I was cleared at the hospital within a few hours.

I was hoping that something would have happened. Something fatal. Something that would end all of it for me.

I wanted to disappear. I couldn't stand any of this anymore.

It was too damn much.

A police officer took me home, seeing as I couldn't drive myself, since I had no car.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay with family, kid?" The officer asked as he dropped me off at my house. I shook my head. "I'll be alright. I just want to...think." I answered. "Thank you sir." I added after a moment of silence.

I wanted to smile at him, to show I really meant it, but the muscles around my mouth seemed to have forgotten how to preform the action. I nodded instead, and the officer nodded back, his eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. "No problem, son." He said.

I paused for a moment, a mixture of anger and grief rising in my chest. I wanted to yell at him not to call me "son", but at the same time, I wanted to sob on his shoulder, because I wasn't really anyone's son. I was an orphan now.

Sure, I was close to the legal age of adulthood. But...I wasn't going to change much. I wasn't going to feel anymore like an adult.

I was still going to need my father.

My father wasn't going to be there.

I walked into my dark house and stared at my living room, finding it hard to believe that my father and I had been joking together just this morning.

Clueless.

I took a deep breath and limped into my home, dumping myself on the couch. I could still smell my dad's cologne on it, and suddenly I felt bad for telling him it smelled terrible all the time.

But now I treasured the smell. I wanted it to stay there forever.

I sat there for a while, staring at my ceiling and just trying to take everything in.

It wasn't working.

I felt something tickle my nose. I was crying again. I wiped away the tear. More came.

I was starting to shake. I was sobbing. I was screaming. I was running into my kitchen. I was picking up what I needed. I was running into my room.

I stopped in my doorway, my hands shaking. I looked down at what I was holding. There was a small part of me yelling, telling me not to do it.

There was a bigger part of me screeching, telling me to do it.

I walked into my room and closed the door, locking it behind me. I shut the blinds, I kicked my chair under my desk, I sat on my bed.

I held up the knife, staring at the blade.

I had made my decision.

No one could change my mind.