I am warning you now, the themes in this book are going to become very serious. I have posted a video on YouTube that dictates it (loosely) and in the description it will explain what’s happening. I don’t want this to trigger anyone, so this is why I’m saying this right now. Please don’t read it if you are easily triggered, I am going to post this in two parts (you’re not missing much when you skip to the next part). So, if you decide to read this, it’s probably going to be kind of nasty… you were forewarned. It will be blatantly obvious when Leila … “starts” (god, I wish I could think of a better word for that…), so skip over that and go to the second part of the chapter.

-T.G.3214

Chapter V - Don’t Try Suicide

Sam sighed as he continued trying to find what exactly they were hunting. It triggered something in his brain when Dean had mentioned the mental hospital they had been in when hunting. That was the first of two trips he made to the mental asylum. He typed up everything that he could think of that the doctor had diagnosed him and Dean with. Nothing came up with folklore tales or ghost stories about the demons coming to life. Sam, frustrated with the computer, slammed his laptop shut. He wanted to just know what they were dealing with already, because he knew that the longer he waited, the more people could get hurt by what was running around.

Dean was passed out on his bed, his arm resting comfortably against his beer-filled stomach. The day had flown by quickly, and Sam was growing angrier at his computer by the minute. He had shut it, but that annoyed him more. He hated giving up almost as much as he hated scouring the depths of the internet. He sighed, pressing him palms against his closed eyes.

“Dean?” He mumbled, his head raising again.

“He’s asleep,” Leila commented, flicking through channels on the television. Nothing really appealed to her and she turned the television off again, looking towards Sam.

“Won’t be for long,” He muttered. Sam picked a shoe up off of the ground and tossed it towards the bed. It landed on Dean’s stomach. Dean jerked upwards into a sitting position and groaned, immediately awake after the small impact.

“Jackass,” Dean said, throwing the shoe back at Sam. It hit his calf, but Sam didn’t react.

“I need to go to the library,” Sam said, ignoring Dean’s feeble attack.

“Why?” Dean asked.

“I need to go to the library,” Sam repeated, eyes motioning to Leila quickly before bouncing back to his brother.

Dean sighed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, “Alright, let’s go. Kid, you coming?” He asked, looking at Leila after he stood up. He sauntered over to the chair his cracked leather jacket rested on.

“Nah, I’m good,” Leila replied, knowing what she’d do while they were gone.

Dean pulled his jacket on, the worn leather molding into the shape of his arms. His popped-up collar wrapped comfortably around his neck and he grabbed his keys. “Suit yourself,” He replied, “You’re missing out, books are so fun.” He added sarcastically.

Sam rolled his eyes, “Can we please just go?”

“Fine, c’mon,” Dean said, walking out the door.

Sam followed his brother out, the poked his head back in the door. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge, see you in an hour or so.” He said with a kind smile and closed the door again.

“I won’t need it because I’m not going to be here much longer,” Leila mumbled. She waited a few minutes, making sure that they weren’t going to come back quickly.

Satisfied that with the feeling that the brothers wouldn’t be back in a while, Leila stood up. She walked across the room to the bathroom, her feet slowly feeling heavier with each step she took. The ground creaked from underneath her and she sighed. She never should’ve eaten breakfast, she was already wanting to throw up. But it was no matter, she knew she wouldn’t be there much longer and everything would be okay.

Swallowing hard, she walked into the bathroom and locked the door behind her. Sam and Dean were gone, but she didn’t want to take any chances. She drew a deep breath in, leaning her back against the door, hands behind her backside. Moistening her lips, she pushed off of the door and got to the sink, relying heavily on it to keep her upright. She felt numb, coming to the realization that she was really going to do this.

The feeling was one she’d known before, she’d had it with the gun in her hand at her house. She was going to kill herself then, but got interrupted, this time there was no one to stop her. She drew in a deep breath, opening the bathroom’s medicine cabinet. Her hands felt around for the razor blade, knowing that it would be the very last time. Finally, her fingers grasped around the cold metal, and she pulled it down. She watched it glimmer in the dim light of the bathroom. Drawing another shaky breath in, she thought whether this was really worth it. But then she remembered, of course it was. Not even Sam and Dean cared about her, and they saved her life.

She rolled her sleeves up, running her fingers along the scars and fresh cuts. Her tongue moistened her lips as she realized how… ‘properly’ she wanted to do this. Her eyes scanned around the sink until she’d found what she needed. Reaching out, she grasped the small pencil of black eyeliner, the very one that covered her eyes most days at school. She looked at herself in the mirror. On one hand, there was a girl that was terrified of what she was about to do; but she lost by a landslide to the girl that wanted nothing more than to leave and never return. She swallowed hard, a lump in her throat beginning to form, that could only mean one thing. Tears.

Don’t cry, don’t do that. She told herself. “Don’t be the girl that cries.” She breathed, looking into her reflections red-rimmed eyes.

Tears threatened to spill over her eyelids and she bit her lip.

“Don’t do it,” She whispered. Her knees wobbled, threatening to give out on her at any moment.

“You can do this,” she knew she had to, and she was going to finish it this time.

Uncapping the eyeliner, she raised her shaking hand. She scrawled her messy thoughts with equally messy printing. Even if they didn’t care, Leila wanted to let them know that this is how it needed to be. She liked Sam more than Dean, but she wanted them both to not try to save her. She was more miserable at the thought of staying on this earth then she was at the thought of ending herself. That made her scared, which tipped the balance and gave her the strength she needed to finish it off.

After finishing her note, she gave in to her wobbling knees, collapsing on the floor. The eyeliner followed her and hit the tiled floor with a unnoticable clatter. She scrambled for her blade, knowing it would be the last thing she saw. She ran a hand through her tangled blonde hair and looked to her scarred and cut arm. She crawled to the bathtub, her body shaking with anxiety. The tears poured down her cheeks, she wished she hadn’t let them go. Swallowing the lump in her throat back down, she got into the tub, ready for the fiberglass to be her death bed. Her body contorted into a ball, and she felt empty inside as she dug the blade into her arm.

The pain that erupted from her arm was numbing. Leila couldn’t feel the rest of her body anymore, only the searing pain coming from her now bleeding arm. She continued digging the blade in, as far as it would go, and stroked vertically with every puncture. Sobs that had built up in her chest escaped as deep, throaty gasps. Tears streamed down her cheeks, falling into the cut that continued growing in length. She dropped the blade into the tub in pain, her fingers unable to clutch it anymore. The sting that came from the tears almost rid her of the numb feeling she’d had since entering the bathroom, and a noise of agony escaped her lips. She clutched her arm, squeezing in blind hope that she would bleed out faster. She screamed, the noise reverberating around the small room. She knew that no one was at the motel, and she sobbed loudly. She really was alone, and she was half thankful that she was. Nothing was worse than feeling alone while you’re with somebody.

She curled into a tighter ball, her legs against her chest. She heard a noise and willed herself to peak over the edge of the tub. A creature stood there, it’s sliced open neck obviously self-inflicted. The bloody knife clutched in it’s hands was evidence of that. Leila thumped herself into a sitting position, still losing blood from her arm. Her face was beginning to turn pale, and her breaths became more shaky.

The creature found its way into Leila’s head. Do it. The hissing voice chanted. Leila fell onto the bottom of the tub, covering her ears with her bloody hands. End it. Nobody cares about you. The sounded of the sickening laughter filled Leila’s head, and she took one hand off of her ear. She picked up the slippery blade, about to slice open her other arm, when the hissing dissipated at the sound of the door being kicked open and a gun shot being fired.

*****