Goodbye || Self Para
He felt like the world was crashing down around him. He didn’t know what he did wrong, he’d been sweet, he’d been careful. Evan thought she was happy, he’d been happy. But none of it seemed to matter. Olivia still broke up with him and he had no one to turn too. He had no friends, and his parents had never been there for him. The only one that ever was, was his knife.
He thought about sending her an owl, that maybe he could change her mind. But he knew that it wouldn’t work. Instead he sent an owl to anyone he could think of. But no one replied. He was alone, and he could feel all his thoughts consuming him.
He wrote a letter to his parents, even though they were right down stairs. He just felt like it was the right thing to do.
Dear Mom and Dad,
I just wanted to thank you for trying your best. I know I haven’t always been the best at expressing how I feel, but I’m going to try. I’m sorry for the hospital trips. I’m sorry that you didn’t get a better son. Please make sure Emily is happy, she deserved a better brother who was there for her more. I just want to make it clear that I love you guys.
Love, Evan.
He held back his tears. If he cried on the letter than it would ruin it and he didn’t ant that. He folded it up and left it on his desk. His eyes kept wandering over to his drawer, that had his knife in it. But Evan just shook his head. He couldn’t do it again, not after he ended up in the hospital last time.
Evan just couldn't get what Olivia had said to him out of his head. 'I can't be your girlfriend' he didn't understand why. He kept replaying everything he did over and over in his head, and everything seemed alright. So why couldn't she give him a chance? Why did she say yes to going with him to prom? Why did she let him kiss her? The more he thought about it the less sense it all made.
So he decided that maybe if he wrote her a letter to, then it would help. It would make all of this easier. Maybe if he sent it to her she would change her mind. Or just say she'd give him a chance one day. Either that or nothing would happen. And he’d be left all alone, with only his thoughts to accompany him. And they weren’t good thoughts.
Dear Olivia,
I want you to know how much I deeply cared about you. I thought of everyday as a new opportunity to see you and make memories with you. It didn’t matter to me that you were pregnant, I was so excited for you. I wanted to be there for you both. But I guess it was just me. I hope Prewitt grows up to be a wonderful boy and takes after both his parents in the most wonderful ways. I hope you’re able to find someone who makes you both happy. But do it on your own time and please don’t give him false hope because you are so hard to even think about moving on from. Really though, I just want you to be happy, even if it’s not with me.
Sincerely, Evan.
PS. I wanted to give this to you before, but I figured it would be pretty bad timing. I made it for Prewitt and I hope he likes it.
(imagine it’s Prewitt’s name and not Ethan)
He folded up the letter and put it down on his desk, with the whale on top of it. Then he reached down to the drawer and opened it, but he didn’t reach inside. He didn’t want to but at the same time he did. He knew that it would make him feel better, even if it was only for a little while. But it was something, something to distract himself from the pain he was feeling in his chest.
He paced the room back and forth trying to get himself to relax. He’d cried for hours before, and he was pretty sure he was out of tears. No matter what he thought about his mind kept going back to the drawer. The open drawer. He kept looking back at it, and it just got more tempted.
Evan attempted to read the letters a few times, but after he almost ripped them up he had to stop. They were important. They held his feelings in them. His apologies. He couldn’t just get rid of them. Not before who they were meant for were actually able to read them.
Somehow he found himself next to the drawer, looking down in it. He saw the knife, and it was tempting. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made to actually use it. He would stop feeling for a while. He would be able to escape, he could forget about the pain he was in. What was so bad about that? So he reached in the drawer and gripped the knife, pushing it onto his wrist.
