A fiction story to end out the dark year of 2016. This was inspired by true events.

She slammed the door for the second time that day. As the lock clicked, I sunk my back against the door, knowing full well that this time, I was going to lose her.

When I saw Marie again in our freshman year high school choir class, it was the beginning notes that would play into the melody of our relationship with one another. Marie was a heavyset Italian girl who stood about 5 foot 6, with big brown eyes and jet black hair. She was a perfectionist at heart as well as one of the kindest souls you ever met. Her warm smile invited you into her friendship, while her good sense of humor always left you laughing. I was your average wallflower kid: nothing remarkable about me, brown hair, green eyes, 5 foot 11. My self-proclaimed description is that I am an extrovert trapped in an introvert's body. I am shy but if something interests me, I get extremely passionate about it. I had been home-schooled for middle school and because of the lack of contact with most acquaintances, I felt like I was meeting my friends for the first time. I remember walking in and immediately sitting down in the corner next to her as class began. In the time between this encounter and when we decided to take our friendship to a more romantic level, we had become the best of friends. Participating in extracurricular activities such as the school’s drama club and various choirs. These clubs allowed us to find a completely new melody: a romantic relationship.

In junior year of high-school, it was decided by us and most of our friend-group, that we should date. Being in high school and having a lack of in-depth experience with dating, a lot of my “firsts” were with Marie: my first kiss, first valentine's day, and my first dance to name a few. There would be many days where we would sit in awe out in a field overlooking a setting sun. The days in which we had our extra choirs would be spent singing our hearts out to whomever our audience may be. Even after the performance was done, the songs still lurk in our heads, we continue singing out of the pure joy that it provided for us. Through music, we truly connected, but not as two musical ranges harmonizing. We connected as two individuals, crafting a tune that would forever become a part of some greater symphony of the mind.

Drums provide the small conversation that is the base for the song; Violins play the delicate memories as a melody that flowed seamlessly throughout the base. Trumpets rang true our feelings for one another which created a sense of a harmony, an effort to work together to create a more beautiful piece. We were the conductors of this symphony, guiding these separate parts into a coherent, gentle form that juxtaposed who we were, and where we were in respect to the bigger picture of the world.

Marie was acting strange at times. On those days, her behavior would be erratic, shifting moods like a stop light changes colors. I guess I just wanted to focus on the music, the fun we had, and the memories we've made. The bliss of a relationship dulled my ears to the words she cared about most: bipolar disorder, depression, ADHD. She told me that I was the only one, besides her parents, who knew about everything. She had meds. I thought that would be enough.

After school ended that day, Marie and I made our trek to my car on a side street about half a mile from the school. The sun was barely poking through the clouds on this autumn day and a chill ran through the air. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught her peeking back over her shoulder, reaching down to grab my hand. Her hand was the jaw of life trying to pry some imaginary wall that got between her and the core of my palm. We arrived at the side street after a few minutes of this treatment.

“So, was there a reason that you squeezed the living life out of my hand or did it just seem like fun?” I poked.

“Why didn’t you stop them?” She asked with tears in her eyes.

“Stop who?”

“Those people following us, making fun of me.”

“There were no people, sweetie”

“Yes, there were! I saw them!”

“Okay. . . So what were they saying? Why were they making fun of you?”

“I don’t know! Why don’t you go ask them? . . They were calling me fat and ugly, saying that I should die. . . You really didn’t see them?”

“No, I didn’t. It must just be the stress of school getting to you.”

“No! I saw them! They were there behind us. Literally right behind us.”

“Okay, babe, whatever you say. You’re the one who experienced it, I guess.”

As we were finishing our walk to the car, now in silence, I tried to remind myself of the reasons why I wanted to be in this relationship. Recently, she has been becoming more erratic, blaming me for certain problems that were unrelated to me, and becoming suspicious of me in general for no reason at all. Why did I love her? Did I love her? She was my best friend and this was only a rough patch. Then I thought, things will smooth themselves out soon. Everything will return to normal.

The drive home to her house that day was silent but filled with tension like a kettle of water. It was all a matter of time. As we pulled into the driveway, she opens the car door with the car still moving and gets out with her hands covering her ears. Stopping the car as to not hit Marie, I proceeded to get out and watch her run towards the house.

“Why are you running? I said.”

“Why didn’t you stop them again, James? Why can’t you do anything right?”

“Who was I supposed to stop? It was only us driving home, Marie.”

“No, it wasn’t! There were two boys sitting in the back seat pulling my hair and calling me ugly. Why
did you let them in the car?”

“Sweetie, I’m really sorry but I cannot see them. I really think you should go lay down for a bit.”

“I think you should go, James. Fuck. You.”

With that remark, she turned around and marched into her house, slamming the door behind her. Feeling confused as to what I truly did to offend her so badly, I got in my car to leave. After a few minutes of sitting there, a blood-curdling scream pierced the walls of my car. Dashing out the car, in the house and up to her room, I found Marie just sitting there, staring at the closet mirror doors.

“Hey sweetie, are you okay? What was the scream about?”

“Why don’t you love me, James?”

“Of course I love you! Why are you accusing me of otherwise?”

“You don’t protect me when I am getting made fun of, you leave when I need you the most, I seem to be a nuisance to you. Why don’t you love me?”
I noticed that her wrist was cut up and bloody with fresh wounds.

“What are these, Marie. . . I thought that you had quit cutting yourself?”

“She told me that you didn’t love me anymore. She punished me for even telling you about her. She made me do it.”
Marie cautiously raised her hand and pointed it at her reflection.

After that moment, she seemed to snap back to reality and I coaxed her into the bathroom to clean her wounds and take a shower. About a half an hour passed and she returned. She told me that she was “going to take a nap after this long day.” She spent the next 15 minutes reassuring me that she forgot to take her meds and that today was an isolated incident. So she walked me out, handed me a note with the instructions, “open it when you get home.” On the drive home, I had a single thought: She isn't the one, she needs help beyond you. All you can do is help her get it, then you have to leave her.

Fast forward to now; I am sitting outside her locked house door, holding her suicide letter in my hand. She has since turned off her phone and will not answer the door. I made the idiotic decision to actually leave her side after what had just happened. All I hear is an occasional scream as she rips into her arm. There is a difference between the chill of autumn and the chill of death. It is an unnatural anomaly that seeps between clothing, flesh, and bone. A chill that is not temperature, but an unsettling bone chattering feeling. Feeling too paralyzed by my own shortsightedness, I did not attempt to call 911. In my mind, I was the only one who could do anything.

I foolishly tried the open the front door again, only to be answered with a solid locked door. I rushed around to every window, but none of them would budge. All the while I am continuously calling her and texting her, hoping that she picks up or sees them. Finally, I found my way in the back door. In my panicked state, I completely forgot that it existed. I rushed upstairs and barged into her room to find her laying on the ground, bloodied up again. Immediately, I check her if her heart is beating. At first, I could not feel anything and then I felt it along with her faint breathing. It seemed as though she was only passed out. I went to the bathroom and grabbed supplies to help clean her up. The stench of blood was intoxicating, filling me with nausea and nerves. With my trembling hands, I wiped her arms and hips of blood and wrapped them up. I picked her up and placed her in her bed. I looked at her nightstand that held her pill bottles; all of them were full and dated three months prior. Why was I still with her? Why do I take care of her like I do, even though she treats me like crap? Why is she worth it? I thought to myself. I leaned down to her ear and whispered “Don't give up. You are worth it.” I hung a blanket to act as a curtain on the mirrors and took anything that could be used as a weapon against herself and went downstairs to sit in the foyer. Fortunately, her mom came home after a few minutes of me sitting there. After explaining everything that happened, we decided that it would be best to get her to go back to her psychiatrist, and be under a more watched eye.

She is in a better spot now, even if it's without me. She is taking her meds on a regular basis which is helping reduce the frequency of her episodes. Truth be told, we broke up a week before that eventful day happened. I realized that I did not love her like I thought I did. As soon as I saw her disorders were getting worse, probably because of me, I needed to step back into her life to help mitigate them. It's true, I did not register her problems as important, however, I was too ignorant to accept the fact that they existed in her life. She was far too important to me as a friend for me to lose her. That's why I stayed; I couldn't let anyone take their own life, especially when I had the power to stop it.