Wronged

? 26 ?

My hair is hanging in strings almost, and it's a little wet. Dakota leaves and comes back with a fresh set of clothes (his large hoodie and a pair of grey sweatpants that could be waist-adjusted with a string). He sets them on the table and gives my shoulder a squeeze before walking out again.

I was grateful that he left me in silence and gave me some time to change alone. I quickly do so, but keep my undergarments on since they didn't get too wet. Then I set the damp materials to the side and pull my hair up again with the hair tie on my wrist. I rest my head on my forearms on the table, looking outside as the rain begins again.

I zone out.

The rain gets to fall freely and in whatever size it wants. And its lifespan is so short. It falls from the sky, and then hits the ground with a tiny splash. And just like that, it's over.

I could do that too. I could fall from the sky. I could hit the ground. And just like that, it'd be over. No more pain. No more trying.

What point is my existence anyway? Why am I here? I'm not saying this in a perspective of depression that I'm obviously in, but in a logical sense. What purpose do I seem to have? I don't have a job, so I'm not helping the economy. I don't have anyone who cares about me, so I'm not helping any sort of kindness or happiness for loved ones spread. And I don't do anything except for exchange from foster home to foster home every year. I'm dull and pointless.

There are seven billion people in this world. I doubt it would be a problem if I left. Just one person. In fact, it might even give me a reason to live. My reason to live is to die. Help overpopulation cease just by one person. But little things lead to the big ones, right?

I stand up and cross my arms with an expressionless face, going over to the window. I just stare out of it, not jump. If I'm going to die, I want to die how I tried last time. The job wasn't finished with those pills, and I hate it when I don't complete something. So I might as well down a few and go get some sleep for the first time in awhile.

"What the hell do you mean?"

My eyes slowly look out the door, my body unflinching as I listen to Dakota yell this. He's most likely on the phone. Either that, or he's gone insane and is screaming at himself in the mirror.

"How? When?" He sighs. "That moron. Anna is here with me. What do I do?"

I keep my face incurious as I walk into the living room and sit down on the couch, curling my knees up to my chest. I watch Dakota pace back and forth, one hand flying all over the place: left, right, and through his dirty blonde hair. He's stressed and worried and keeps looking at me.

"Okay, okay. We're coming," He says, removing the phone from his ear and ending the call. He shoves his phone in his pocket and rubs his face worriedly.

"What's wrong?"

He sighs and looks up at me, pity and sorrow in his orbs of a shiny grey. His adam's Apple bobs once as he swallows and then takes a deep breath.

"Aiden's...in the hospital," He says, eyeing me warily.

I sit up slowly, my heartbeat picking up again. I feel my throat close up again like earlier, but I force myself to calm down. Stay calm. I'm not - I refuse to - have another scene.

"A-Aiden?" I ask. He nods solemnly. "Why? What happened to him?"

He sighs. "Nico said Aiden was livid when he got there. Aiden had already gotten Noah beaten up pretty bad. It was so bad that his chest was shaking whenever he took a breath, and he couldn't see or tell anyone where he was. Noah's in the hospital too, in critical condition. He's probably going to die. Aiden was stabbed multiple times, but no where vital."