The Aftermath

I woke with a start, backing into the backrest of the couch subconsciously, and clamped my mouth shut to stop the word on my mind from spilling. Mikey, I gasped mentally, holding my breath.

It took me only an instant to wake up properly and then the disturbing feeling was gone. I started breathing again.

Slightly startled, I looked at my watch. The living room was already clearly illuminated by the sun's rays. It was well past 11 and the first thing that crossed my mind was that I had slept for so long that it meant another day's worth of college missed. The thought quickly disappeared, though, as I pondered a little deeper about how long I had slept.

I might have woken up once during the night, but it was so early that it did not really count. And here I was now, having slept for almost twelve hours straight. Me, who could never sleep through the night anymore.

Reluctantly I gazed at the window, my look one of appreciation. I did not know how damaging the cold might be, how dangerous it actually was, but I was definitely taking advantage of it, if it allowed me to sleep.

And, I thought to myself as I got up and shut the window, if it really turned out to actually be dangerous... I had to admit I did not consider it purely a bad thing.

I shook my head at the thought.

There had been a time where I considered it. Considered actively doing something about my misery, and not in the form of pain killers. I had considered something more effective, something more permanent. There had been a time when I honestly considered killing myself.

They were not even new to me, the suicidal thoughts, when my brother died. They had been there for years already, at that point. But I had always repressed them. No matter how dark my outlook became, no matter how desperate I felt, I had had one means of fighting the feelings. One thought.

What would that do to Mikey?

But suddenly I had found myself with what I thought was a better reason than ever for killing myself, and on the same time no reason left not to. And still I had not done it.

To the day today, I did not know what had stopped me in the first place. The first week after Mikey's death I had not moved from my bed. In the beginning I had not wanted to, eventually I had actually become unable to. But I had gone to the funeral and though that night was hard, unbearable even, something had changed. I had eaten breakfast the day after that. I had gone to school. I had begun moving forward again.

And after that, I figured I could not. If I were to kill myself I wanted the world to know, to understand that I did it for Mikey. And I was not sure the world would believe me anymore.

And sometimes, just sometimes, I felt I owed it to Mikey, not to.

I felt like I owed it to him, to live my life for him, as I had owed it to him to stay alive and let him live his life without my being a burden to him, before.

Pausing in the kitchen, barely even aware when I had decided I wanted breakfast, I thought that idea over. Perhaps I had been diluting myself. Perhaps the lack of sleep through so many nights had made my sight unclear. And maybe, just maybe, it was good that I had finally gotten a good night's sleep.

I knew Mikey was gone. What I owed or did not owe to him should not matter. It did not matter. Not anymore. I realised that now.

Walking back out from the kitchen, I smiled grimly to myself. I really had no good reason for staying. I really had no good reason for staying alive.