Schatzi

5

Eli stood in front of the mirror, the surface fogged up by the steaming hot water in the bath. The bruises were finally beginning to heal, though the bruises on his shins where they kicked him when no one was looking were only growing.

He hadn't been at school on Monday. He'd been dreading it all weekend, especially after the boycott on Saturday. Then when he woke up on Monday morning, he freaked out. He didn't remember all of it, had blocked it from his memory. He just remembered being so scared, and not being able to breathe. His mum told him he wouldn't stop crying, wouldn't talk to her, it was almost two hours before he told her what was wrong.

She was so worried about him, hadn't stopped fussing about him for the rest of the week. She kept saying he was sick, but he wasn't, he was fine. He'd been sick with influenza 4 years ago, and that was very different to how he was feeling now. He didn't understand why she was so worried.

She kept saying he was sick, and that it was her fault, it was dad's fault. Eli didn't understand that either. Neither she, nor his dad were sick, so he didn't get how they could have affected him.

"Oh, Eli, my darling," she'd whispered to him, holding him close after he'd finally stopped panicking and allowed her to hug him. "This is my fault, I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry, baby. I thought it was getting better, I really did, but you're still sick, aren't you, Eli? Talk to me, darling, talk to me."

He'd stayed silent, not sure what she meant.

He'd gotten through the rest of the week with little problems. School was as expected, and Peter was distant as expected, but he'd caught him looking, keeping watch over Eli whenever he could. It was nice, knowing he was there for him.

He wasn't having a good day.

There were good days, and bad days.

Good days were when he had energy, he wanted to get up and do things. He wanted to talk to people and be happy. Things would still sneak up on him and upset him, but he'd be over them quickly and could carry on. His mum said on good days, he reminded her of when he was just a kid.

Bad days sucked. Sometimes he could hardly get out of bed, didn't have the motivation to do anything. He was tired, no matter how much sleep he got, and nothing would cheer him up. He'd panic about small things. Would feel weird for reasons he couldn't explain. The world just seemed dark and pointless and he didn't even want to live in it.

Last year wasn't just a bad day, but a bad year, and it was when he'd taken action to actually leave the world he'd grown to hate so much.

Good days and bad days blurred; there were shadows in the good days, and sun shining through the clouds on bad ones. But recently, it was beginning to become more bad than good again, and it terrified him.

He'd got himself out of bed and into the bathroom. He looked down at the old, chipped sink, slowly turning on the rusty tap and splashing his face with cold water.

His mind was everywhere, but everything felt slow, like he was dreaming. Nothing felt quite real. He was thinking too much, but his body wasn't in synch. He looked down at his hands, water dripping between his fingers. It didn't feel like they were his, but when he tried to move them, his hand curled up into a fist.

He looked back up at himself, taking a deep breath. The person in the mirror copied. He shook his head slowly, moving to sit on the side of the bathtub. Everything felt off, he didn't feel right at all. He couldn't think where he was, even who he was for a few seconds before it came back to him.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, just thinking, time seemed to slip by like nothing, or maybe no time had passed, and it had just been minutes.