<3:25 am, Wednesday>

Tyler did, in fact, have a broken arm. He also had several large bruises on his back from hitting the ground and a mild concussion. The doctor said he was lucky that he didn't rupture his spine or break his ribs or he'd be in the hospital a lot longer than three hours. Patrick and Pete advised Tyler to stay bedridden in their apartment for a few days until he was well enough to leave.

The first day was utter hell. He was in pain after the shock wore off, and Pete denied bringing him pain killers or weed. He said it would mix poorly with the medication he was already taking, which they both took.

The second day was more or less the same, except a lot colder when their heater broke. None of them had the extra cash to spend on a new one, so Tyler spent the day huddling underneath a stack of blankets and quilts. Patrick came in during his break to check his bandages and make sure that he wasn't dead, but hardly talked to him. It was like he was just part of the room around him.

Around noon, Tyler couldn't handle being hauled up anymore. He ended up walking out of their apartment delirious and sleep deprived. Pete, who left work to check on Tyler and make sure he ate and drank and took his medicine, found him face first in a ditch down the road leading to their apartment.

Turns out, getting three hours of sleeping in four days- if you count being knocked unconscious as sleep- was not good for the body. Pete forced him to chug a NyQuil, making him sleep the rest of the day and half of the next one. Tyler woke up with a raging headache.

Tyler, throughout the three day period of being stuck in his bed, grew even more isolated and . When he was called back into work, there was no doubt in his mind that he would try again. He just had to get higher.

There was a website he found during his time surfing the internet mindlessly for three days. It looked simple and innocent enough, a dark blue background with white group chats on the sides. It resembled a Tumblr dashboard the most.

Except the contents of the website were less innocent and more morbid. It was called catchthetrain.com. To an average onlooker, it would look like any other website. Just an innocent blue website. But Tyler knew better.

It was a suicide website.

More specifically, a website telling people like Tyler how to do it properly and people to do it with. There were pages of tips and tricks, sections for where to do it and when. They had message boards to talk to other users, and one section caught Tyler's eye as soon as he found it.

Suicide partners.

He was hesitant at first. A website full of suicidal people helping them off themselves, what a load of bullshit. It was probably full of undercover cops trying to find the freaks and lock them up.

But the more time he spent scrolling through the lists of people who had been successful- he felt morbid reading all of these names since he knew his name would be up there sooner or later- he realized it was a legitimate website.

He couldn't tell if he hit the jackpot or the end of the line for him. Tyler was terrified that if he did it alone a second time, he would mess up and end up in the hospital again. That would cause some red flags.

Every break during work to the wee hours of the morning- it wasn't like Tyler could sleep anyways- he was waiting for someone to pop up near him. But he was also afraid of someone catching him and sending him off. Or worse, ignoring him.

Four weeks since the first attempt, Tyler was in his shared apartment, scrolling through when a small new text bubble appeared at the bottom of the screen. Tyler almost jumped out of his skin.

Tyler read it quickly, every inch of skin prickling with- was it excitement? Anxiety? Or two was it fear? He read it and reread it, making sure he didn't get a single word wrong.

Sent @ 3:47 am:

This is probably a fake website and the cops are going to end up banging down my door fucking after I post this, but this is a last ditch effort. Last time I tried, I ended up in the hospital for months with my twin sister on my ass. Maybe if I had someone to do it with then I'll be able to sneak around raised and get it done right this time.

I only have a few requirements. One, you have to be out of high school. I don't want to deal with parents guilt tripping me out of this.

Two, you can't live that far away. I can drive but my twin sister will get suspicious if I decide to go visit a friend who lives in Kentucky that she's never even heard of.

Three, absolutely no kids. I can't handle that shit.

-JDun_ce

Tyler blinked. "Holy shit," he whispered.

Something stirred across the room and Tyler slammed the laptop shut. The lamp beside Patrick's shared bed flickered on.

"Tyler, what are you doing up?" Patrick mumbled sleepily.

He began to stutter excuses. "Oh, uh, I- I just-"

Wasonasuicidewebsitelookingforsomeonetokillmyselfwithwhoopsydaisy.

"It's paper. For work," he lied, relaxing slightly when Patrick nodded and reached for the light.

He paused halfway, looking at Tyler again.

"You sure you're okay? You did break your arm the other day and you've a lot jumpier than usual."

Tyler opened his mouth, but he knew if he spoke he wouldn't be able to lie. He hated lying. So he only shrugged, which sufficed for Patrick.

He sat still for about twenty minutes after the light turned off until he could hear Patrick snoring slightly. Slowly, he reopened the computer and set the brightness to its lowest setting and, with shaking fingers, began to type out a response.