Nine Days: Chapter 4

“breathe in, breathe deep, you know that’s all you need”—Chariot by Jacob Lee

It’s been two days since I last ran into Colin.

It could have happened yesterday, but I refused to go out with Winter. Which was a good decision because Winter ended up in—surprise—Aaron’s bed.

At least I had the dorm room to myself. I could fill my notebook without any interruptions.

To my surprise, Colin did not inform the counselor about my condition, at least no one tried to reach out to me yet. Maybe he didn’t read the entries after all and just looked for a name. Or maybe he asked his friends if they knew who this notebook belonged to. But that could not have been the case, I just recently bought it. No one would have known.

“Twelve more days,” I mumble to myself as I write another entry. “Twelve more days and this will all be over.”

Today is another one of my down-days. But that’s the case on most Sundays. I would much rather be at the ice rink and skate with my brother, but I can’t. Not because my mother wouldn’t allow it. Hell, she wouldn’t even have a say in it if my lie were to be true. But I haven’t been on the ice for good three years.

I’m sure I can still skate, but I don’t want to start loving something again. Not right before my life comes to an end. It’s just not worth it.

Dear whoever reads this,

I can’t stop thinking about skating.

Ever since Aaron mentioned it on Friday, I can’t stop thinking about how good it felt.

I can’t stop wondering if it would still feel this good.

Would I still feel like floating when I step on the ice?

Would I still lose track of all my surroundings when the sound of classical music streams through my ears as I go through with my program?

Would I still feel as light as a feather when my skates glide over the frozen water?

Would it be the same?

Aaron got an offer from a hockey team. He doesn’t seem too happy, but I know he is. It’s what he has wanted all his life.

I’m so proud of him. But I wish I could see him rank up with every new hockey season. Unfortunately, I will not make it this far. It is getting too much.

You should have seen the sadness that overcame him when I told him I will not return to skating.

Let me tell you this:

Aaron and I had this dream. It’s silly, but we were determined to make it come true.

Aaron Marsh, the superstar hockey player. He’s on the ice, playing against whatever team is on the agenda. And then, it’s one of the breaks. I would get on the ice and entertain the hockey fans while they wait for the game to continue.

I would skate and have fun.

I would have loved this.

We both would have.

It’s such a shame that it won’t be happening.

But, hey, at least I am determined to go through with my suicide plan.

Okay, this needs a better name.

My unalive journey 101.

Sounds just a stupid.

“Does this need reasons why I want to die?” I ask myself. “Probably,” I answer myself. Yeah, I talk to myself, so sue me.

What if Aaron finds me first and reads this book? He would want to know reasons behind all of this.

I rest my head in my hands. I can’t imagine how devastated my brother will be when he finds out that this notebook was the beginning of my ending and he held it in his hands before. When he finds out that with just one look into this book, he could have saved my life.

But it wouldn’t have. I would find a way to die, even if he found out in advance. This whole thing here, breathing, it’s getting too much for me. My body doesn’t want to be here anymore, neither does my soul. I’m tired. Oh, that’s a good thing to mention.

So I start to write again. And after that I start another entry. And another. And another. Until it’s time for the second letter.

The next letter will be even harder on me than Ana’s was. I was never close to Ana, but the next person, I owe my life to him.

Dear father,

If you’re reading this, that means I’ve died.

Jesus, that’s the lamest way to start a letter. Ever.

Don’t worry though, I am not suffering anymore. (I hope)

I used to. When I was still alive. Right in the moment when I am writing this letter to you.

Dad, I need you to know something.

I’m thankful for you. Truly, I am.

You gave me a family when I needed it.

You didn’t give up on me when mom wanted you to. You know, the same time she gave up on my brother.

I am so thankful that you gave Aaron a better mother. Liz is perfect. She is everything Aaron needs to be happy.

So, thank you. Thank you for giving my brother a chance to see me. Thank you for giving him a chance to have a better family than I did.

But most importantly, thank you for sticking around.

You know, it’s usually the dads that leave the family. According to some of the “hilarious” internet user. But that wasn’t you. You, dad, you were my hero. You are my hero.

You stuck around when you shouldn’t have. At least that’s what mom wanted: you gone.

But you stayed. You stayed for me. You made me happy. You made my childhood less gray.

There’s no other way to say this, dad.

You are my hero.

You were my chariot, urging me to become courageous and determined to take life into my own hands.

You were my savior when I needed you the most.

It’s ironic, I know. You couldn’t save me from my pain.

You couldn’t save me from my suffering.

You couldn’t save me from committing.

But dad, that is not your fault.

You did nothing wrong. You were always there for me. You always cared.

This is a battle I lost. A battle against myself. There was nothing you could have done to prevent it.

I love you, dad.

Just when I finish writing the letter to my father, the door to the dorm room opens. I hear giggles coming from the living room. It sounds like Winter’s, but she is not alone.

“LILS!” Yup, I can now confirm, it’s Winter. “COME GET DRUNK WITH US!” The hell I will. It’s Sunday. I have classes tomorrow. I won’t get drunk on a Sunday night with my best friend and whoever her company is. She knows better than to ask me such thing.

The door to my room swings open in a swift move. It’s so fast, I barely even see it until I hear the thud it creates when the door slams into my desk. Let’s pray my door didn’t get any damage from that.

“Mia told me she saw you with Aaron last Friday.” A completely drunk Winter stumbles into my room and takes a seat on my bed. Her makeup is smudged all over her face. It’s everywhere but where it’s supposed to be. She looks awful.

That’s a new thing to say because Winter Varley always looks flawless.

“We ran into each other at Claire’s,” I lie. “Told him to stop playing with you.”

“I call bullshit, Lily.” Of course she does. Just like everyone else at this college, Winter has no idea that Aaron and I are related. “He is totally cheating on me with you. My best friend. You’re not supposed to screw guys I’m in love with.”

I debate telling her the truth, but Winter has a big mouth. She talks. She loves listening to gossip, and she loves gossiping. If I told her Aaron is my twin brother, she would lose her shit and tell the whole school. Actually, she would probably print it onto a banner and hang it up by the main entrance.

Truth is, sometimes I wish people knew. Whenever someone sees us together, they immediately assume we’re dating. The disgusted looks I get from that are painful. It’s not like it should bother me much, but it does. Either they see me as the biggest whore in history, or some bitch that stole their man. Though, Aaron doesn’t do dates, and they should know that.

Either way, looks can hurt. And I think people seem to forget that. Not only words cut deep, looks do too.

“Believe what you want, Winter. I’m not up to discuss this. Aaron and I are friends. Not ever going to be more than that. If you think your ex-boyfriend is cheating on you, then maybe that’s a you-problem.”

Winter lets out a gasp, covering her mouth with her hand. She looks at me as if I just told her to kill herself.

“You know what, Lily Reyes”—she shoots up from my bed, crossing her arms in front of her chest—“go fuck yourself!” I don’t bother reacting to that. She doesn’t even give me a chance to do so.

The next thing I know, an angry Winter is storming toward my door. She grabs the door handle, pulling it after her as she leaves my room.

But right before she leaves the room completely, she turns around and looks at me one more time. “I liked you, Lily. But you’re such a bitch. Maybe you are better off dead.”

Ironic, isn’t it? I believe the exact same thing. I am better off dead. And here’s proof that not only I believe so.

But the worst bit, even if Winter, my best friend, is mad at me. As a friend, you don’t tell the other person they’re better off dead. In fact, you don’t ever say those words to anyone.

Wishing someone to die is not okay. Not ever. No matter how deep your hatred goes. It’s never okay to wish for someone to die.

Who knows, maybe they’re like me and wish the exact same thing.

And who knows, maybe they will actually go through with it.

Like me.

And oh-so suddenly, I feel like I’m Hannah Baker, and Winter is my thirteenth reason why.