Love Roulette

23

Twenty-Three
GUNNER
*sensitive content- suicide*

16 years ago
18-year-old Gunner

Australia, Perth

I stare at the teenagers my age with bright smiles on their faces. It's the weekend and I'm pretty sure they're all off to the beach where they will spend the whole day and drink under the stars at night. A dull ache fills my chest. I don't have a social life or any friends. I was never able to make any friends in school and once we had all finished there was no chance of finding friends. Especially as I'm spending every day working at my father's garage.

The spluttering of an engine pulls me out of my trance and I turn my head to see an old battered truck just about making it into the garage. The engine cuts off and my father steps out with a shit-eating grin on his face. I walk over and give the truck a sceptical stare.

"What's this?" I question.

"Late birthday present. I thought we could fix it together." He pats my back, staring at the truck like it's a pot of gold. "One of my mates wanted to scrap it but I bought it off of him. It might look like a piece of shit but I know it's got more life in it."

"Thanks, dad." I smile, inspecting the car with curious eyes. "It is a piece of shit, isn't it?" We both laugh.

"Have you seen your sister?" My father questions and I sigh, shaking my head. I pull my phone out from my overalls to see that she hasn't replied to the thirty messages I've sent in the past twelve hours asking if she was safe.

My sixteen-year-old sister, Gabriella, went out last night but when we woke up in the morning she still wasn't back. She was all dressed up, and her boyfriend who I fucking hate picked her up and they went speeding down the road.

I'm worried about her. She's my baby sister and she always used to come to me for her problems. She trusted me. But it doesn't feel like that anymore. I've noticed that she's been isolating herself, and not speaking to any of us. She's drinking much more, and when I look into her blue eyes it's like no-ones there. It's just an empty void. I don't have a good feeling.

"She won't reply to my messages or my calls," I explain to him, sending another message Gabriella's way.

Me- 'Where are you? Just let me know you're safe somewhere at least.'

Just as I'm ready to lock my phone and get back to work she reads the message and the bubble appears to show she is typing. The hugest sigh of relief escapes my mouth, but it is short-lived when I read her reply.

Gabriella- 'I'm sorry, Gunner. Don't be mad at me. Please don't be mad at me.'

Me- 'Has something happened? Are you hurt?'

I nibble harshly on my bottom lip waiting for her reply. My heart is banging against my ribcage, a dull ache emerging. She's not replying.

Me- 'Gabriella!'

Me- 'Talk to me.'

Gabriella- 'It's not your fault, okay? Don't blame yourself. I'm not happy anymore Gunner and I'm sorry. I love you, and mum and dad. Please don't be mad!'

I get a gut-sinking feeling and my eyes blur with tears.

I'm not a naive person. I know exactly what these types of messages imply.