Please don't go - Niall
Listen to the song and read.
“If you have any last words, say them to the person that matters most.”
I’d always tell anyone who was willing to listen to me that, and nobody’s more willing to listen than your best friend…right? And when that one,important person in your life disappears…it hurts. Right? Yeah. It does. Especially when it’s your fault they’re gone to begin with.
Everyone says it isn’t my fault Niall Horan committed suicide, that it was his choice, but I should have been there to make him feel less alone, less terrified, less like the only choice he had left was to overdose on the pills in his bathroom cabinet.
Truth be told, I don’t think I’ll ever forget the day I-no, we-all found out. I haven’t even touched the book I was reading when the boys came to break the news since. Liam’s words won’t even leave my head. “He’s gone.”
My not-wanting-to-accept-reality response. “Who?”
His apologetic frown and the, “Niall is.” that sent me into hysterics.
“What? Tell me you’re joking. Right now! You can’t be serious! No!”Screeches and sobs that controlled me for…how long? A few minutes? An hour? More? Less? echoed throughout the empty-except-for-us house.
I remember calming down, being led to the couch, being given a DVD with a yellow sticky note carelessly slapped on. This’ll be my note.
“Wha-what’s this?” I asked Liam, looking up at him with watery, red eyes. It was like the apologetic expression he wore was permanent.
“I’m sorry,” he told me for the umpteenth time. I knew perfectly well that the DVD in my hands was. Niall’s suicide note— or at least, a replacement for one. I can barely recall putting it in the player, turning the TV on…
All I remember is shaking so badly, running out of tears to cry before I’d finished my pathetic little sob session.
I clutched the necklace I was wearing like a lifeline when he came on the screen, sitting on his bed, looking more worn-out and exhausted than I’d ever seen him. He looked so tired…of living.
“Oh, God, where do I start…” he mumbled to himself for a little while, running his hands through his bleached hair. “I want to apologise for what I’m about to do. I know it’s going to hurt each and every one of you, but…I just can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry. Nobody cares enough. I’m sick of it. I’m so sick and tired of being so alone, so afraid all of the time. I just want it all to stop…” He was on the verge of tears at this point. He looked over at someplace offscreen, leaned over to it to grab something. A bottle of little white pills. He laughed emotionlessly, bringing a fist to his dry, cracked lips to keep from sobbing instead, choking them back. “Look,” he said, showing the camera the label. His smile was wobbly, his eyes heartsick, unhappy, depressed. “Freedom…”
Then he stopped talking for a little while, just stared at the camera. “A friend of mine once told me almost every day that your last words should be spoken to the person that matters most…she knows who she is. I want to apologise specifically to her. I want to tell her that the last thing I want to do is hurt her in any way, and that I appreciate her trying to save me, but it just wasn’t enough…I-I love all of you…I’m so, incredibly sorry.”
And with that, the screen cut to black. I felt numb inside. Empty. Void of anything but a statement that got louder and louder with every passing second:
It’s your fault.
It’s your fault.
IT’S YOUR FAULT.
An hour ago, I came back from the funeral. I don’t remember a single word of it. I couldn’t bring myself to speak a word to anybody. Nobody, not the boys, not his family, not his school friends…nobody deserved pity from the girl who was the reason for his death.
It’s been a week. Seven whole days. It’s seemed like an eternity.
I understand what he meant now, when he said he wanted everything to stop. Cease. Halt. Whatever you want to call it, I want to have it. I want the guilt to end. I know the only way that’s possible. So I march myself upstairs with barely a word to my parents, and pull out an old and dusty jump rope from my closet.
I tie the necessary knot.
I set the noose up in the corner.
I drag the chair from my desk over to that same corner.
I slide my head into the hole and whisper something to nobody.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”
I kick the chair out from underneath me.
Nu har jag gråtit ut mina ögon år nästan varje oneshot... det verkar som att du tycker om att någon dör? haha. skämtåsido kan ju säga att dom var sjukt bra och jag hoppas att du skriver mer sånna! :)
