Waiting for the Answer

I just sat there. So helpless, so useless. I sat there on the hard blue chairs, surrounded by those spotlessly clean, white walls. I sat there, waiting.

The clock kept ticking and ticking, it’s been an hour. Two hours. Three. Four. I just stopped counting, what exactly was I waiting for? I was trapped by those walls and couldn’t possibly leave. I didn’t want to leave.

I felt like it was just me. Alone.
It wasn’t though, I could hear the machines bleeping, the kids playing, their parents praying. It wasn’t just me. This wasn’t about me anymore, it never was to begin with.

Just a boy who couldn’t love. However boy met girl and they fell in love. It’s like she was waiting for me but now I waited for her. We didn’t get our happy ending yet. I wondered if we ever would.

The way she smiled, I thought while I buried my face buried in my hands. She always seemed so happy but looking back it seemed like I looked through her like everyone else. I was no different.

The night we watched a cheesy movie and we were making fun of it the whole night. She laughed so much and I loved every minute being with her. She was in fact so different.

Then I remembered the afternoon I found her vomiting. She just finished eating. I didn’t realise she how small she had gotten until that moment. That was our biggest argument and our relationship wasn’t the same after that. That doesn’t mean I didn’t love her the same, if anything more. I felt as though she needed me.

The morning I found scars patterned on her arms. She cried, she broke down. They were so deep and she was so fragile. I never would have guessed behind her laughter was screams. Behind her smile was agony.

She promised she would stop but clearly she didn’t. Maybe stopping was a way of saying she would hide it better.
She stopped cutting on obvious places like her arms and instead cut places I didn’t check. I checked every other day and didn’t tell anyone because she promised she would stop and I believed her.

Now I sit here, waiting for answer.
Did I want her to live? She could still harm herself, treat her body badly. She would only be prolonging her pain. In the end it would still catch up with her. Death could’ve been an escape for her. From her life, people- and from me.

However I didn’t want her to die. She could’ve changed. There was nothing to get away from wasn’t the most popular but she had friends, she wasn’t perfect but that didn’t mean people didn’t love her. She could’ve had a happy life, maybe not even with me but with someone. She would’ve had kids. She would have been the mum that is the first to apply for everything, attends all the evenings and meetings. The one that loves with all her heart.

I heard the door open abruptly and took me out of my trail of thought. My head shot up and I got the answer I needed.

This is a subject I feel very passionate about because it affects so many people.
I think it would be interesting to see how everyone else thought it would end. Write the ending 🙂 thanks for reading.

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3 Comments

  1. Just so you know, I couldn’t comment using the link on the email. WordPress takes you to a page that says ‘Well this is embarrassing isn’t it?’ etc etc I had to go a roundabout way to get here so maybe that’s why people aren’t commenting 😦

    For me she is absolutely going to be that mum. She lives! Everything can change in an instant and I have seen it in others I thought lost (not me, well not quite so dramatic but a huge change anyway). Gripping stuff. Well written. I like the ‘scars patterned on her arms’ and much more. I felt I was the poor boy/man in question. Thanks for writing.

    • That’s too bad about the comment thing but I’m glad you commented 🙂
      That’s great that she learns and changes. People can surprise us and look on the positives

  2. I’m glad you write about things like this, I don’t even need to create an ending. Thanks.

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