Suicide Note Chapter 4 Chapter 4 "Umm, I was suicidal." "Yes but whyyyyyy?" He enunciated. I looked around the room uncomfortably. He looked at me and stared into my eyes. "Why are you here?" He repeated. I rocked on my feet and inhaled. "My dad left me. I started cutting, and my mom put me through crappy counselors. Then I attempted suicide." "Rough," he said. He reached over to his iPod and hooked it up to his speaker. "What music do you like? I've got everything:techno, rock, rap, pop, 80s..." I sat down at his desk-side chair."Surprise me." On came a song that I had never heard of, but it had a good beat. From then on, at free time everyday, we'd hang out, compare music, and talk, which felt different to me. "If I never use my pain pills, promise me you won't EVER attempt suicide," he said to me. "Deal."

Suicide Note Chapter 3 Chapter 3 I ceased to acknowledge his invite and continued working. "In a few minutes, you will move onto stations that calm you. There is an art station, gym games, swimming, or chatting with a neighbor," Phil said. 'How old do you think we are? Stations? Really?' "Which station will you go to?" Wesley asked me. "Art." "Same here!" I was beginning to feel like he was just following me. I nodded in approval. Minutes later, we entered the art room of the clinic. Canvas upon canvas were set up with brushes galore. A smile spread upon my face. I walked over and picked up a soft-bristled brush, and before I knew it, I was in a trance. Strokes of blue, purple, white, and black swirled around all corners of the page. That's the thing I liked about art; everything else seemed to morph perfectly together. "Yeah, that's really cool," Wesley said, breaking my concentration. I felt annoyed at first, but I let it pass. "Thanks. What did you make?" "Umm, well..." I peered over his shoulder and saw a bad imitation of a sunset. It pained me to look, but I laughed anyways. "Hey! I'll have you know I worked very hard on that!" We were sadly forced to set the easels aside and join the cafeteria line for lunch. I saw Amanda with a counselor, who was trying to coax food into her mouth. I received a bland turkey sandwich and sat down. Wesley scooted right over to me. His tray contained an identical sandwich, with two white pills next to it. "What are those?" "Pain pills," he said cooly. "I destroyed my shoulder playing lacrosse this spring." Although I doubted a muscular guy like him could destroy his shoulder, I didn't say anything. I quietly picked apart my sandwich. "For free time, wanna hang? There's something I can show you!" He said. "Umm sure." After Phil made a brief announcement, we were free for an hour. "Come here!" Wesley said, sounding over-joyed. I slowly followed him, trying not to laugh at his crazed expression. Whatever he is about to show me must be great! We climbed two flights of stairs and landed at his door. Room 301. He unlocked the door and let me in. Inside was his wooden twin bed with a navy blue comforter, and a single picture of some football player. David Ortiz, yup it was definitely him...or is he baseball? He opened up his closet and opened a mini compartment that is nearly invisible to the average eye. The opening was about one square foot. Inside was a black bag. I took a step back. "What's your DOC?" He asked. "DOC?" "Drug of choice." I have him a nasty look. The point of you being here is to try to get better. "I don't...do that." "Oh." "Yeah." My mind flashed back to his pain pills at lunch. "Pain pills" I now thought of them. He popped a pill out of the bag. "I didn't lie to you out there, they are pain pills. I just...need them. Like always." Well, his mysterious diagnosis was now found. I actually was surprised he was an addict of sort. His glowing skin and vibrant eyes told he was nothing more than an addict of air and water! "Parents got a divorce. Brother died. Killed my knee in football. Got prescribed pain pills and realized they helped me both mentally and physically. That was three years ago." He looked ashamed. "These places...they think if you just quit cold turkey, everything will be glorious. Hell no. I've had like, two migraines today alone." He looked up at me and motioned me to sit down. "So, tell me your story." Comment and like please!

Suicide Note Chapter 2 Chapter two The group reluctantly paired up with whom they first made eye contact with. Douche boy made eye contact with me. He walked over to me and sat down. Neither if us said anything, we just looked at each other. His brown hair sweeped down his head. His eyes could be compared to emeralds. He looked down again and smirked. "I'm here because my parents sent me here." 'No way! I can here cuz I felt like it!' I felt like saying. Instead, I rolled my eyes and silently agreed. He tapped his foot against the ground and looked uncomfortable. "You...umm...you okay?" I asked him who looked distracted. "How are we doing over here?" Phil enthused as he came over. "Are we not strangers anymore?" I said nothing. "I'm Wesley," the brown-haired boy said. "Aria," I said back. "Good progress!" Phil said, and he moved onto another group. I bit my nail, why the hell would I tell anyone other than the psychiatrist why I was here? The meeting ended, and we were sent to our rooms to unpack and "destress" as they called it. My room I'd be staying in for the next two months consisted of two twin beds, a dresser, and a closet. Pretty damn plain if you asked me. A skinny girl sat on the neighboring bed. The brunette in support group, the anorexic. "I'm Amanda." "Aria," I responded. "I don't eat," she said. I nodded and almost said, 'i can see that,' but decided not to make enemies with my roommate. "Want a smoke?" She offered me a long, white Marlboro. "Not in the mood," I answered honestly. I laid down in my bed and curled up with my sketch pad And drew to my Geary's desire. I fell asleep, sketchpad in hand. The next morning we were woken up at 70 and called down to breakfast. I was never much of a breakfast eater, but I reluctantly took a bagel and sat down my myself. I bit into the bagel and looked up. Wesley. "What?" I asked as he stared at me. "Nothing." He sat down next to me. "So Aria, tell me something about yourself. Enlighten me," he smiled. I scrunched up my face as if to ask 'are you serious?' but I gave in. "I...umm... I like to paint," I said. "Hmm, I was never much if a painter, but I did like Monet's work. All in secret, of course, football players can't be caught admiring works of art," he winked at me, and got up and walked away. I finished eating, and as a group we met in front of the building, equipped to complete service. "I would like you, as partners or groups, to collect as much trash around the building as possible. And go!" Phil announced. I could barely take a breath before Wesley was at my side. "I chose my partner," he grinned. The hell was his problem? Why did he keep following me? I opened up my trash bag and began filling it with the litterings people left behind. "I heard that the team who picks up the most trash wins some sort of prize," he smiled. "We gotta go as fast as we can." I sighed and continued picking up cigarette buds and plastic bottles. "Aria, is that the best you can do? Strive for excellence!" He said, imitating Phil's squeaky voice. I bit my lip to keep from laughing. "Why do you keep following me?" I questioned him. "I don't know, you seem...interesting, different." I nodded and continued around the school. "You know, there's a back door at the end if each hall that leads outside. I take full advantage of the bit of freedom they accidentally give-you should too. Please like and comment! Chapter 3 soon!

Suicide Note Chapter one suicide note "Is Aria Williams here?" Phil, the leader of support group called to the group. I stared up at him with eyes full of hate. "Here," I muttered. "Aria?" He called again. "I'm here!" "Good! To start our first day together, I want to urge to each and every one of you that you are all here for a reason, and that you are all alike." Damn, he's just like the rest. And I had hope for this one to not be as mindless as the others. I have learned to stay clear of the pathetic support leaders who start off their schpeil as he did. "Now, I want you to go back to the time and place that caused us to join paths, and familiarize yourself with that scene," Phil stated, "close your eyes." My mind flashed back to my note. My suicide note. Frickin thing started this all. Damn. I wasn't looking for this, really. I didn't want some glorious death where thousands would come to my funeral, or have my Facebook spammed with messages, I just wanted to be done. I knew my parents would miss me, I guess, but I honestly felt as if I was doing them a favor. I'd wasted countless dollars on medical expenses, I just didn't feel like it was worth it anymore. I scribbled a note saying "bye I love you (blah blah)" and left it in the kitchen. I wanted it to be painless, so I grabbed a bottle of Advil, and stuffed as many into my mouth as I could swallow, and I did. Next thing I remembered was being airlifted to the hospital with my mother next to me. She found the note, and called 911 to save me. "Aria, we need to know what you took. ARIA!" The EMT screamed at me. I felt dazed during it, as if I were high or something. My heart throbbed with each heartbeat. "My baby!" My mom shrieked and cried over me. "I'll give you another minute to replay your scene," Phil said, interrupting my thought. Can't do that now. You broke my thought. I took this time to familiarize myself with the surroundings. I'd be spending my freakin whole summer here, and although I was in Florida, I didn't want to be here. I felt like an outsider amongst the many blondes and brunettes in the room-my hair nearly black, with a blue streak I had dyed myself to match my blue eyes. I could easily tell why each person was sent here. Blondy to my left:anorexia. Brunette to my right: pot addict. Red head across from me: alcohol dependency. Boy with glasses:anxiety disorder. One boy puzzled me, with his healthy looking skin and body, he looked normal, even great. His muscles shown through his shirt, and he looked down at his feet, continuing to imagine his scene. Nope, he was texting. Common case of douche, I decided would be his diagnosis. "Now that your scene is fresh in your mind, I want to pick a partner and share with them your story. And go!" Hope you like it! Chapter 2 will come soon!