I feel the darkness enter my saliva, and I swallow, feeling it get stuck in my throat. Then I feel my throat grow to a plum before a tear rolls down my cheek. I can’t breathe, and suddenly, more tears roll out. As it enters my mouth, I realize how much I’ve wanted to cry in the past week. It feels good to let it out. It feels good for the lump in my throat to burst, finally letting the darkness spill out of my body.
My eyes sting, and the taste of my salty tears remains in my mouth as I realize how much I missed the beach. I haven’t gone in ages, and I miss how the seawater tastes. I remember I used to hate it; I used to complain about swallowing that salty water, but I miss it unbelievably now. I want things to go back to the way they were before.
But that’s impossible, no matter what I do. And wallowing in my past forever will never let me move on.
As I rub the tears away from my eyes, I take in the hospital room around me for the first time. The fresh, white walls look cleaner than most I’ve seen, and the floral scent of flowers hides away the smell of medicine I haven’t smelled in over four years. Four years without the hospital; I wonder how I’ve been able to work normally at all. Doesn’t matter. What matters is finding my friends. There’s a black hole in my chest, and it warms my surroundings, though it makes it just a little harder to breathe properly.
The black hole grows in size as I remember what I saw last before I fell. My best friend, shrieking and yelling at me in a way I’d never seen before. We were both sitting in his bedroom when he wanted to get rid of it. The secret we’ve been keeping to ourselves for the past four years.
He lost control and, sure, I was worried he might hurt me… but mainly I was worried he’d hurt himself. He hit my face with something metal, and I fell unconscious. I don’t know what happened after that… but I know he’s probably in the hospital with me.
I roll out of the hospital bed and look around the room, taking in the roses from the people who love me. I try to count as many as I can, and when I reach 5, even flowers from people who dislike me, I feel the lump grow in my throat again. I won’t let the tears come out this time and wash my face in the sink. No more crying, I tell myself. You have to be strong for them.
I wash my face again, then open the door and step outside. All the rooms are out of commission, except for one across the hall. That must be where he is. I open the door slowly, and my heart rate speeds up at an alarming pace when I see my friends crowding around the hospital bed. Did something bad happen to him? Is it that bad?
They turn to me and start speaking, but I don’t hear them over the buzzing in my ears. Don’t hesitate, I tell myself, forcing the lump back down my throat. Just tell them.
“Guys…” They turn their attention to me and fall silent. They know how much I hate talking. I bet they can even sense the urgency in my voice. My best friend sits up in his bed, his eyes trained on mine, and a comforting smile rising on his lips. The sight of his genuine smile makes mine threaten to show. I keep it down, though, and take a deep breath.
The buzzing disappears, and I feel my shoulders relax for the first time in over four years. The black hole in my chest fades away, and I realize with a shudder how cold the hospital is. I take another deep, shuddering breath. It doesn’t matter how they react. It’s been holding me back for four years. I need to move on. Just say it.
“I have to tell you something.”
