During the twenty minutes it takes for the chemicals to do their magic, I go through another cigarette and swallow down a quarter of a bottle of vodka. I really shouldn't be drinking, but a deep impenetrable sadness has a tight hold on me, and alcohol is the only thing that drowns it.
Then, I strip off my clothes and get in the cruddy shower to wash out the bleach. My body feels sluggish and heavy as I rinse, and I can't tell if it's from the vodka or because life feels so fucking abysmal.
Halfway through, the alcohol hits and my surroundings begin to swirl around me. It feels like I got trapped in a rocket and it's blasting off.
“Fuck,” I mutter, slapping my hand on the wall in an attempt to stabilize myself.
I crank off the water and stumble out of the shower, snatching a towel on the way out. I wrap it around me, the material nice and scratchy. So much better than the fluffy soft shit.
Cold droplets from my drenched hair trail down my body and cause goosebumps to rise. I tug on a white tank and sleep shorts, water from my half-dried body soaking into my clothes.
The stall is directly in front of the sink, so the moment I look up into the mirror, Kev is already staring back at me.
The only things he and I share are our blue eyes and broad smiles. He always favored our father, with stick-straight hair, round eyes, and a strong nose, while I favored our mother, with the wild curly hair and more elfish-like features.
Doesn’t matter, anyway. The eyes were always the worst part. I can’t see my own without seeing his, too.
“Fuck you,” I snarl at my—his—reflection. He grins, and that only serves to amplify my fury.
The half-empty bottle of vodka sits on the sink edge, and I swipe it off by the neck, taking a generous swig. The burn feels like acid going down my throat, but it forces back the vomit trying to climb up it.
“You know, sometimes I wish that when we were in Mom's stomach, I would've eaten you,” I say, then take another gulp.
I chuckle because that's also kind of gross.
But that stupid fucking grin is echoing my own, enough to make me snap.
Snarling, I grab the gun from the sink again, except this time, I point it directly at Kev. Tears well in my eyes, and his smile widens. He's still taunting me. I have no idea where he's gone, but he's always been good at tormenting me even when I'm alone.
“You don't get to do that,” I choke. “You don’t get to win.Iwin. Not you.”
My hand trembles violently as I glower at him, a tear slipping free and trailing down my cheek. He always got angry when I cried. Could never understand why he made me so sad.
Don't you love me, pipsqueak?
“No,” I sneer. “Ihateyou.”
You don't mean that.
“I HATE YOU!” I scream with all my might, feeling my face rush with blood and my chest crack open. I smash the gun's tip into the glass, right where his head is.
You only hate me because you're just like me. We're the same, pip. And the only one who will love you for you isme.
I'm shaking my head as the phantom in the mirror continues torturing me.
“You'll never let me go, will you?” I cry, my voice breaking from anguish and defeat.
I'm not considering my actions when I turn the gun on myself, the cold press of the barrel sinking into my temple. Kev's face contorts in rage, but I can't hear him anymore. The only thing I can hear is the loud ringing in my ears as my fingers dance over the trigger.
Would it be so bad if I was gone?
Who would even notice?
No one would care. I'm a small blip that will blink out almost as quickly as it appeared.
So, what am I even fighting for? If I’m not fighting to stay alive for someone else, what's the point in staying alive for myself when I don't even want to be here?
A high-pitched laugh trickles out of my throat while Kevin continues to rage. He's not real, but at this moment, I’ve never felt closer to him.