It's Been 14 Hours

It’s been 14 hours since.

Screw you. You deserved it.

That was the conclusion Jenna and I made during PE. We were talking about how dumb you were for dying that way.

We were running laps around the track, thinking about how selfish it was of you to leave us.

It’s all your fault.

I couldn’t believe it when I heard the news. It was 4th period. We were finishing our in-class group assignments in English. Lexi had to partner with someone else because you weren’t there. I thought nothing of it. You probably skipped again. Or got “sick.”

Mrs. Johnson returned to the classroom, sobbing. Her hands were shaking, holding a note. She returned to her desk at the front and gave herself a few moments to compose herself.

“Class,” she struggled to speak through her tears. “I regret to inform you all that your fellow student, Isabelle, has passed away.”

Lexi immediately broke down and cried her eyes out. A few more girls started weeping too. The guys held back as much as they could, but you could see their eyes started to water.

I didn’t do any of that. My face was frozen; I must have looked like a psychopath. I just couldn’t believe you were just gone. You were here yesterday… and now you’re aren’t… forever?

The bell rang, and the class slowly filed out. Instead, I walked up to Mrs. Johnson.

“How did she die?”

I asked her with my regular speaking tone. No cracks, no sobs, nothing. Maybe I really am a psychopath.

“I don’t know. All I know is that she’s no longer with us. Were you close?”

“…Yeah.”

“I’m so sorry. Let me know if there is anything you need.”

What could have it been? A bad car accident? Maybe you got murdered. Were you actually sick?

I really didn’t want it to be true, but there’s only one reason why they would conceal your cause of death.

I felt a few tears fall off my face as I left the classroom. I’m not a psychopath, after all.

…

I wished school ended early because of you, but it ended up being a full day.

“She killed herself. Do you get it now?” Lexi, wiping her tears, scolded me at our lunch table for trying to deny it. “This isn’t the first time. Isabelle tried to hang herself months ago and Max drove to her house and stopped her.”

Why I didn’t know about this? That you attempted suicide before. Why did you talk to Max? Why didn’t you talk to me instead? Weren’t we close? You were the only one I could trust to talk about anything. Did you not feel the same about me?

I felt betrayed.

You were hurting, and none of us noticed your cry for help except for him. But you also hid it so well. You didn’t want to worry us. You hid your pain under your dark humor and your smile. You didn’t want help. And yet, you were giving me advice you couldn’t even follow yourself.

You ruined your family.

You ruined our friends.

You ruined me.

I hate you.

…

No. You didn’t deserve it.

I’m sorry I thought that. I don’t think Jenna meant it either. Could you forgive us?

I continued running and tilted my head up to the sky to keep the tears from falling.

***

It’s been 14 seconds.

Your gray matter splattered all over the TV and the furniture behind you. Half of your skull was shattered in pieces all over the room. Your exit wound blew out the entire back of your head. You slumped down onto the carpet, your blood very much everywhere, still clasping your dad’s 12-gauge shotgun.

Of course, I didn’t see the horror show you made for myself. I only know how you went because of how your mom described it at your memorial. But I wish I there to witness it all first-hand. Am I messed up because of that? I don’t know. Your weirdness must’ve rubbed off on me.

I wish I took your message more seriously. I wish I dropped everything and ran to your house to stop you. I don’t know how I would have gotten there, though; you lived too far away from me. I could have convinced mom to drive me to your place. I could have made it in time. I could have wrestled the shotgun away from you. I could have consoled you.

Probably not. Let’s face it: I’m not a hero. This isn’t a movie. This is reality.

I don’t know why you went through the trouble of getting the 12-gauge in the gun safe when your dad’s pistol was right under his bed. Much cleaner, too. I guess you wanted to be sure it’ll work, or something.

I know you wanted it done quickly, but there was one thing you did that made you the worst sibling in the universe.

You said goodbye to your sister. She got worried and went downstairs to check on you. She saw you standing in the middle of the living room with the barrel of the shotgun shoved right in your mouth.

YOU BLEW YOUR BRAINS OUT IN FRONT OF YOUR SISTER.