'Cause the Hardest Part of This is Leaving You.

I rip my jeans from the floor near the wardrobe and cut a gaping hole in it just below the waist. These scissors are sharp so it’s easy, like sliding metal through water. I cut horizontal slash across the legs. I lay them side by side on the bed like a couple of sick friends and stroke them. The stupid jeans I bought with Mikey never fitted anyway. I split the pockets of all my pants, gash holes in my shirts and chuck the lot next to the rest of the clothes. It doesn’t help.
It takes ages to stab my boots. My arms ache and I’m wheezing. But I had a transfusion this morning and other people’s blood runs hot through my veins, so I don’t stop. I slit each boot along its length. Two startling wounds.
I want to be empty. I want to live somewhere uncluttered.

I open the window and throw the boots out. They land on the lawn. The sky's cloudy, grey and low. There’s a thin rain falling. The shed’s wet. The grass is wet. The barbecue set is rusting on its wheels.
I haul the rest of my clothes out of the wardrobe. My lungs wheeze, but I’m not stopping. Buttons ping across the room as I slash my coats. I shred my jumpers. I slash every pair of trousers. I line my shoes up on the window ledge and cut off their tongues.

It’s good. I feel alive.
I grab the clothes from the bed and push them out with the shoes. They tumble onto the patio together and lie there in the rain.
I check my phone. No messages. No missed calls.

I hate my room. Everything in it reminds me of something else. There's a little china bowl on my bedside table. A sleeping dog with its silent slipper that belonged on Nanna’s mantelpiece. My green glass apple. They all make it to the lawn except for the dog, which smashes against the fence.

Books fall open as I chuck them. Their pages flap like exotic birds, rip and flutter. CDs and DVDs like Frisbees over next door’s fence. Frank can play them to his new friends at University when I’m dead.

Duvet, sheets, blankets, all out. Medicine bottles and boxes from my bedside table, syringe driver, creams. My jewellery box.
I slash my beanbag, decorate the floor with polystyrene balls and throw the empty sack out into the rain. The garden’s looking very busy. Things will grow. Trouser trees. Book vines. I’ll chuck myself out later and take root in that dark space by the shed.

Still no message from Frank. I throw my phone over his fence.

The TV is heavy as a car. It hurts my back. It makes my legs burn. I drag and heave it across the carpet. I can’t breathe, have to stop. The room tilts. Breathe. Breathe. You can do this. Everything’s got to go.
Onto the ledge with the TV.
And out.
It roars, explodes in a dramatic smash of glass and plastic.
That’s it. Everything gone. Finished.

*-------*

Mom crashes in. She stands for a moment, still and open-mouthed. " You monster, " she whispers.

I have to cover my ears.

She comes over and takes me by both arms. Her breath smells of stale tobacco. " Do you want to leave me with nothing? "

" There was nobody here! "

" So you thought you’d trash the place?! "

" Where were you? "

" I was at the Supermarket. Then I went to the hospital to visit you but you weren't there. We were all loosing it. "

" I don't care, Mom! "

" Well, I do! I absolutely give a shit! This will completely exhaust you. "

" It's my body, I can do what I like! "

" So you don't care about your body now? "

" No, I'm sick of it! I'm sick of doctors and needles and blood tests and transfusions. I'm sick of being stuck in a bed day after day while the rest of you get on with your lives. I hate it! I hate all of you! Frank's gone for a University interview, did you know that? He's going to be here doing whatever he likes and I'm going to be under the ground in a couple of weeks! "

Mom just starts to cry. She sinks onto my bed and puts her head into her hands and just weeps. I don't know what to do. Why is she weaker than me? I sit next to her and touch her knee. " I'm not going back to the hospital, Mom. "

She wipes her face on her sleeve and looks at me. She looks like Mikey. " You've really had enough? "

" I really have. "

I put my arm around her and she leans her head on my shoulder. I stroke her hair. It's as if we are floating on a boat. There's even a breeze coming from the open window. We sit for ages.

" You never know, maybe I won't die if I'm at home. "

" That would be lovely if you didn't . "

She doesn’t say anything after that. Where the dark filters through the window and shadow touches her arm, she seems to vanish.
Minutes pass and she sweeps a hand across her eyes. " I better clean up outside before it get's dark. Will you be alright if I go do that? "

" Sure. "

I watch her from the window. She get's a broom and the wheelbarrow from the shed. She puts on gardening gloves and picks up the TV. She sweeps up the broken glass and empties it all in the wheelbarrow. She picks up all the books and put's them in there as well.
Mikey turns up in his school uniform and helps clean up. He looks sane and healthy.
Mikey ends up tripping on a book. It makes Mom laugh. she leans on her broom and laughs out loud. Mikey laughs too.

Rain batters softly at the window, washing them both transparent.