Chapter Text
The most beautiful way to die, in Matt’s opinion, was to die skinny.
He wanted his relatives to see him that way. His brothers. His cousins. His classmates. He wanted them to look at his sickly thin body. He wanted them to cry and suffer and wonder what they could have done to stop him.
That was why Matt hadn’t eaten for forty-eight hours. He had made a playlist entitled “songs u should listen to before u die”. No one knew how literal he was being.
The notes were written. His possessions were in order, albeit not legally set in stone. He didn’t really want to think much about legalities. He didn’t really want to think much about anything.
The shower water switched off. Matt’s speaker continued to blare music, and he let it. Nick and Chris were off at some party with their cooler, older friends. Unburdened, for once, by Matt’s dead weight.
He toweled himself dry. He sat on his bed and took four deep breaths.
It was hard to believe that this was it. He looked around. He’d known this room for so long. He looked at the pathetic walls and blankets and tapestries that he’d hung up, trying to make it feel like home. It wasn’t anything like home.
Matt sat on the floor. He kept thinking about what he would do if it failed. He was scared out of his mind that it would. He didn’t know if this was what he wanted, but he just needed concern. Attention. He needed people to know and feel pity and help him. He needed so desperately to be saved.
Realizing he was still wrapped in his towel, he got up again. He put on the boxers he’d gotten for Christmas. He almost picked out his favorite hoodie, but decided on his second favorite instead. One of Chris’ that had been in his closet for so long Chris forgot about it.
Matt sat back down. He arranged the medications alphabetically. He sorted the blades from longest to shortest. He had no clue what he was doing. He half wanted someone to walk in, to find him here. To throw him a life raft before he went under.
Did he want to go under?
He took four more deep breaths. He turned down his music ever so slightly. He began to cry as he opened his water bottle and started swallowing.
It became hard after the first bottle. He felt dizzy and weak. His arms and legs wouldn’t stop twitching, and he had this funny, awful feeling in his stomach like he needed to vomit but nothing could come up.
He rolled up his sleeves and lazily gripped the blade, swiping and double swiping and triple swiping and he was just so tired and what was he even doing and oh God all he can see is red and is this the end and is this it but oh he’s so tired and he wouldn’t mind if it was the end. It was a peaceful, pretty way to die. Waterfalls of spurting red and he cut again, so far into his skin. He wanted to reach bone. Bone before he died. His vision was going and all he saw was peaceful, peaceful red and peaceful sleep.
But he was scared. He was so scared.
“Mom,” He whispered, or maybe imagined he whispered. It hurt. Everything hurt. “Chris, Nick, Dad. Please, I’m sorry.” He started to cry harder. He couldn’t feel anything anymore.
He cut with one hand, too afraid to stop, and gripped the carpet beneath him with his other hand. “I don’t wanna die,” He wailed, leaning his head back. Was he imagining this?
He wanted to go back. He wanted to go back so badly. He wanted to wake up at sunrise one more time. There was so much he didn’t do. He wanted to eat his mom’s food again. He wanted to see his brothers and his friends again. He wanted to have a last hug. A last meal. He wanted to feel the sun on his skin, the wind in his hair. He wanted music and to know what it felt like to fall in love. He wanted to go to a cabin in the woods. He wanted to laugh and cry and feel anything but this aching, empty fear. He wanted to swing on a playground again like he was seven. He wanted to meet new people. Hike to new places. Go to the beach. The lake. What would his children have looked like? What would he have looked like? He’ll never have a niece or a nephew. He’ll never grow old with his brothers, he’ll never sit at his mom’s bedside one last time. He’ll never smell flowers again. He missed flowers.
“I’m sorry,” He thought he screamed, but he couldn’t be sure. He hoped he was shouting. He hoped someone could hear his wails and pleas. He didn’t want it anymore. “Let me go back,” He pleaded, “Please.”
Trevor scratched at his door, whining and barking like he could sense it. Matt sobbed even harder. “Trevor, boy.” He wanted so badly to hug him. He needed to hug him. He tried to crawl towards the door, but all he saw was black and red and darkness and pain and it hurt, it hurt.
He crawled harder, but oh, there was so much blood. It was everywhere. He was made of blood and headaches and throwing up and he was twitching again and his head hurt and he was sobbing and he was dry heaving and he reached pathetically for the door and his arm hit the ground and he’d never felt pain so immense in his life.
“Please,” He whispered, his voice strangled. “Please.”
~~~
The hospital is very cold.
Nick is very cold.
His arms do not deliver any warmth.
The plastic chairs do not give any comfort.
“I should have brought a sweatshirt.” Chris’ words are so barely audible that Nick does not even hear. He stares straight ahead. He has anger in those eyes. So much anger. Matt’s anger. Their father’s. The two are interchangeable.
How can anyone look at anyone ever again without seeing Matt?
Their neighbor, Elise, sits beside them. She nervously taps her foot on the ground and twirls her hair. It is driving Chris crazy. He does not tell her this. He so badly wants her to stop.
He wonders what would have happened if Elise was not home to hear the screams.
He stops wondering.
He repeats, “I should have brought a sweatshirt.”
He looks at Elise. She does not look back. He is praying that someone will answer him.
She says, “Yes.”
Chris does not respond.
He is thinking about what he will eat for dinner, and if the hospital food is any good.
~~~
Their parents arrive at nine in the morning. They caught a nonstop four hour flight from their business trip.
Their eyes hold so much emotion that Chris looks away.
He does not want to think.
Who will scrub the blood off the carpet?
He winces.
No one.
The doctors speak to them. They are professional and cold. They say that they tried charcoal. They say that most of the medication was not absorbed into the bloodstream. They say that there was significant blood loss. They say Matt is in critical condition.
Chris hears none of this. He chooses to hear none of it.
Nick goes into the hallway. Everyone can hear a chair being thrown. Nick is escorted away and does not return until an hour later.
Chris does not notice he is gone.
The doctors return. They say there is hope that Matt will make a stable recovery. Chris just needs to be out of this godforsaken place.
“Elise,” He says. She turns off her phone and turns to him.
“How do you feel about grocery stores?”
She smiles softly, like she’s not sure if she’s allowed to. “I love grocery stores.”
He nods toward the door and stands. They leave together.
~~~
Just over two hours later, they sit on a curb together and talk. Chris has a granola bar in one hand and a Gatorade in another. Elise opted for an energy drink and a honey waffle.
They eat in silence. Finally, Elise says, “I’m sorry I didn’t hang out with you guys more.”
Chris chews and swallows. “Why?”
Elise thinks carefully.
“I don’t know. Life is short. I guess I should have been more neighborly to you. It’s not everyday that you move in next to a bunch of famous YouTubers and self-titled comedians.”
Chris nods. “I’m sorry, too. We all would have been more welcoming, but I think we were so busy with our channel.” Chris settles for talking about YouTube. That is something he could talk all day about. “You know, we used to post, like, three times a week. Nick would make us film all the time so we had prerecorded videos. And we had a podcast.”
Elise smiles. Chris continues to talk. They sit on the curb until Chris’ phone rings with a call from his father.
He shares a look with Elise before answering it. “Dad?”
His heart sinks to his chest. He squeezes his eyes shut and feels Elise’s hand gripping his own, like she’s trying to ground him back down to earth, or maybe stop him from himself.
“No news yet,” His father says.
Chris visibly relaxes, and Elise’s hand lets up.
“Matt is still in the same condition as before. They’re saying they’re doing everything they can to patch up, but evidently there were complications with the charcoal. They thought none of the drugs absorbed, but because it was over an hour, a lot more did than they think. And his wounds are critically deep. He is in danger of brain damage. They say he’ll make a smooth recovery once they sort out his nerves. But did you know he’s only got two doctors on him? Two? In critical condition?”
There is hope for Matt. The doctors know what they’re doing.
“I can’t believe it. We’re coming back now. Bye, Dad.”
“Everything okay?” Elise asks.
“Fine,” Chris says. “I’ll tell you more when we get there.”
Unfortunately, he never gets the chance.