Chapter 10

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Chapter 10: Paralyzed

The splash of the water was faint in my ears, I could mostly hear the pounding of my heart as it banged against the inside of my rib cage.

My legs carried me to the place where Evan had been moments ago, I leaned over the rail, hoping to see him, but I couldn't. All I saw was the churning black waters going underneath the bridge.

I backed away from it, holding up my hands to see them shaking.

It was then that I spotted that familiar black notebook, still resting on the bridge's wooden surface. I grabbed it, stuffing it in my coat as I ran to the waterside, fishing my phone from my pocket.

"911, what's your emergency?" The operator asked calmly, the opposite of what I felt. I'm too late.

"I'd like to report a suicide. HiddenCreek bridge." My voice shook, but I trying to be as calm as possible. Because, this is what I wanted.

I wanted Evan out of the picture, and now he was.

So, why did I have this racing, jumpy feeling in my chest? Is that adrenaline, is that guilt, is that regret?

No, it can't be, it can't be, this is what I wanted, this....this....this is what I wanted-right? This is what I've spent years working for, for Evan, to be gone.

"Alright, the ambulance and cops are on their way, don't worry. So, what's-" I cut her off.

"I'd like this call to be anonymous, thank you for helping." I swallowed the lump that was in my throat, and blinked back tears as I hung up the phone.

And then, with the notebook tucked into my jacket and my phone clutched in my hand, I ran. I ran as fast as my legs would let me, wiping tears off my face as I burst onto the sidewalk.

After five minutes of sprinting, my side ached, but I could hear the faint sounds of sirens, so I ran harder.

You weren't there, relax, calm down, think. Running makes you suspicious, stop. It's a suicide, not a murder. Look at your hands, there's no blood, you're clean.

I took a deep breath, wincing as I heard how shaky it was. I continued to take deep breaths as I started my way back home.

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I stumbled through the door, barely remembering to close it behind me. I hadn't even noticed that Jonathan had left the living room until I reached the base of the stairs. The TV was off, and so was my awareness of the world.

Collapsing on my bed, I let out a sigh, a single tear dripping down my cheek.

Pulling the small notebook from my jacket, I took a good look at it, running my hand over the cover, where the letters E.F were engraved on the front and the spine, the silver letters being the only thing that stood out.

I opened the book, and began to read the words written by a boy I had sought to destroy.

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It was forty five minutes later that there was a call, and two minutes later there was a knock on my door.

I let him open the door, I had finished reading the journal about fifteen minutes ago, and it was tucked back into my jacket, and a small, folded piece of paper was clutched in my hand.

"We have to go to the hospital." Was all he said, but I stood up, because I knew what was happening, what had already happened.

Nodding, I followed him out of the room, the envelope still in his hand.

He didn't read it, not yet, because Evan isn't gone yet. Do not read until I am gone.

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Hospital chairs are uncomfortable, you know, no arm rests, no cushions on the seat, and they only have vending machines filled with water and healthy snacks, a few name brand candies, but nothing too good.

Stepping into a waiting room filled with people who were waiting to see if a suicide victim is alive is depressing.

They look at you like you're a doctor, like you're a wizard, like you're going to give them the greatest news of their life, but you're not. Because you're there to wait with them.

I sat away from them all, I couldn't bring myself to be with them, all of them. The first time since seventh grade that all of them had sat together, in peace and quiet.

It will all be over soon.

His parents were here, holding onto each other so desperately, tears streaming down his mother's face. Tyler had his head in his hands, Craig was rubbing circles into his back.

I couldn't do it, I couldn't stay a minute longer in that room. So, I did what I do best, I left.

I locked myself in the bathroom, going to mirror to look at myself. I was a mess. My hair was sticking up in random places, purple strands snaking up above my head.

My eyes were puffy and red, and the look I had screamed guilty.

"This," I started, locking eyes with my reflection. "This is your fault." I said with my shaky voice, pointing my finger at the mirror, but it didn't have the effect I thought it would. "This, this....this is my fault."

That's when I broke, when everything had come crashing down on me. The moment I spoke those four little words it hit me.

I've killed him, I killed Evan Fong.

"I'm sorry." I said, tears streaming down my face as I crumpled to my knees. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, please, please, I'm sorry." I repeated over and over again, covering my face with my hands as sobs ripped through my throat.

"I lied to you, Jonathan! Evan never touched me! He barely knew my name, oh my god, what have I done, what have I done!? What have I done...."

Those were the last words I spoke before Evan passed away at 11:02 PM.

A saying scribbled on a page of Evan's journal:

I'm not worth remembering.

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