The doctors said he was almost brain dead. That his heart was functioning, but he could only last so long with minimal brain activity.

I sat, numb, by his side. To everyone's protest, I wouldn't move. I wouldn't sleep or eat. I would just blankly stare at his wonderful yet placid face.

I thought about how the rest of the night went. The paramedics attended to our various injuries, none of which were life threatening. And then we were told that one of the truck drivers was drunk, running into us at a high speed. And then, of course, there was another trailer truck following behind, and the rain made it difficult to stop. We were hit twice, we were hit violently, and now Vic was dying.

Although, I refused to believe it.

Vic, my Vic, who saved me from myself? The very Vic who taught me how to deal with the past in order to be okay in the future? My Vic who was able to defeat his demons? Who I looked up to for that reason? Who was my perfect example? No, the Vic I loved could not be dying.

I thought my demons were dealt with. But no, they were just buried.

I was a ticking time bomb.

Maybe I didn't cause this accident, but only bad things ever happen in my presence.

Ever since I joined this band, I have tainted them with tragedy.

I leaned over and kissed Vic's forehead. He looked peaceful, at least.

But I was a fucking mess.

I was a curse.

~~

“Claire,” Jaime walked into Vic’s hospital room. I was half asleep, sitting close to him. Kind of like the way he sat close to me when Jake shot me, but even closer.

“Hm?”

“You need to take a break,” he said.

“No I don’t,” I moaned.

“Come on, it’s been a week. Get up,” Jaime didn’t sound friendly anymore. We were all tired and depressed.

“Fuck off, Jaime.” I didn’t mean that.

“You know you’re not the only one! We love him too, you know!”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Okay.”

“Jesus Christ!” Jaime threw his hands up in the air.

“He has nothing to do with it. And if he did, we wouldn’t be in this situation,” I spat. Wow, I didn’t mean that, either. I shook my head. “I didn’t mean any of that,” I mumbled.

“Yeah, okay,” Jaime turned. I tried to change the subject.

“Where’s Mike?” I asked. I hadn’t seen him in a few hours. If there was anyone I wanted to see, it was Mike.

“With his parents,” Jaime said, softening his voice. None of us wanted to argue. Not here, not now.
I stood up. “I guess I should let them have time with him, too,” I stammered on my words, tears forming. How could I be so selfish? He had a real family.

“They didn’t want to be in here. They don't like seeing him like a… like a fucking potato,” Jaime shook his head, embracing me in a hug. “You are not selfish, you’re just in love,” he continued quietly, as if he was reading my mind.

I looked at Vic. He did look like a goddamn potato. “I think I do need a break,” I said lowly. Jaime nodded and led me out of the room. I forced myself not to look back.

~~

Another week passed. It felt like a month, a year, an eternity. I spent most of my time with Tony. I was afraid to be with Mike and his parents, although I tried my best. And Jaime liked to be alone; I was worried about him. I tried to forget myself, I tried to pay all of my attention to the band members whom I loved.

But sometimes, I can’t help but be selfish.

I snuck out of the hospital without telling any one and numbly went to Vic’s house. I kicked off my shoes, put on a t-shirt of his, and crawled into his bed. It smelled like him, and I almost thought that he was here. But when I opened my eyes, I was alone, and a huge hole filled my chest. I couldn’t breath; I was having another panic attack; I was alone, with nobody to save me.

I cried into his pillows until I had nothing left.

But even my indulgence of going to his bed was not my selfish act.

There were no signs of Vic ever coming back. His parents were thinking about pulling the plug—if he ever woke up, who knows what he would be like? Would he remember anything at all? The doctors say he would be as good as a vegetable.

But his parents also didn’t want to pull the plug without my consent. They were sweethearts caring about my opinion, but what legal right did I have? I didn’t know what he wanted. Why would we ever discuss such a thing?

So maybe if I pulled my hypothetical plug, I wouldn’t have to answer. They could do what they thought felt right.

I tried not to think about Jaime, or Tony, or Mike. I wrote them each a letter, placing them on Vic’s bed. I even wrote Vic a letter.

And then I numbly went to my bag, where I had recovered an old blade. Before, though, I went to Vic’s cabinet to look for something. Ah, I found what I needed.

Amitriptyline. I didn’t even think about why Vic would need an anti-depressant. I checked the date—yes, it was an old bottle. I chuckled a little. Vic doesn’t—I mean didn’t—ever clean his cabinets out. What a fool.

I took a quick shot before I started, and then I took forty pills out of the bottle. I downed them all quickly in less than fifteen minutes. No thinking, just down the hatch.

Everything was becoming foggy. I felt sick, but I didn’t do anything about it.

Well, maybe I did.

I dragged the razor over my forearm, just below the opposite side of the elbow. I dragged it across again and again and again, until I was at my wrist.

The thing about blood is that it’s so beautiful when it quietly spills from your own arm.

Notes

I've never written anything so depressing in my life before, i'm a tad worried that i was able to do it.

I included these chapters to make a note that you can't be so dependent on one person.
Here, we can see that she obviously can't function without Vic.
I'm getting a little thematic here *blushes*

IT GET'S BETTER I PROMISE JUST KEEP READING



ps i may or may not have cried a little while writing this