Restart - An Original Novella

Chapter 6 {Remedy} Part 2

Sunday, April 24th

I've finally been exposed to my drug. And it's been such a relief. I know I have something to live for now, as surely as I know I will lose it all.

My reserve of strength has been shrinking with each passing day, but it surges again when Stephanie visits me. Every day, without fail.

I love her to death, and it pains me that that love is requited.

No, not unrequited, but requited.

If she didn't love me, it would be easy to do what I have to. But since she does love me, and I love her, it takes every single ounce of my willpower, plus some to spare, is needed.

I have to do it. And I'll do it today. Tonight, when she visits me.

It's time.

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Stephanie walks in my hospital room at six o'clock exactly. No one is allowed to come in at six because that time is reserved for only her and me. She's a regular now, and Allison always asks about us together.

This is the last day she will ever come.

She walks in timidly. She always does. I've noted this, because this is the fuel I will use to burn her.

"Stephanie." I say her full name forcefully, with a bite.

She stops in her tracks. Her eyes widen. "Yes?"

"What's wrong with you today?"

She opens and closes her mouth. The confusion growing in her is palpable. I knew she would fall for the reverse psychology. I know exactly what she's thinking — What's wrong with you today?

"Am I getting an answer or what?" I press on.

"If you want me to leave, just say so," she tells me, her voice growing an edge.

"No. It's about time we had a talk," I spit, pulling myself up from the bed. "It's over." I thought of so many ways to say this. I didn't know if I should build up to the defining line, or just say it outright and instantly. Apparently it's choice number two.

The confusion is obvious, written all over her face. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. I know you know it was never bound to happen. It's over between us."

"Wh — what?" A sliver of anger grows in her expression, spawned from thick perplexity.

"You heard me. Don't act like you're deaf or stupid." I am cutting through so deep but I know if I tone it down even a bit more, I will give up on my plan and tell her I'm lying for all of this.

That's when it hits her — I mean what I'm saying. At least, I'm pretending I mean what I'm saying.

"Oh," she whispers, and that small, one-syllable, two-letter word rips through my heart. "I see it now."

"Finally." I roll my eyes. "That took a while." My fists are clenched under the sheets. This is too hard. I don't know how I'm still doing this according to the plan.

She shifts on her feet, biting her lip. Mine part just thinking about kissing her.

No, no, no. I can't tempt myself.

"What did I do wrong?"

I sigh, as if I'm exasperated with her. "Everything. I can read you better than you think I can. Every time you walk in here, it's like you don't want to see me. I know you don't. You're just trying to be a goody-goody as always." She's about to say something, I can tell, but I don't let her. I'm already in the zone. I can't stop now. I've put myself in the mindset to tell her things that will hurt her deeply, sound convincing, and hope she won't dwell on it. "Don't even," I snap, holding up a hand to silence her. She looks so shocked. I force myself to continue with my kind of rant. "Can't you see that I've been changed from this crash? You act like you're the only one who's been affected. But you aren't." My eyes narrow. "I can barely move out of this bed. And you visit me? Like a taunt? That's just cold."

Her hand covers her mouth. "I didn't—"

"Of course you didn't know. You didn't bother to notice." I pause just to clench my teeth. "I don't want to see you anymore. Get out."

Her head shakes from side to side, microscopically. Her mouth trembles. She's visibly upset. I know she hates being yelled at, yet that's exactly what I'm doing. I feel cruel, evil, preying. But this isn't me, I tell myself. It isn't. I need to do this.

"Okay," she says. "Bye, then. I really do hope you get better."

I won't, I think, but aloud I say, "Yeah, right."

Her body tenses, she spins around, and she walks out, her strawberry-blond hair bobbing on her bent shoulders in curling waves.

I feel an indescribable, incomparable relief, unlike anything I've ever felt before. Now I can die without guilt.

Hoping that she isn't tortured by this faux decision.