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1992 Agraba Court
“You don’t get it! You don’t understand at all!” I texted back.
“Yes I do! Stop being stupid!” He responded.
“Stop calling me stupid!”
“You are stupid!”
“No I am not! You don’t understand at all. I am so sick of this. I’m done. Cutting just isn’t enough anymore. I’m done with this all, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me, Chase. Goodbye.” I texted back. I threw my phone down and started tearing my room apart, searching for my scissors.
He texted back “No! Ali, please, no! Don’t!” He immediately understood. I didn’t respond, and within a minute, he called me. I sent it straight to voicemail and continued looking for my scissors.
I paused to listen as he left a voicemail. “Please, Ali, don’t do this! This isn’t the answer! Please, please, please just think! I love you, you can’t do this! Think of all the people who would just die without you! Please! I love you, don’t-“ and it cut him off. That reminded me.
My friend Michael had told me that if I killed myself, he’d do the same. So I texted him quickly. “Hey Michael, this isn’t your fault, okay? I just couldn’t deal with it anymore. I’m sorry. I really do love you, really. And I always will. So stay safe, be strong, I love you and goodbye.” Then I resumed my scissor hunt.
Chase tried calling my twice more, and during the third call, I finally found my scissors.
I walked over to my window, looking out on the street where I had lived for the past 11 years. It all ended tonight.
I spread the scissors, and stared at the shining blades for a moment. Then I gently laid a blade over my wrist, just below my hand, which was much higher up than I normally cut- usually, it was just below my elbow that received the pain. My hand was steady, and I took a deep breath, then, quickly and savagely, I sliced open my wrist. I changed the angle, and then did it again, making an X.
The cuts were extremely deep. I think I may have even severed the arteries in two, although I’m not for sure. I stared in fascination as the blood poured over my arm. I tilted it in different angles to make the blood change paths.
I suppose it was a good thing that no one was home tonight. It was just me, so no one could stop me or save me.
Then I heard the strangest thing. A car pulled up in my driveway, and someone pounded on the front door. I think I heard the door open, but I can’t say for sure. I was quickly losing consciousness.
I heard footsteps pound up the stairs and the door burst open, revealing none other than Chase! I was slumped over against the wall, the carpet around me stained red. He crossed my room in two large strides, calling 911.
“Hello?! Yes, I’m at 1992 Agraba Court, a girl here slit her wrists, attempting suicide. She’s dying!” He shouted frantically into his phone. He knelt beside me. The world was going gray and fuzzy, and he was sliding in and out of focus.
“Please stay calm, sir. Apply pressure to the wounds, emergency services are on their way now.” A calm woman on the other line said. I was surprised at how easy it was to hear when I had almost entirely lost vision.
BAM! The pain spiked, and my vision came back. Chase was holding his shirt, which he’d quickly pulled off, to my wrist, using his tremendous strength to try and stop all the bleeding. He was crying.
“Chase?” I mumbled, using what energy I had.
“Ali? F*ck Ali, stay alive. You can’t do this to me!” He said, applying even more pressure.
“Stop that.” I muttered, trying feebly to push his hands away. “Hurts….” I trailed off.
“Good. Pain means you’re alive. Pain is good. Keep breathing. Dying is not allowed. This is a No Dying Zone,” He rambled, trying to keep me conscious, although
I was fading again.
I squinted at his chest. “You do have a six pack!” I said, trying to laugh, but just coughing instead. I looked at all the blood on the walls, the floor, me, and Chase. I had to be running out.
“Ali! Of all the stupid…” He said, freaking out even more. Dimly, I heard faint sirens in the distance. “I’m sorry, this is going to hurt.”
He picked me up in his arms, and carried my downstairs, somehow managing to grab both his and my phone on the way out.
“That’s mine…” I mumbled.
“I know, honey. I’m going to call your parents as soon as I make sure you’re alive.” He told me. An ambulance pulled up outside, and Chase carried me out the front door as EMTs ran up the yard. Then, I blacked out.
“I’m afraid it may be too late,” an EMT informed Chase as they loaded Ali into the ambulance. They immediately staunched the wounds so the bleeding would finally stop.
“Can I ride with you?” Chase asked.
“By all means. What is her name? And your relation to her?” the EMT asked, loading Chase up as they sped away, back to St Mary’s Hospital.
“Her name is Alixandria Sadery. I’m Chase Miklos. I guess you could say we’re best friends,” Chase said, staring down at Ali’s face. The EMT took out a laptop.
“Spell that please.” He ordered.
“A-l-i-x-a-n-d-r-i-a. S-a-d-e-r-y.” Chase said, feeling numb. The EMT called St Mary’s to tell them her blood type and other information.
When they pulled up in the emergency bay, Chase didn’t hesitate to follow, but he was stopped by a burly nurse. “Call her parents, boy. Then you can see her.”
Chase nodded and fished Ali’s phone out of his pocket. It took him a little while to find the address book, but he finally called Ali’s dad, who picked up on the final ring “Hello?”
“Hi, Mr. Sadery, this is Chase Miklos. I’m at St Mary’s Hospital with Ali… She just tried to kill herself,” He said in a shaking voice.
“I’m on my way,” Ali’s dad said, then hung up.
The nurse led Chase to the back, where they were trying to pump blood back into Ali. There were five long seconds between every beat of her heart, and Chase counted them out.
Then, there wasn’t a beat after the fifth second. There wasn’t another beat. The monitor flat lined, and the only thing Chase could hear was the unbroken noise of the machine. There wasn’t another beep. The line stayed flat.
After eleven years, Ali’s residence at 1992 Agraba Court had ended.