I Walk Alone

I Walk Alone

A story inspired by personal experience and the song “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” By Green Day

Warning: This story deals with a mentally unstable, somewhat suicidal person and could be disturbing to some people, if you are easily disturbed, don’t read it.
Also: Trigger warning for self harm

I Walk Alone
by Lily J. P.

I lay on my bed.
Not sleeping.
Thinking.
Trying to find a reason for my feelings.
I can't figure out how they started;
I don’t know when this is going to end.
All I know is that I have to get out.
Right now.
The light blue walls of my bedroom smother me.
I'm drowning, I can't handle this anymore.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I cross the room, pick up my phone from the nightstand. A second thought makes me open the drawer and remove my pocket knife. I shove them into my pocket. I walk up the stairs, it’s quiet, everyone has already gone to bed. I slip on my black sweatshirt, zipping it half way and put on a pair of shoes. My hand sweeps a key from the hook on the wall and I silently open the door. The cool air brushes over my skin as I lock the door, then place the key in my pocket.

I walk down my driveway and onto the sidewalk. The neighborhood is silent except for the sound of my footsteps, echoing softly off the houses. I can't think, my mind is numb. I keep walking.

My footsteps take me along a path, past aspen trees and a grassy field. I eventually find myself in a park, the same one I used to play tag at when I was seven and the place I had my first kiss when I was twelve. It is deserted except for a few birds, quiet in their nests

My shoes crunch the soft sand as I walk to the swing set. I sit down and push myself slightly with my feet. I sigh, it isn't getting better this time. Guilt crushes me, but I can't find the source. There is an emptiness filling my chest. All I want is for it to end. I glance around and then reach into my pocket and pull out the knife.
I open it slowly, see the shimmer of the blade in the soft moonlight. I roll up my sleeve and bring the knife to my wrist, observing the thin veins there. I make a small short line with the sharp tip of my knife. It burns for a second and I feel a small shiver of pain go down my spine. There is relief there though, as if my emotions are seeping out from the wound. I watch a drop of blood roll down and drip onto the sand. I bury it with one swift kick of my foot and move the blade to make another mark.

The soft sound of footsteps startles me, I look behind me and see a boy, who looked to be about my age. I recognize him from school, but we'd never said more than a few words to each other. The streetlight casts a shadow over his sandy blond hair, but as he moves closer, I notice his deep blue eyes, that seem to pierce into my soul. Quickly I fold the blade and slip it into my pocket. I roll my sleeve up, hoping he didn't notice it.

"Nice night to be out here, isn't it?" He asks softly.

I nod slowly but remain silent.

"Mind if I sit with you?" He asks.

I shake my head and he sits on the swing next to me.

I put my foot down to push my swing forward, when my knife falls out of my pocket. He stops and bends down to pick it up. I reach out my hand to take it and then jerk it back, when I notice the tiny trickle of crimson from my wound.

It was too late though, he had already seen it. My eyes tear up in shame, and I run away from him, heading towards the darkness of the few tall trees in the park. A few seconds later, he appears beside me, breathing a bit faster. He grabs my unmarked wrist softly. "Come with me," He says, taking my hand.

I oblige, what else could I do? The neighbors would call the police if I screamed and there was nowhere else to run.

I follow him to a secluded bench and he motions for me to sit down. He sits next to me. We are both silent for a few moments.

Finally he speaks "Why did you come here?" he asked me.

I pause for a moment, trying to think of a lie.

"I can handle the truth," he says, as if reading my mind.

"I couldn't sleep, there were just too many feelings and I had to get out. I just didn't know what else to do," I tell him

He nods, and then gently takes hold of my no-longer-bleeding wrist.

"Why did you do this?" he asks

"It was the only thing that could take me out of this pain," I tell him.

He put his arm slowly around me, "I see," He says simply.

He takes my hand in his, and softly places my hand a bit above my left breast.

"Feel that?" He asks

I nod, feeling my heart beating under my hand.

"It means that you're alive. You have a purpose here, and you need to stay alive to find it," He says, seriously.

I shiver a bit and he pulls me closer to him.

He holds me in his arms for a few minutes, neither of us daring to say a word. I feel my eyes slowly starting to shut and I lay my head on his chest. His heart's slow, steady rhythm comforts me and in a few minutes, I doze off, listening to his heart while still feeling mine.

A while later, he gently shakes my shoulder, waking me. "Had a nice nap?" he asks kindly.

I nod groggily "How long did I sleep? What time is it?"

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. "A little after 5," He tells me, grinning slightly.

"Wow, almost 3 hours," I say

"You seemed like you could use the sleep," He says, then gestures to my hand, still over my heart, "How are you doing?" He asks.

"Still alive," I tell him, smiling weakly.

"I'm glad you are," he says.

"So why exactly were you out here so late?" I ask him

"Chronic insomniac," He replies, "I like to walk at night, I usually go towards the lake, but for some reason, I really felt like going by the park,"

"Thank you for being here for me," I tell him.

"No problem, everyone needs someone sometimes," He says

We sit in comfortable quiet for a minute.

This time I break the silence, "Why did you help me? Why did you even talk to me? I didn't think you even knew I existed,"

"I helped you because I care and I could tell you needed it. Of course I knew you existed. I used to watch you sit in the library with your notebook. i always wondered what you were writing about. If maybe something in there was about me... " he trails off

I feel a blush rising in my cheeks, "I did write about you, a few times actually,"

He smiles, looking a bit pleased.

We sit for a while longer, then he looks up at the sky, now slightly pink with the sunrise. "You should be getting home," he comments, "Your parents will wonder."

I nod in agreement and he slowly stands, then helps me up. We walk slowly to my house, hand in hand.

At the front door, he gives me a hug and turns to go. He puts his hand in his pocket and then turns back to me, holding the knife. "Here," he says, holding it out to me.

I shake my head, "I can't...I don't want it,"

He smiles slightly and puts it back in his pocket, "I'll hold on to it for you, then," he says.

I move to hug him again, "Thank you," I tell him.

I walk inside and watch through the window as he walks down the driveway. I go to my room and lie on my bed, trying to forget the last time I was there.

I place my hand on my chest, over my heart and feel the beat of my life. I wonder a bit about what my purpose might be, or where my future might take me but slowly, I drift into sleep, finally at peace.