexible as they were for the hospital Amber stayed. I’m alone with my thoughts. The more I thought about my life, the deeper in despair I fell. Why couldn’t they have just let me die on the swing? Was it too much to ask? Nobody cared enough before. Why start now? Even then they only cared about Erin. My wristband showed me whom they really cared about. The pretty young cheerleader who happily strode the school halls.

The nurse came in to check on me sometime after visiting hours ended. “Would you like to have something to help you sleep?”

I nod my head. Do you have anything permanent?

She’s following doctor’s orders, I guess. Sleep aid as needed. What I need is to be someone else, somewhere else.

---

The sedative must have worked. It’s morning and a nurse checks in to see if I wanted to try eating breakfast.

Breakfast was scrambled eggs, it was less painful to swallow. The nurses gave me a whiteboard to work with to save my voice. They left me with a red, a purple, and a pink dry erase marker. I used the tablet for drawing more than anything else. I didn’t feel like communicating on a whiteboard or otherwise. During breakfast, my parents visit. Mom rushed out of my room in a fit of tears when she saw the last drawing I made. A simple drawing of a boy and a swing. The boy had two x’s instead of eyes.

An older man enters my room shortly after I finish breakfast. “Glad to see you alive and well. My name is Dr. Aimes. I was the surgeon that repaired your larynx. I see that you’re eating now, sorry about the food here.” He, much like Dr. Myers the day before, examines me. I ask him why I was in a coma and about the antibiotics. His explanation was that I had an infection after the operation which was pretty severe. I was in a coma while the infection, he calls it ’Staff’ or something like that, affected my blood system and eventually my brain. I was given antibiotics to help with the infection. He said the infection had appeared to be clear and he would request that the IV be removed. He added that the infection had slowed the healing of my larynx which was ‘crushed’ during the hanging or the rescue. He mentioned the effects of the damage on my voice, all pretty technical. I nodded as if I understood any of it. He said he’d speak with my parents when they arrived later today. He did mention that I should ‘save my voice’ as much as I can, but the therapy sessions would be all right if I took frequent breaks.

---

Dr. Cho began our session officially. I’d have an hour to speak with him. I would assume that he’s trying to determine whether I’m okay to be released. He gives me the same song and dance Mrs. Yates gave me. The fact that they all sound alike doesn’t fill me with too much confidence.

“So Erin. How are you feeling today?”

“It still hurts to talk.”

He tells me to take breaks or a drink when I need it, but he insists on moving forward.

“Why don’t we start with something simple. Why are we here talking to each other.”

This must be a trick question. I stare at the kind old man. Most are ready to give me a lecture by now.

“Not the trusting type, huh?” he reaches into his wallet and pulls out a photo. A young girl. “My niece.” He hands the photo to me, and I look carefully at her. “She’s 16 now.” I don’t know why he’s showing me a photo of his niece. She’s Asian just like him. She has straight, jet black hair that goes down past her shoulders. Her hair frames her oval face. Her deep brown eyes are almond shaped, not wide like most of the people that go to our school. She’s waiving. I look closely at her wrists. “Most people just notice a pretty young girl. Your eyes tell me you notice something else.”

“Her wrist,” I say somberly. “There’s scars there.” A chill races down my spine.

“Some things leave scars. But that doesn’t tell the whole story, does it?”

I couldn't stop my heart from reaching out into the photo. I had so little control over my emotions. I wanted to reach out and hug her. It bothered me that such a pretty young woman would want to take her own life. I lower the photo to the bed covers, revealing my drawing of the swing on the whiteboard. I close my eyes and sigh.

I look up at him. His warm, almost smiling eyes inviting me to open up to him. “So, you know somebody that’s tried to take their own life. Does that mean that you can help me?”

He shakes his head and with a comforting smile he says, “I’m here to see if you can help yourself.”

His words puzzled me, “And how do I do that?”

“We communicate. You’ll talk, and I’ll listen and maybe, we find out just what it is that is hurting you.”

Why would I want to waste my breath. Isn’t he just going to tell me what I need to do? Everyone else did. My parents, teachers, coaches, the counselor, the Principal, even Monica and the girls. Why should this be any different? “And if I don’t want to talk?”

I see the smile on his face dim. “Well, two things. First, it gets boring. Second, you start over in a few weeks with another counselor who drafts a report additional to mine and a decision is made as to whether you are a danger to yourself or others."

“Did you help her?”, holding the picture in my hand.

“I tried.” That sends another chill down my spine.

“How?" Hoping, almost rooting for the story to have a happy ending.

"I listened when she was ready to talk.”

“How did you know she was ready?”

“I didn’t, Just like I won’t know with you. There's no secret, no magic trick. No truth serum to get you talking.”

If a girl like her had problems that drove her to try to take her own life what chance did I have? "She's lovely." I knew he was playing on my emotions. My heart was leading; My head was along for the ride.

"Thank you."

"Does she have any sisters?"

"Yes, she does. Do you?"

"Yes, Amber.” the somber tone in my voice is palpable. I stare at the photo. There’s a silence between us.

My fingers trace the border of the photo on top of the covers of the bed. My heart begging, no, commanding me to speak. “I guess this all started with her…" I explain about the prank and the squad. He listens intently. I pause every now and again to have a sip of water. Time passes faster than I imagine. I continue just pouring out what was in me.

My heart took over laying out what I was feeling. My mind remained impotent to stop the flood. My head was tired of the struggle. It barely registered what I was saying when the words came out. It was cathartic. The conflict within me laid out. I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want to be rejected. There was something more. More that just being alone. Why was I so isolated? My heart was trying to tell me something. I was protecting something, shielding myself from everyone because of it. I felt it so intensely when I looked into Ellie’s mirror that morning. HER… Aaron was protecting her. Did he take his own life so she could live… so I could live?

The nurse enters. "Dr. Cho, I just wanted to check if everything is alright in here."

Dr. Cho looks at his watch. "Oh, everything is fine." He collects his notepad. Had he been taking notes all this time? Instinctively, I pull another tissue from the box in front of me to dry my eyes. To my surprise, I'm surrounded by used balls of tissues. He slips the notepad into his satchel. "Thank you, Erin; We'll continue this tomorrow."

I look up at him. I'm not sure, but those were the first words he said to me in over an hour. I look down at the photo of his niece. I pick it up. "Your niece, did she ever fix what drove her to try to take her own life?"

He takes the photo from me. "Some things—aren't fixed overnight. She struggles with it every day." A sad expression comes over his face. His look was so brief I barely caught it. "I’ll see you tomorrow?" He heads out the doorway, leaving me to ponder the aftermath.

My thoughts turn to the last hour and a half. Had I been talking all this time? I'm not even sure what I had told him. It was just… nice… being heard. I think. I tried to replay the monolog in my head. Did I really tell him that? My mind hung on the words. I didn't really think too deeply about what I had said, until now. What did the words mean? I was… spilling my story. He said nothing; he reacted at nothing. But there it was. My recollection. Me, saying the words. "I was never meant to be a boy." And there it was. I never said it before nor actually thought about why I kept people away. Was this buried so deep within me?

---

It wasn’t long after my session with Dr. Cho that a woman, whose name escapes me, visits afterward. She seemed annoyed for some reason. Following along with her was a young man from the hospital and another man who had a badge on his belt. The young man apologized on behalf of the woman and said that she would have some questions for me. He asked if I was okay to speak with her. She glared at him when he asked the question. It was an odd pairing. The man from the hospital was polite and cordial, almost apologetic. The cop was young, and it would seem like this was his first week on the job. He just watched on.

She, on the other hand, wanted her questions answered. It was odd that she seem to ask questions that didn’t require me to answer. She seemed to supply her own asking me to nod instead. I became concerned when she had asked if my parents had ever physically abused me, beaten me or otherwise. The question caught me off guard, and I hesitated when I answered. When I shook my head ‘no,' I saw her eyes narrow. Her follow-up question was even more curious. She asked me if I thought that they had been cruel to me in any way, I gain hesitated, but still answered ‘no.'

Her questioning came to a head when she had asked if I wanted to ‘live somewhere safe.’ I was about to answer that 'I wasn’t threatened, at my home.' She asked again ‘you want to be safe, right?’ I was caught off guard with her follow up question. I answered, ‘yes.’ The man from the hospital was about to ask a follow-up question if his own when the woman asked a different question. It was an uncomfortable discussion, and I was worried about what the woman was trying to seek from me. Was she trying to find out information to build a case against my parents? I was sore at my parents but, I didn’t want anything to happen to them.

She asked me further about the Squad.

“You were forced on the squad, Right? It wasn’t your choice?”

I was about to answer, but she continued. “We’ve already talked to the Principal about all of this.”

“Yes, but— ”

“The cheerleader uniform wasn’t your idea, right?”

“No, it wasn’t but— ”

“You were sad at being lonely at school… You wanted the students to be kinder towards you?”

“Well, Yes but—“

“So, you took your own life, because you felt abandoned by your parents and the students?”

“Um—“

“I’ve had enough here!” the man from the hospital interjects. “You have not given her an opportunity to explain anything. I will not have you bully this child into answers that you seem perfectly happy to provide yourself!” She glares at him then looks over at the cop.

“Are you impeding my investigation?”

“This is not an investigation; it is an inquisition. I’ve seen dozens of agents from your department treat these situations far better than you have. You either listen to what this child has to say or this ‘farce’ is over; do you understand me?”

“Look, Aaron, I’m trying to help you. I hope you understand that.”

“Yes but—“

“Good, well I think I have a good idea of what is going on then.” She walked out of the room the cop trailing behind her. It bothered me that she didn’t want to hear my side of the story.

The man from the hospital stayed behind.

“I’m going to see what can be done about her. She wasn’t professional, and it's unfair to you that she didn’t let you answer.” He says to me holding back his anger. “I think she breezed through the introductions; I’m Matt Gallows.” He smiles. “I’ll talk to the hospital administration about having another person from the county handle your case. She’s definitely not one of their best. Try no worry about it. I’m also going to leave instructions with the nurses that she is not to meet with you without me here.”

---

The lonely hours pass in my hospital room. The nurse would check on me every now and again. I couldn't shake the ‘conversation’ with the lady and my ‘pronouncement’ to Dr. Cho out of my head.

To save my voice after the back to back marathon session with Dr. Cho and the lady from the county. I had used the whiteboard instead. It has been pretty unnerving having to signal what I want to say. At least my handwriting is clear enough to read. They rarely teach or require cursive in school. After writing so much with the chiseled markers, I was thinking of taking up calligraphy. It seemed like a lost art. The chiseled dry erase markers act like quills. Fine in one direction and wide in the other. A few scribbles turned into curves doodles mainly. I looked at the armband E-R-I-N. I practice writing. ‘Erin Stewart’, daydreaming of what my signature should look like. I even experimented with having a little heart over the “i”.

“What are you smiling about?” a voice soft and playful.

I was startled, the marker slipped out of my hand onto the floor rolling to the corner of the room. I look up. I glow as red as my signature on the whiteboard. Lisa is rushing over to pick up the stray marker. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, but you had this grin on you.”

I sheepishly turn the whiteboard to show Lisa.

“That’s you now? I mean, that’s how you spell your name now?” She gives me a pensive look.

“It’s cute isn’t it?” I say with a squeamish expression.

Lisa’s eyes widen. She hands the marker back to me.

"Is this what you want?"

“It fits, doesn’t it? I spoke with the therapist. I was talking about the prank and my time with the squad. There was something in what I was saying. It was something I admitted to him. 'I was never meant to be a boy.' I had some time to think about it, and it was as if the weight of the world came off of me."

“What did he say? I don’t understand how you can be a boy and then suddenly decide that you want to be a girl.”

“I don’t understand it myself. I’m not sure why, but there’s something that kept me away from people. I thought it was my size or that I was such an easy target for bullies. I know it’s crazy.”

“What does your therapist think? This seems like a real big decision.”

“He hasn’t said anything to me about it. He just said we’d talk more tomorrow.”

Amber peers into the room. “Talk about what?”

As Amber enters my room, I recall what I had said to her. I felt a weight in the pit of my stomach. “Sis?”

She’s reserved. I’ve hurt her so much. She looks at me wondering how to respond.

“I’m… I’m really sorry for… For the prank. For everything.” I murmur, my eyes staring at the remaining two markers between the folds of the bed sheets.

I look up at her after my apology. She looks at me. I’m not sure she’s ready to forgive me. She’s here, that’s all that matters. Lisa moves out of the way to let Amber come closer.

“I went through a lot after the prank. The recovery was hard.” I feel more guilt build within me. “Since I can’t cheer anymore, it’s been really hard. I didn’t even get to wear the uniform. They had to cut my uniform off of you when you came here.”

“I’m so sorry, Amber!” All her hard work through the summer. “I wish I never pulled the prank. I wish none of this had happened.” I say conciliatory.

“At school, I heard more about who you became when you were part of the squad.” She looks at Lisa. “It was like they were introducing me to someone I had never known. Nothing seemed to hold any value while you were growing up. Then, I heard about what you were doing for the squad. I thought it was out of guilt.”

I’m listening patiently; I don’t know what to make of what she’s saying.

“You were such a loner. You even kept Taylor at a distance. I was surprised at what you tried to do for him too. Was that it? Being part of something made you care? Or was it something more? I asked you yesterday if being a girl was what you wanted. Was I wrong there or did you just want people to connect with?”

I look at my signature on the whiteboard. The little heart over the “i”. ERIN Was that where my heart was? Staring at my name on something so easily erased. What if I could make that permanent? I look up at my sister. “I’ve been so horrible to you. Would you even want me as your sister?” My eyes were begging for her to hasten a response. Lisa bites at her lower lip.

Amber moves in towards me. She strokes my hair then cups my cheek and chin with her hand. “I’ve always loved my brother, and I love my sister just as much.”

I pull her into a hug. “I love you, sis.”

A woman in a business suit walks in. “What are you girls doing here? I left instructions for there to be no further visitors!”

Lisa and Amber look at each other and then to me.

“She’s my sister and that my friend why am I not allowed to have visitors?” I question.

The woman calls the nurse over. “I’d like these young ladies to be escorted out. I do not want any further visitors while this child is in protective custody.”

“What? That’s my sister and my friend; you can’t kick them out!” I ask bewildered.

“They will have to leave now.” She says, her anger welling up in her.

“Can I at least say goodbye to my sister?” Amber looks at the woman almost apologetically.

“Fine.” She says annoyed.

She hugs me again and whispers to me, “Don’t worry sis, we’ll find out what is going on.”

Lisa does the same. “Erin, don’t worry. We’re not going to let anything bad happen to you,” she whispers to me.

The girls retreat out the doorway escorted out by the nurse who looks at me from behind the woman, she mouths ‘I’m sorry,' to me as she ushers the girls away.

I look on at the woman. “What was that all about?”

“We’ve been informed by the county that you are ordered to be placed into protective custody.”

“What?”

The woman spoke briefly to me about what would happen. I tearfully resigned myself to my fate.

---

I poured through my mind more of what had been going on. I got angry over how I had no control over my life. I had to get out of this hospital bed. I could do nothing while I was still in here.

I yank off the IV and disconnect the monitors from me. A nurse looks in and screams “what are you doing!” She runs towards me. “stop that right now!”

“No,” I yell. “I’m tired of people ignoring me or telling me what to do! I’m done!” She grabs my arm, but I twist it free. I dash out of my room and begin running down the hospital hallway.

I’m tackled by security, and I struggle to squirm my way free. “No! I yell you can’t do this to me. Let me go!” I scream at the top of my lungs.

He’s strong and overpowers me. A moment later I stop struggling; I realize it is useless to fight further. The nurse looks over at me with an angered look. It softens when I start crying. “I just want to go home! I want my life back.”

I’m distraught. My thoughts are in disarray. As I feel a pinch in my shoulder as I begin to fall asleep.

---

I wake up. My head is still in a fog. I’m restrained again. I cry in my bed. There is a guard posted outside of my room. I’m in a different room than the one I escaped. The door is closed, but I can see the guard’s head through the square glass vision panel on the door. It has safety glass on it. I can’t move. There are no windows, no tv, nothing but the bed.

A man enters my room. “You’re restrained for your safety. I’m Dr. Winter; you are in the Behavioral Health Ward. We’re doing everything we can to keep you safe and help you get better, but we can’t have you assaulting our nurses and running off on us.”

“I just want to go home! I just want it all to be back to normal.”

“it will be, but we to be sure that you aren’t going to hurt yourself or others.”

“Why is this all happening to me? Why did everything go so wrong?” I bellow.

“I can’t answer that for you. You need to find out for yourself. All we can do is help you! You have to let us help you.”

“How, when everyone keeps telling me what to do. Nobody listens. Nobody cares, they all just leave or abandon me.”

“That’s not true, I’m listening, and I’m sure there are a lot of people that care. You just need to understand that.”

“How? How can I believe that? You haven’t seen what my life was like? You haven’t seen what was done to me! I was alone. You have me alone again here too. There’s nobody.”

“We’re trying to reach you, trying to get you to a place where you are comfortable with yourself.”

“No! You are just like the others. You’ll tell me, to be honest with myself. You’ll tell me that I need to ask myself some ‘serious questions’ then you tell me what to do!” I’m overwhelmed with the all the anguish that has been churning around me.

“You need to understand they say that because they care about you. They see you struggling and are trying to reach you. To help you get better.”

“It’s not helping!” I scream. “Everything, Everything I do, try, or say always leads to disaster. I can’t stop it.”

“That’s not true.”

“Don’t tell me what’s true! What’s true is I’ve hurt my sister, I’ve hurt my friends, I’ve gotten my best friend expelled. I drove my other best friend away. The coach is dead, and the Principal is under investigation. All! All of that is true.”

“You can’t blame yourself for all of that.”

“It started because of me! Now, Now when I want to get out of the hospital, I’ve hurt a nurse, and I’m restrained in bed. That’s also true!”

“I need you to calm down.”

“See you’re doing it too. You’re telling me what to do! Just like everyone else!”

“I’m asking you to calm down.”

“Why? Whatever for? Being calm, being passive is what got me into this mess in the first place.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“Please, I just want to go home. I want this to be over with.”

“As I said you need to work through your problems first.”

“I apologized for the prank like a million times. I felt bad about it from the moment I did it. I apologized and accepted my punishment. What more do I need to do? What more do you all want from me? Please, I’ll do anything. I just want to go home.”

“You think you’re here because of the prank? That this is punishment?”

“What else am I to think.”

“You tried to take your own life. That wasn’t because of the prank. That was because you were hurting inside. We need to know why. You need to know why.”

“I thought being alone again was worse than being dead,” I murmur.

“Why did you do it at that moment?”

“Ellie… She… she was my best friend. She was angry that I… She was angry when I told her why I pulled the prank. She… She couldn’t forgive me.”

“Friends forgive each other. They may be mad at you, but in time they see your friendship more than the pain that you cause. They weigh your friendship over their hurt. They just can’t do it instantly.”

“She came by earlier. She wanted to apologize for what she said to me before I ran off to hang myself.”

“And?”

“I… I couldn’t forgive her. I was too angry. I was too hurt.”

“How do you think that made her feel?”

“Probably the same way that I did when she said what she had said to me.”

“You’re weighing your friendship against the hurt you feel from her.”

“Yes. I wanted her to be back in my life so much. I just couldn’t trust that she wouldn’t leave me again, that she wouldn’t reject our friendship again. That I’d be alone again.”

“Why did it take you all of this to realize why you were hurting so much?”

“I… I wasn’t listening to anyone. I should have been listening.”

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Hi Everyone,

It has become apparent that my vision has become so compromised that I may not be able to author additional chapters until I can correct my vision issues. Those that know me, know how much writing has meant to me over the past 9 months. I've tried to use speech to text and text to speech to overcome these issues, but it has become too frustrating to do even just that. I am trying to finish the final three chapters of The Squad before I go under the knife, but I cannot promise that I will be able.

The procedure is complicated, not routine and dominates my ability to concentrate. This may be my last contribution to this site until everything heals after the surgeries to each eye. Thank you all and I love every one of you that has taken the opportunity to read these stories.

Hugs,
Leila