AN: alright, I promise you all, I am not dead. I've just been busy with planning my wedding. I'm sitting at work on my fifteen minute break writing this so it will be short but I'm getting out of my funky writer's block. Anyway, on with the story! P.S. trigger warning, self harm imminent.

Your pov:
I laid in my bed that night crying and wailing in pure depression at the death of my best friend. I cried so much that my throat went numb. At one point in the night, I'm not sure what came over me but I grabbed a hunting knife my dad got me for my birthday and I watched helplessly as my hand drug the knife blade across my wrist allowing the life nectar trapped inside, escape. I felt a little better afterwards so I did it at least three more times. Two cuts on each wrist. I lay on my bed for a few minutes finally feeling tired and allowing the darkness to swallow me. The last thing I remember thinking before complete darkness is 'I'm coming Kenny, wait for me. Okay?'