The Definition of Time

Chapter 9

Trigger Warning:

This chapter addresses self-harm and suicide. There are no explicit descriptions but please be advised that it may trigger some readers.

If you're breathing
I'm proud of you 
It takes a lot of courage 
To breathe in
Breathe out
And say 
It's worth living one more day"

March 2, 2014

"Hey Rach, it's me. I...I just was calling to say happy birthday. Nineteen, you're practically ancient. I miss you, Rach. Call me back. I need you."

March 8, 2014

"Hey Rach, it's me. I'm waaaaaasted...I haven't felt this good in years. I...I'm just calling to say hey. Call me back."

March 13, 2014

"Hey Rach, it's me. I...I just wanted to let you know I'm done. I can't do this any more. This is it. Goodbye."

~~~~~

I hear AJ's last voicemail during the break of my evening Intro to World Lit class. I feel my face go white and my hands start to shake. I'm so selfish. Why haven't I called him back? He needs me, and I'm not there for him, and now...

"Dr. Rosales," I exclaim, sprinting to the front of the class and slamming my hands on the lectern, "Dr. Rosales, I need to leave class early."

Dr. Rosales raises her dark eyebrows at me, "Rachel? You never miss class. Is everything alright?"

"Yes, ma'am," I stop as my voice hitches, "actually, no. I have...I have a friend who needs my help. He's...he's suicidal, and..." I feel tears come to my eyes and I try to still the shaking of my shoulders.

She rests a warm hand on my shoulder, "Rachel, go."

I nod and run out of the classroom, my backpack flying open behind me. I brush at the tears covering my face and race out of the academic building, running towards a small grove of oak trees. I toss my backpack down and pull out my phone. He's okay. He's okay. He has to be.

I turn my phone on, but my hands are trembling and the phone falls out of my hands to the ground. I scramble to pick it up and finally push call. I press the phone against my ear and try to calm my heart rate. He's okay. He's never gone this far before. He's self-harmed, but this time...this time, he sounded serious. Resolved.

The phone rings and I hold my breath, pulling my jacket around my shoulders and trying to keep my teeth from chattering. It rings. It rings.

"Hey, Rach. It's me."

I nearly laugh in relief at his familiar greeting, "AJ, you're okay!"

"Yeah...I mean, no. I don't know." His voice sounds distant and garbled.

"AJ, what's going on?" My voice gets louder, "What are you doing?"

"Rach...I can't do this anymore."

"Do what? Do what, AJ? Yes, you can. You'll be okay. We'll get through this."

"I just don't want to live like this anymore. I try to forget, ignore everything I've done, but it doesn't even work any more. I can feel it. All the time. Even when I'm totally drunk, I still feel...guilty. Do you know how many people I've hurt, Rach?"

I pause; I can't answer. Me. Tommy. Maybe hundreds more. He hurts people; it's just what he does.

"I've hurt so many people," I can hear the agony in his voice. "Everyone loves me, Rach, and then I hurt them. I can't help it. Maybe I want them to feel like I do. I feel empty, Rach. Do you know what I mean?"