Goodnight Hazy...

Trigger Warning: This story contains sensitive content like mental health and suicide.

Hailey jerked out of her sleep. She looked around to get a grip on reality, but as soon as her eyes met the morning sun beneath the window story, she turned away in an uncomfortable squint.

Gosh…

A few seconds into sitting on the bed, rubbing her eyes like a baby just waking up, her brows shifted into a confused frown and her gaze automatically turned to the floor. Something was off. Images of her dream last night flashed before her eyes, all jumbled together, nonsensical, tangled, like a trailer from a movie seen so long ago that the details had faded. There were voices, too, also mixed. Loud, aggressive talking, indistinct words flying around the room. Nothing came to mind about what those images were or why they occurred. She had only retained one phrase:

“Why didn’t you pick up the phone?”

Mildly concerning and a bit out of the blue, but she decided to brush it off nonetheless.

   Unable to go back to sleep, she pushed the sheets away and crashed back on the mattress. Butterflies filled her stomach as she recaptured what could safely be called one of the happiest memories of her entire life. Just as simple as a late talk on the curb of some city street with him a few nights ago, yet so much more precious than any other ‘romantic date’: long walks along the beach or a romantic dinner with flowers in some kind of fancy restaurant that is not even suited for just a couple of teenagers like them. Just two kids with a can of beer in hand, some music and themselves. It had been a while since they last talked, fighting loss can be challenging, and the closer you are to the ones you lose, the easier it is to be manipulated by your own emotions. It is a heavy load to carry at such a young age, and it’s only natural to want to detach yourself from others. Michael was a sensitive kid, and somewhat emotional, sometimes even the smallest things could bring him down, after all, he’s been through quite a few difficulties in his life. None of this mattered now, though, because  he was smiling again. And that was more than enough for her. On that night, for the first time in weeks she looked into those dark eyes and saw light, a spark that was gone and had given its place to bitterness. His lips were smiling and for the first time, the laughter came from his heart. He even gave her his sketchpad, the one thing that never saw the light of day or met the eyes of no one but his, and there were still a few empty pages left. In moments like this, time just stopped, and even the fanciest or rarest words seemed petty compared to what a look into their eyes could say.

   Snapping out of the daydream, she realized that a smirk had escaped her attention and had spread across her face, giving her cheeks a cute, cherry shade. Jumping out of bed, she glided her way into the kitchen and more importantly, the coffee machine. Morning coffee on a chilly winter morning just hits differently. She poured herself a cup, adding a ton of sugar, and waltzed into the living room. As she sank into the couch, an indignant sigh escaped her lips at the view of the always well-dressed, sweet, yet robotic reporter on the TV screen.

Dad, who watches the news at 8 o’clock in the morning? , she reached out for the remote and proceeded to change the channel.

Moments before she could press the button, she froze into position, fixating on the image displayed on the screen. Sharp pieces entered her skin, wounding it, and a cracking sound echoed in the room. The glass broke into her palm and a cup full of scolding coffee spilled all over her. The pain was crushing but she couldn’t tell if it was the glass or the pieces her heart shattered into when she heard his name coming out of the reporter’s mouth.

“Tragedy has stricken once again as teenage suicides seem to have become, a disturbingly increasing phenomenon these days. The latest victim was a boy from our city. Michael Varon, 18, was found in his room earlier this morning. His body was discovered by his father, who found his son lay lifeless on his bed. It would seem as though the boy had cut his wrists the previous night. Michael was found wearing his headphones, but what makes things more tragic is that his cell phone was still in his palm, which could indicate that the boy had tried to reach out to someone before his attempt. Regardless, we are sending our deepest sympathies to his family.”

   To these words, Hailey saw red. With tears streaming down her face and new ones forming in her eyes every passing second, she tossed the remote on the TV screen and hid her eyes in her palm. Sobs effortlessly escaped her lips, sitting on her throat as she gasped for air. Her clenched fist pushed the glass pieces deeper in her palm, drops of blood rolling down her wrist just like her tears, as she repeatedly muttered the only word that she could put together: “No…”. In her chaotic mind, the reporter’s words replayed over and over: 

“It would seem as though the boy had cut his wrists the previous night…”,

“…which could indicate that the boy had tried to reach out to someone before his attempt.”

   In the blink of an eye, Hailey rushed inside her bedroom, nearly tripping over her nightstand, and reached out to grab her phone, but the sight she came across made her heat sink.

3 texts

5 missed calls

1 voicemail

All of them from Michael. All of them on the night before, but the phone never rang. Or so she thought, until she took a peek at the right corner of the screen, praying that her fear would not be confirmed, but in vain. Her legs numbed, her knees gave up on her and let her collapse on the cold bedroom floor, her whole body shaking violently as she realized that the phone was on silent mode the whole night. How could she ever do that to him? How could she betray the one person that trusted her the most and who showed up everytime she was in need? How could she have broken her promise, she, the person who had sworn that she was going to be there anytime he needed her, day or night? She, who was different. She, who understood.

   Those thoughts and questions were playing on repeat, like a broken record in her mind, as she hesitantly crept her trembling fingers on the lit phone screen and pressed the button:

You have one voicemail, the artificial voice said.

“Hazy it’s me”, a gentle, yet trembling voice spoke on the other end of the line. A loud sob escaped her mouth and the tears started flowing uncontrollably. Who’s gonna call me Hazy now?

“I tried to reach you, but I guess you are asleep. It’s probably for the better, though, we both knew this would happen eventually. Listen, I- , I didn’t want things to turn out like this, God knows I really tried, but I can’t. I can’t continue anymore and this, this phone call, this message, call it what you will, is, um”, he sniffed and left a small sigh, his voice had started to crack up, “is my note. And I hate to call it that, I hate that I have to put you through this, but I figured you should know this from me. Because you are the best thing that has happened to me in a ridiculously long time, you are everything I could possibly ask for and more, probably more than I ever deserved. And I know you hate wordy, cheesy stuff like that, but I will do it this one time and I want you to know that everything that comes out of my mouth this instance is true, if it hadn’t been for you this would have probably ended long ago. And, I also don’t want any of you to blame yourself for this, you did everything you could to keep me going and so did my father, but there’s only so many things a man can do, and I cannot be helped. I just wish I had the chance to hear your voice one last time, but it’s okay. Hazy, you know it and I know it, how we feel about each other, and I really wish I had the guts to tell you up close and save this drama. And now I hate myself for having to do this to you… Please forgive me. Goodbye Hazy. Goodnight.”