Heart of Glass

I wasn’t quite sure of my motives. After all, I had never personally been asked, “If you were to kill yourself, how would you do it?” Therefore I had never sat down and pondered for a reasonable answer to such an impetuous question. But I didn’t even have to think too hard to come to the realization that I was absolutely positive about one important aspect of my departure: I was not going to make it any harder on my family than the fact of me dying would be in the first place. In deciding this, I had felt something deep within my heart shatter. How could I let the thought slip so easily, knowing how excruciatingly difficult coming home to find their daughter lifeless would be, when it really came down to it? I squeezed my eyes shut, cursing myself for being so selfish, grabbing fistfuls of the sheets beneath my trembling body as I tried my hardest not to cry.

“Savannah?” My mother’s smooth, nonchalant voice echoed up the staircase, barely audible through my locked bedroom door.

My eyes fell open, but I wasn’t clearly seeing what was in front of me. Instead, I was creating a mental picture of my death. Would my eyes stay open like they say some do when their heart stops beating? Would I go to heaven like I had hoped all along, or Hell because of my choice of dying? A thousand different possibilities ran through my mind, and it came to me suddenly that, after over a month of planning this out, I had yet to even think of how I was going to do it. But I knew why.

They were going to be confused, that was a no-brainer. During any other occasion, any other topic, I would have immediately fled to Lucy, telling her every thing I was fearing, every reason as to why I didn’t want to be alive anymore. And maybe, just maybe, she would be have been able to change my mind. But I couldn’t tell Lucy--or anyone for that matter--and although she knew absolutely nothing, I could almost guarantee that, when I was gone, she would blame herself.

The thought hadn’t even occurred to me to tell Ty. He loved me, yes, and I loved him, with all of my heart in fact, but he wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t try and listen to what I had to say, nor even attempt to understand where I was coming from. I knew him all too well to trust him with a secret like that. He kept promises, but no way in hell would Ty live with the dreadful fact of knowing that I wanted to be dead, and not tell a counselor, or better yet, my parents, who were the first ones marked off of my list of people to tell, right next to Quentin and Zoey.

Ultimately, I had confided in myself and no one else, knowing for a fact that I couldn’t tell anyone else without being persuaded into living the rest of my life. The only other traces of my unreasonable motives were scrawled within the sickly white pages of the journal that I had started keeping in the seventh grade. I was hiding that, though. Eventually, I was sure they would find it, and finally know the truth as to why I had decided to do this; to take my own life. But for now, I wanted my story to remain a mystery, something I only knew, and something I couldn’t tell anyone else because, well, I wouldn’t be there to do so.

I slowly sat up in bed, letting my bare legs swing over the edge, my feet gently slipping into the ancient pair of bunny slippers that the Easter bunny had left for Quentin, Zoey, and I four years ago. I stared down at the faces of the rabbits, their noses tipped into the air. The ear of one of the bunnies was ripped jaggedly in half, the result of my cocker spaniel, Lionel, having grabbed hold of the slipper one day, mistaking it for a chew toy of the same color. I took long, deep breaths, letting the air run through my lungs for one of the last times. I was seconds away from standing, when there was a loud bang at my bedroom door. I jumped at the abrupt noise, clutching onto a pillow that had fallen to my side. How on earth was I supposed to follow through with my plan, one of the most frightening things a person could ever do, if I was scared by a knock on the door?

“Sav, it’s me. Open up.” Quentin’s voice was clear on the other side, deep and rusty as it always was. He had a beautiful voice, which was another reason why I wasn’t at all surprised when my best friend, Lucy, began to take interest in my very own brother.

I stared at the wood of the door for several long moments, carefully analyzing my next move. Carefully, I got to my feet and walked toward the door, each step making me feel as if I was falling, farther and farther, every time. My fingers were shaking as I unlatched the door and cracked it open, glancing up and catching the soft grey-green eyes of my elder brother.

“Dude, Mom has been calling your name for the past twenty minutes, we’re getting ready to leave--” he paused, finally taking note of my cotton pajama shorts and stained white tank top. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

I stared up at him, struggling for words. What was I supposed to say? Oh, yeah, I’m not going to the play that Zoey’s starring in because I’m planning on committing suicide and relieving myself of my pain, while I leave my family and friends to grieve on their own. I was careful when I spoke, my voice soft.

“I’m sick,” I said in my most convincing faux-ill tone. I added in a heavy cough. “Just tell them I’m staying home to rest.”

Quentin knew me too well. We had grown up together, for Christ’s sake. He knew when I was upset, when I was mad, when I was confused. And he also knew when I was lying. His thick eyebrows knitted together, and he instantly resembled our father, withholding that same confused look that the man got when he was stumped on a Sudoku puzzle. Our gazes were locked for what felt like forever, until he finally tore his eyes away, shaking his head. Dark locks of his chestnut hair fell across his forehead, and I felt my heart sink at the disgusted look he gave me.

“I can’t believe you, Savannah,” he said bleakly. “Zoey supports you--both of us--in everything. And you won’t get your lazy ass out of bed to go watch her play? She’s the star, Sav. This is her night and you don’t even have the decency to show up.”

You don’t understand, I wanted to say, but I discarded the thought just as quickly as it had came to mind. There were plenty of words I could have spit in reply, plenty of excuses that could have been believable, yet I couldn’t seem to find the right thing to say. I swallowed back my tears, answering with the only words I seemed to be able to muster up.

“Tell her I’m sorry,” I whispered quietly. “In fact, tell everyone.”

Quentin’s eyes were narrowed, and I hoped that he couldn’t see through me; see the hurt that I had within. And the two words he spit at me, although they burned, were more true at that moment than they could have ever been.

“Selfish bitch,” he said through his gritted teeth, and I cringed and held back the tears that were surely to come. Carefully, I took a deep breath and closed the door, shutting my brother away, ultimately shutting my entire life away; Zoey, Quentin, my parents, Lucy, Ty, myself… and then I began to sob.