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1983.
1983 was a very important year for the entire Afton family. That was also the reason William Afton, Elizabeth's father, had made those 4 numbers the code to open up his safe. The safe where he kept his gun, in case it was ever necessary for any sort of emergency.
He was kind enough to tell his children the code, after all, Elizabeth and Dave were teenagers now. They could know.
1-9-8-3.
4 numbers, that's all it was.
4 numbers were all that Elizabeth needed to open the safe, grab the damn gun, and put a bullet through her own head.
She rocked back and forth on her bed. It was probably more than 2 in the morning already, and Dave wasn't going to wake up any time soon. She stared at the razor beside her. Her sleeves were pulled up, and her arms were freshly bleeding, soaking in her own misery again. The difference between her cold, shivering skin against the warm blood coming from within was painful. It was all so painful, but it prevented her head from running wild.
Actually, that was a lie. It didn't prevent much of anything. She still couldn't stop herself from thinking about it. Her final day, or so she thought. She'd gotten to hold her father's gun in her hands before. It was cold, and heavy. So heavy. And yet, it would be so easy.
She could picture it in her head, so clearly. She would get off from the bed, and walk towards the safe. 1-9-8-3.
She'd grab the gun, and all she needed was one bullet inside. And when that was done, she would carry it with her into the bathroom. Maybe she'd even get to look at herself in the mirror one last time.
In her reflection, she would see all her failures, her short-comings, how bad she had been. She'd feel every cut she ever made on her own body, every tear she shed while she cried herself to sleep. And before she could process how much she hated what she saw in the mirror, the trigger would have been pulled.
She would color her ginger hair with her own crimson blood, hitting her head on the sink as she fell to the floor. The mirror and the walls would stain with her agony, and the bathroom floor would pool with her brains and blood.
At once, the life would drain from her eyes, as she thought of the life she would never get, the life she didn't deserve. She thought that maybe she would see her mother again, and live forever in peace. Whatever came after, it didn't matter. When it all faded to black, she would be gone.
And hours later, the sun would come up, and it would shine brighter than it ever had before. The flowers would grow prettier, and everyone would be free. They'd be free from her. They would live their lives, in peace. And one day, everyone would have forgotten all about her. And when nobody remembered her, everyone would be better off. Everything would be better off once Elizabeth Afton had died.
But, unfortunately for her, that wasn't real. None of it was. Elizabeth was still rocking back and forth on her bed. She was crying silently, although she didn't realize when she had started. Her arms had stopped bleeding by now, and there was still some dry blood on her skin. She realized what she was doing; she'd been fantasizing about her suicide for what felt like hours. Something inside her told her this was wrong, and she should probably ask someone for help, anyone. But she pushed that thought away as soon as it had first appeared. She thought of Charlie if she could see her now. Charlie. That's right. If anyone, she at least would have to tell Charlie something when she killed herself. She imagined what she might write on her letter, her final words to her Charlie. Her best friend. Her one and only.
Charlotte. My dear, beautiful Charlotte. I'm sorry, my love. I'm so sorry. I tried so hard, but I couldn't. I wasn't strong enough, I couldn't be strong for you. In reality, thinking of things to say for the last time was a lot harder than she thought. Maybe even harder than killing herself to begin with.
I love you so much. I don't care about anything anymore. I know that I love you. I know that it's wrong, it's perverted and it's inhumane, that's what everyone says. I don't care about them anymore. The truth is that all I want is you, and I can't have you. I can't have anything. My life is wrong and everything is wrong and I'm wrong. It's always been me, and I can't fix myself. I'm sorry I put you through this. I love you.
Elizabeth's tears dried up, as she pictured Charlie reading a note such as the one she imagined herself writing. She'd be heartbroken, Elizabeth thought. It was simply another one of her shortcomings. Another failure. As everything had been her entire life.
What was stopping her? She could commit right now. Maybe she wouldn't have a note. But she could end the suffering. End it all. Tonight. Right now.
She stood up, hopping off the bed and walking into the living room. But she didn't make it to the safe. She felt…sleepy.
Elizabeth slowly walked to the couch, laying down on it.
She would just stay here awhile. In 5 minutes or so, she would stand up, and she would end her life.
It was easy. She was going to do it. She was ready.
But Elizabeth didn't do that. No, instead…she slept.
The next morning, Elizabeth woke up all on her own. She was startled by her own surroundings, and fell off from the couch.
She looked all around her. How?…
It didn't work. She couldn't bring herself to do it. Why…
She had failed. Again. Just like every time before.
Elizabeth sobbed quietly. She was alive.
Another day.