Runaway

My backside was numb from sitting on the side of the bathtub for about an hour, wondering if what I was about to do was really worth it. The pill bottle sat on the edge of the sink, about a half of arms length from me. I held a water bottle in one hand and looked blankly at the label.
The body length mirror that hung on the back of the closed bathroom door reflected my person, but not my heart. Physically, I don’t look like the kind of boy that would want to end his own life, but that is all that can cross my mind.
And you can’t judge a book by its cover.
My long dirty blond hair was swooped perfectly to the left and a diamond sat in my ear. My brown eyes stared back through the mirror. They weren’t the tell tale signs of a guy like me. Someone who contemplates his own death everyday.
I dropped my head and reached for the bottle of pills. Before I could respond, I jerked my arm back to where the pills sat and left them. Do I really want to do this? Do I deserve to live? My dad doesn’t want me and neither does mom. To them I am just a waste of space, time, and air. Would they be happy when I die? Or will they weep and morn about their loss? Or will they only be embarrassed because they had a coward of a son who took his own life.
I grabbed the bottle of pills from off the sink and chewed the last six before I could second think it. I guzzled the water behind the powered pills and sat. The clock kept ticking, but I felt no effects. Then I began to feel woozy. The carpet was soft under my feet as I paced, feeling a mixture of regret and excitement. Then it seemed like someone pulled the rug from under my feet, and in a half of second, I had a mouth full of carpet. Blood and vomit began to fill and spill out of my mouth.
My heartbeat played loudly behind my ears. Then it began to slow.
So this is what dying feels like.
The bright light blinded as I lifted my eyelids. My head hurt something terrible and the white, immaculate color of the room only added to the jackhammer in my skull. My mouth was filled with a tasteless gauze.
My eyes shut when the door opened. Judging by the smell that entered my nose, the person had food. They walked in, sat on the seat by my bed, sniffed loudly, and unwrapped their food.
“Why’d you try to kill yourself, Nathan?” It was my mom’s voice. “You know that your step-dad and I love you a lot and only want the best for you. And you are to young to be thinking about death.”
Her soft voice would usually tear at my low soul, but not anymore. Not since I heard mom telling dad about how I am ruining their plans. Not since I heard my stepdad saying that I was the family disappointment, next to my older brother, Johnny, who drank himself to death. They were talking about how I am at the root of all their unhappiness, and I bet that if I were alive when all this talk about the ozone first started, they would have blamed me for that, too.
But it doesn't matter anymore. Nothing they say will change my mind.
I'll continue to do what feels right.
“You hear me, Nathan?” mom asked. The chair squealed and groaned as she stood and soon, I felt her warm breath on my face. “The doctor told me that you are awake. You just don’t want to face me, do you?” I didn’t respond. “What? You cannot be a man and face what you have caused? You overdosed yourself for the third time, Nathan, is there something that we need to talk about?” Her breath reeked of McDonald’s and liquor. “I don't know what you are thinking, Nathan, I have no clue. But you are something worth living for. You are my son and without you, I don't know what would happen.”
A flash of anger passed through me. She was so stupid if she thinks I will ever believe her. She told my father that I was worthless, more work than reward. He said he agrees, that I am nothing more than another junkie. That he cannot respect a man who doesn't respect life.
Mom finally grew tired of standing over me and trying to teach me a lesson in life. She sighed in my face and walked back to her now cold food and ate slowly. I kept my eyes closed for the remainder of the night until I heard the muffled sounds of a doctor and my parents.
“He just won’t face it, doc.” it was my stepdad’s voice. “He is getting too old for this.”
“Yes,” mom cosigned. “He is seventeen years old and has attempted to kill himself four times. When is this going to go away? He is going to succeed in killing himself one day and that day could come sooner than we think.”
“Well, this young man finds some euphoria in attempting to kill himself. It is a stage that had not been taken into consideration and now it is, honestly, spirally out of control.” the doc paused. “I’ve seen plenty of teens like him, but I haven’t come into contact with one that is so set on ending his own life until your son came into this hospital. I might recommend that you involve him in some sort of social event so that he can be exposed to other teens.”
“Well, I have heard of a trip that the community center is hosting about three days from today. I think that it would be wonderful if he could go along with the kids. It’ll give him a chance to hang with kids his own age.”
“That actually sounds nice.” said the doctor. “I hope that your deeds are blessed.”
I scoffed, mumbling into my gauze. “God’s blessing upon the demons.”