Our Last Dance

Chapter 29

Trigger warning: Suicidal thoughts

A constant buzzing filled my ears, and my head throbbed relentlessly. I struggled to open my eyes, only to be met with resistance from heavy lids. When I tried to lift my hand to my head, a sharp pain shot through me, making me wince.

Where was I?

I remembered losing consciousness after hearing that Esha had died. A sharp pang shot through my chest at that thought.

A choked sob escaped my lips, accompanied by a solitary tear tracing a path down my cheek.

Gradually, I blinked my eyes open, greeted by the soft glow of dim lighting in the room. Beyond the window, darkness enveloped the night. Taking in my surroundings, I noticed the rhythmic beeping of a nearby machine and the IV drip connected to my arm.

It was clear-I was in a hospital.

Suddenly, the past I had dreamt flooded back to me. The accident, Will's illness, Esha's death-all came rushing back, along with the realization that I had caused the accident. It became difficult to breathe.

Tears blurred my vision, and raw guilt slapped me in the face. It consumed me entirely, as if it were the only emotion left in the world. My entire being buzzed with it-I had killed my best friend. I had taken a life.

The audacity I had to blame everyone else around me, when I was the one who caused all of this, struck me like a lightning bolt. A sharp, physical pain stabbed at my chest, causing me to instinctively clutch at it as I struggled to sit up and lean forward. The monitor beside me began beeping more urgently.

My breathing turned ragged, each inhale a struggle as tears streamed down my face unabated. The monitor beeped louder, its urgent rhythm matching the chaos within me. Gasping for air, I resorted to breathing through my mouth.

Esha's lifeless stare haunted me, her dead eyes piercing my soul. It was the only image stuck in my mind, replaying relentlessly.

Every detail played on repeat in my mind, every breath I took felt like an imprint of her presence within me.

It drove me insane.

A tiny voice inside me wondered why I was still breathing, knowing what I had caused. It was true-I should have been the one gone instead of her. I was the one meant to die.

That tiny voice grew into a roar, and then it morphed into a scream, until there was no other sound but my cries. The screams were drowned out by the steady blare of the heart monitors, which now sounded almost deafeningly loud.

My breaths became shallow and painful, my hand trembling as I forcefully tore the IV from my right arm.

Then, ignoring the pain, I peeled off the electrodes stuck to my chest. The monitor's blaring continued, so I unplugged the wires, feeling a rush of anxiety. With a final pull, I removed the last electrode, throwing it aside.

The room fell into silence, and for a fleeting moment, so did my mind. But the respite was short-lived as reality came crashing back in. My face contorted in pain as I gripped the sheets tightly.

Blood soaked through my hospital clothes and stained the bedsheets red as I shook while standing up. Why was I still alive? Why did they save me when I'd done something so bad? They should've let me die.

Every question spun in my head, but each one led to the same answer.

I could do it now. I could die and make up for what I did.

A small voice in my head whispered, "No wonder Will didn't want to contact or see you again."

My lips quivered as I let out a sob.