Before I Break

by Alec John Belle

  “Let them go,” I said softly, forming a plan in mind. If I could get the other two out of here, I could probably convince Jake to calm down and not hurt any of us. Clearly he had mental health issues that I was not aware of beforehand. “Please, let them go and you can shoot me.”

  “Cyril!” Avery screamed.

  “Shut the fuck up!” Jake screamed in pure rage. There was no humanity left in him. Jake, my old best friend, was gone for good now. “You think this is about you? You’re not that damn special. And neither is he.”

  It all happened in the blink of an eye. The gunshot went off and Avery cried out as he hit the ground. I jumped toward Jake to cry and catch the gun and another went off, getting me right in my leg. A shout rose from my throat and rang through the air as I fell down to the ground, the pain coursing through my leg.

  Another shot rang out and I watched as Melissa was able to get away before the gun hit her. Instead, in the midst of an angry rage, he shot out again, not at me, but at Avery.

  “No!”

  A couple more rounds went off before Jake took off, running through the alley and leaving Avery and I to our deaths. Staring down at my leg, it was covered in blood and I could hardly see my flesh anymore. I cried out as I watched Avery, lying still on the ground but still looking as if he was breathing.

  Because of the gun wound, I couldn’t walk, but I crawled the best I could over to Avery and tried to compose myself. When I got by his side, I almost threw up at the sight.

  There was a gunshot right in his stomach, probably damaging some important organs. Another had hit his leg, and his arm was dripping blood all over the ground. His clothes were soaking red from all of the blood, absorbing it like a sponge. Two shots hit his rib cage but thankfully missed his heart. Or so I thought.

  “Avery,” I cried softly, being careful not to move his body. I listened to his heart and felt his pulse, and I cried out when I realized he was still alive. “Help! Someone, we’ve been shot!”

  My voice cracked and in the distance I heard sirens. I lay down beside Avery, grabbing his other arm that wasn’t shot and cried my heart out. Melissa, moments later, came running back just in time.

  “The ambulance is on its way,” she cried softly, staring at us both. “Is he alive?”

  I couldn’t speak.

  I couldn’t move.

  I was soaking in my own blood, probably mixed with Avery’s; by the time the ambulance arrived, they had to pull my away from his body. All I could think of was all the good times we had before this night.

  Meeting him.

  Going to Boston.

  Meeting Angela and signing Avery on to get his book published.

  He had his whole life ahead of him but it was all going to be taken away in a matter of hours.

  The first ambulance took Avery, and the second took me a minute later. Melissa was riding with Avery, but I was too gone to think anything of it. Everything around me was going red, and then before we arrived at the hospital, my whole entire world went black.

  Avery died that night on the way to the hospital. It wasn’t like anyone could be surprised, not with wounds like that; we all just kind of hoped that it would turn out okay, or that he could make it through. While I wasn’t sure where Avery was, where his soul had gone or whether he stayed behind to watch us, but I know one thing for sure.

  I was in Hell.

  The rest of the week, I was in the ICU, recovering from the bullet wound. According to them, dislodging the bullet was surprisingly easy, and they said I would recover fairly quickly. The truth was, though, I didn’t want to recover. For me, recovering meant moving on, and I knew I was never going to move on from this.

  When they finally released me from the ICU, they transferred me into the main hospital, where I had my own room, a TV, and more comfortable bed, and I got to eat when I wanted. Most people would have been happy to have survived the battle and then had all of this stuff handed to them, but I wasn’t. I truly just wanted to curl up in a ball and die.

  The first night I was in there, I was also very uncooperative. I wouldn’t eat. I wouldn’t drink. I wouldn’t even talk when the hot nurses asked me how I was feeling. Right then, nothing was important. Life wasn’t important.

  For the longest time growing up, I’d never understood how people could be so upset with life where they fall apart and give up. I always wondered what it took to break them so easily. Well, now I knew. It didn’t necessarily take death, it just took something important to you to leave. I just was lucky enough that mine died, apparently.

  The day after that, a lady came in dressed in a suit. Her name tag read INSTITUTE OF PSYCHIATRY, CHERYL, and I knew what this was for. You see it in movies all the time, and now here I was, getting a psych evaluation.

  “Hello,” Cheryl said. She was fairly old with brownish hair and some wrinkles on her face. I wanted to make a snarky remark but then remembered I wasn’t talking. “My name is Cheryl and I’m here to talk to you today, do you mind?”

  I minded, but didn’t say a word.

  “They say you’ve been quiet since you got into the hospital. I read your file and heard about what happened. I am so very sorry.”

  Yeah bitch, let’s talk about the issue some more.

  “Do you want to talk about anything?”

  No, I thought. I want you to go away. Staring at the wall, I made sure to avoid her eyes because looking into someone’s eyes was like looking into someone’s soul, and without reassurance as to where Avery’s was, I didn’t want to risk breaking down.

  “Your mother says you used to be very talkative. Were very expressive as far as she could tell. What made you stop talking to people? Was it the accident?”

  IT WASN’T AN ACCIDENT, I wanted to scream, but remained cool as ice. Now need to make the avalanche fall when unnecessary.

  “Your mother is thinking about admitting you into the Psychiatric Hospital for some treatment. Would you be okay with that?”

  Just pretend she doesn’t exist, I thought. She’s a waste of human skin.

  She stood up and said, “Until you talk no one can help you. We’ll have your bed over there ready for you in the morning, unless you want to talk to someone before then.” As she walked out of the room, I wondered how I had gotten myself into this. Then I remembered the only person to blame here was myself.

  Turns out Cheryl isn’t a liar. The next morning, Cheryl came back for me and told me that they were bringing me across the street to the Institute of Psychiatry. They brought in a wheelchair and rolled me across the street, into a lovely large building for the crazies. As we rolled up the elevator in silence, I realized that maybe this was for the best. If they kept me here, I’d never have to face anything again.

  Arriving on the floor where I’d be staying, which was the Teen Unit, I wanted to vomit at the site of all the colors. They sure wanted to make this place friendly, not that most of us cared, but the truth was, it was comforting on a certain level.

  They checked me in at the front, and one of the male nurses then took me into the back room and checked me out, asking me to take my clothes off and all sorts of dumb shit. I guess they didn’t want me carrying anything to harm myself in, but really, what could I bring in when I’ve been in the hospital for the last week and a half? If I really wanted to hurt myself, I could just hold my breath until my lungs exploded.

  I had to change into another pair of those beautiful hospital scrubs—I have to tell you, these places really knew fashion—and then they sent me off to sit in the main room, where we all just stared at each other, and the ones who had been there a while and were comfortable enough played games. I didn’t want to play games. What I wanted was Avery back, but then I remembered I wasn’t that lucky.

  There was a clock on the wall behind the desk, reading 11 a.m. I watched the second hand move, slowly but surely, and wondered how long they planned to keep me in here. Maybe long enough for me to hang in the adult unit
.

  Some girl beside me with a ratchet set of hair sat there biting her nails, staring at the clock as well. She was probably the definition of crazy, if I had to guess. On the other side of the room I was a blonde girl, one who looked seemingly normal, checking me out. While she was hot, the hospital didn’t seem like a great place to get laid.

  A guy about my age walked over to me and took the empty seat on the other side of me. He had dark brown hair similar to mine, except better looking than mine, mostly because he looked like he had the will to shower.

  “Hey,” he said, extending his hand to shake mine. He was cute (no homo, as we’ve established) in an Avery kind of way and it pissed me off. “My name is Austin.”

  His name even started with an A too. Gotta love life.

  I hoped that giving him the silent treatment would make him go away. To the best of my luck, it didn’t.

  “You’re not a talker, I see,” he said, smirking. “Deaf?”

  Oh, come on, now that was just insulting.

  “Alright, well, if you ever want a friend, I’m here.” He held up his hands in defense, then left to go sit back on the other side of the room. I had a feeling this guy was going to get on my nerves and not make this any easier. I was right.

  Things in life don’t always work out the way that we want them to and we learn that dreams are nothing but a waste of our intelligence. Our minds have so many possibilities and we sit here dreaming up futures that won’t exist, hoping for some chance of happiness. We have no control over what happens, though, and that sucks ass.

  So how long did I stay in the Institute of Psychology? Well, the next day, after a long, restless night, I had a psych evaluation with the head doctor on the floor, who weighed what looked like about 400 pounds and counting. His name was Dr. Charles, but enjoyed thinking of him as Hippo, considering that was almost exactly what he looked like. Because I wasn’t speaking, I didn’t get to say it to his face. As much as I really wanted to say it out loud, there was no way to find my voice. I didn’t even feel like I had a voice anymore.

  Anyway, this morning, I had to meet with Dr. Charles alone in the sitting area while everyone else walked around, possibly eavesdropping on the entire one-sided conversation. After five minutes of nothing answering any of his unnecessary questions, he said, “You’re going to need to speak eventually if you’re going to get help.”

  Who said I even wanted help? There was no hope for me, no future, no nothing. All I wanted was to stay locked up in a room so I could have my time to mourn. When I didn’t respond to his statement, he sighed.

  “Cyril, you need to understand that sometimes things don’t work out the way we want them to. Sometimes we lose a loved one, but that doesn’t mean we should let it overcome us. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  I remained still, unmoving.

  “This trauma is something that someone your age, or any age for that matter, shouldn’t have to face alone. We’re here for you if you need us, and the staff will be readily available for you any time you want to open up to us and tell us exactly what happened.”

  After he left, I sat on the chair near the corner and hoped to avoid humanity forever. There was no point in even trying.

  Flashing back to that night, all I could remember was the look on Avery’s face right before Jake pulled the trigger. So scared, so fragile, and but so perfect in life. He had his whole future ahead of him and it was ripped in the midst of an angry, jealous rage. Jake, my old best friend, had lost whatever little bit of his humanity he had left. All the signs were there, all of the hatred for Avery, all of the remarks, his dislike for him. Yet not a single person noticed until it was too late.

  As of right now, they had me on suicide watch, so last night I had to sleep with my mattress in the middle of my doorway where they could keep a close eye on me. I also couldn’t change my clothes without being watched, or take a shower without someone standing outside the doorway. My life had gone from perfect to hell in six whole months.

  During my time in the ICU, I hadn’t seen Tina, but I was sure I heard her crying at some point during the hospital visit. Learning that her son died in the ambulance had to be hard, especially since she never got the chance to say goodbye. But what were goodbyes for anyway? Was it for the dead or for the living?

  All of this philosophical thinking was going to start getting to me if I didn’t use my time wisely. I got up and walked over to the paper rack and grabbed a couple of sheets, unsure of what I was going to do right then. I motioned to one of the nurses for a pencil and she nodded, handing me one of the small, no eraser pencils we had to use. As I sat at a nearby table, I stared at the sheet for what felt like hours. No words, no creativity, no story came to mind, and my heart ached with every thought of writing.

  Avery’s book, Falling Stars, was scheduled for release, and unfortunately I had no idea whether it was going to still be published or not. I realized that I owed it to him, and to myself, to show some sort of respect. Right then, I knew exactly what I wanted to do.

  My story begins on my first day of school at East Hill High School in South Carolina, I wrote on the sheet of paper. My junior year had just begun and I was super excited to almost be done with high school. When I look back on it now, I realize how unimportant the “important” things were and how important the “unimportant” things were. When you’re young, your mind is fogged with a sense of adolescence, and you believe that the world revolves around you.

  “Cyril?”

  The voice came out from behind me, and standing there was Melissa. She held her hand over her mouth, tears pouring down her face as she cried. “I-I can’t believe you’re okay. I didn’t know if…” Her words trailed off and I think we both knew what she meant.

  I pulled out the chair beside me and motioned for her to take a seat. She did as I requested, and there was no need for words between us. I knew her feelings like that back of my hand and she knew mine. After spending all the time together, I’m sure it makes sense that she could read my emotions as easily as an open book. For others, while I was an open book, they were more like dyslexics who just couldn’t understand—like the doctors here with their dumb questions like, “Are you okay?” and “Are you feeling depressed?” Dumb questions and I never went well together.

  “What are you writing?” Melissa asked suddenly, glancing at the sheet of paper. Her eyes watered again as she read the words. “Cyril…you can’t do this to yourself.”

  What did she know? She didn’t have to watch Avery die. She managed to get away before she had to see it all. She wasn’t the one lying dead in a morgue or with a bullet in her leg. No, Melissa was doing just fine in the outside world. Ignoring her statement, I continued writing.

  That was my philosophy that year, which it was all about me.

  “So, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  I didn’t meet her eyes, hoping to tune out anything she had to say.

  “Jake has been at school.”

  My eyes widened and when I looked at her, I knew she wasn’t kidding.

  “He threatened me,” she whispered, leaning into me. “He told me if I told the police that he was the one who killed Avery, he would hurt me. So, I didn’t tell the cops anything.”

  For the first time in a week and a half, I said, “When was this?”

  Her eyes widened like mine, at the shock that I spoke, and said, “That night. When he ran off, he caught up to me and told me if I told them what happened, he’d find a way to hurt me. I couldn’t let that happen, Cyril. We need to do something.”

  Right then, I couldn’t feel my heart beat. My blood boiled down to my core and that was when I snapped. I got up and threw the chair back against the wall behind me. The nurses noticed almost immediately, and I screamed, “I’m going to kill that bastard!” I crumbled the paper on the desk and threw it across the room, and when the nurses came over to contain me, I dropped to my knees, feeling the pain wash over me. So
much sadness, so much anger, and so much disappointment was filling my soul, and I was sure any person could tell me my soul was going dark without needing to see it. The tears washed over me as well, and a female nurse, Emily, helped me up and led me down the hall to the chill room.

  Right then I knew I needed more than just some chilling. I really needed to be left alone, and that was exactly what I got. Now that I had broken my silence, I needed to figure out how I was going to stop Jake. He was not going to get away with this.

  An hour later, Emily came back to check on me. She was what most guys would call pretty, except I didn’t notice it at the time. She had dark hair, with bright green eyes and olive-toned skin. She looked like she had just graduated from med school, if I had to guess.

  “Are you okay?”

  Even though it was a dumb question, I said, “No.” And even though I was talking, that didn’t mean I needed to give long answers.

  “Are you ready to come back out? We're having group in about twenty minutes.”

  I nodded and followed her back out into the main sitting area where all of the others were gathered around. I took a seat near Austin but didn’t say a word. A second later, Emily came up to me and handed me folded up piece of paper. When I unfolded it, I realized it was from the memoir I started writing. On the back, she wrote, “Thought you might need this.” Folding it back up and putting it in my pocket, I knew I’d need to get back to work on that. Not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually.

  As if life really couldn’t have gotten worse, I was in for a really big surprise the next day when my parents came to visit. Yes, both parents. At the same time. According to them, they were holding off the divorce until I “felt better” and recovered from this. But was there really any recovering from what I’d dealt with?