I've always had a feeling that I would die young. Ever since I started pondering on deaths door I've had this feeling. I could care less about the hell and heaven shenanigans, but death. I want it. The end of my life.
I want to be in my suit, in my...
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Did you really think I died? It's too soon for me, I've still got loads of things to do.
I only remember the crash in flashes. I remember the sound of the sirens blaring in the distance. I remember not being able to feel my legs. I remember the swift, sharp pain to the gut, the devouring blackness, gasping mouth, seeping into the sockets of my eyes. I was blind and suffocating at once. I saw Jesus Christ for a good minute. I have no idea how long it's been, but everything is clearer.
The hospital is quiet and I don't even know how I got here. All that matters at the moment is that my family is in my room.
The hospital called them for my near death which wasn't from the crash, but rather from the methamphetamine overdose. I didn't know I was dying while driving. I thought the pain I was experiencing was from the panic attack.
My moms hand is holding mine as if it'll help speed up this intervention. "The doctors said," my dad speaks first which doesn't calm my nerves. "It was close to a miracle that you survived with all the drugs in your body."
I look away from my dad towards the IV, wanting to pull it out and make a run for it, knowing that I won't make it far with my broken leg. Norah sighs before she begins speaking. "You told me you'll only ever smoke weed-"
"You knew." My mother sniffles. My head snaps to her to see how extremely drained she looks, but still sits in her uncomfortable black dress. Her hair is no longer straight as it is rather a frizz ball most likely from the rain. "I didn't, I only knew about the weed." My sister cowers, bringing her knees to her chest.
My father clears his throat which tells us all to stop speaking. "What's- how did you lead to this? To doing meth?" Time to fake a heart attack and get out of this confrontation.
"Oh no, my heart," I grip onto my chest, falling back onto my bed. "I think I'm having a heart attack." Geez, how do you fake a heart attack?
"Noah," my mother drawls. "Sit up straight." I roll my eyes, sitting up with a body too weak to comply. "Start talking. We need to know."
I bite the inside of my cheek, thinking back to the first time. "I... started a couple of months ago after you hurt my back." My eyes go to my father and guilt washes over his face. "It was only pain killers then I ran out of it and started crushing moms Xanax pills."
The same guilty face my father wears appears on hers. "Then I moved onto cocaine," suddenly I realize, horrified, my dad is crying. He doesn't make a sound, but tears are running down his cheeks. I haven't seen him cry in years, not since Neveah's death. He does care about me. "I stopped for a few weeks until I went to Paris. That's when I... started shooting and I kept on doing it." I look down at my hands, pulling at the skin around my nails.
Water fill my eyes and my voice drops to a whisper. "I don't- I don't know what's wrong with me," I sniffle, the tears falling all over me. "I don't know- I- I don't know." My mother stands up, pushing herself past my father to me. Her arm drapes over my shoulder as I place my head on her shoulder.
