Page 125 of Frozen Flames

I barely register my actions when it takes every ounce of energy I have left to transfer to my chair. I wheel myself to the kitchen and grab my medications. Some treat one issue, then the others are meant to counteract the side effects, and it never fucking ends.

I’m not healthy nor happy nor worthy.

I’ve felt a lot of things since the accident, including rage and failure, but I think feeling lonely tops it all off.

Nothing beats it.

It’s one of the worse feelings in the world—other than grief.

Grieving your old self.

Wishing you could get it back, knowing that it can’t follow you into the next stage of your life.

I open the lid of one of the medication bottles and drop a few pills into my hand.

I can do this. I can make the choice to put an end to all of this. There’s a rush of what feels like lava inside my veins, slithering up my arms, making it feel as if molten fire is heating up my upper body.

I try and focus to read the information on the bottle, but it’s not an easy task with the tremor in my hands.

Memories of Henrik and I growing up and my loving parents come to mind, but I bury them deep within so that I can go through with this.

I hope it’s painless.

Peaceful.

I grab a drinking glass and fill it up with water, taking a sip. It tastes nice and refreshing.

Who knew that water could taste like this?

I wipe the sweat off my forehead, my hands quivering with the pills still in my palm. The moisture from my sweat is mixing up with the white substance—the one that will provide relief from the pain.

My stomach gurgles, and I honestly for the life of me can’t remember the last time I ate.

I can’t stomach anything.

I take a pill and pop it into my mouth, then gargle a bit of water to wash it down. It tastes like shit as the residue melts inside my mouth.

I foresee Henrik’s reaction when he finds me in my chair, and a part of me breaks further.

I can’t do this…

Then I think of my life, of the future before me.

There’s nothing but physical and mental pain.

Claire will move on and find a man deserving of her, and she’ll be happy and have children, and she’ll make someone the happiest man alive.

I don’t get that happy ending.

I couldn’t even fuck my girlfriend.

Even if Claire gave me a chance, how long could I expect it to last—the happiness? A few months? A few years? Before she’s sick of me too.

The ache hurts. It intensifies.

I can feel the burning dispersing to my throat, tightening it.

I feel as if I can’t breathe.

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