Some say that suicide is not an option.

They say to reach out and get help, to not make a decision that will haunt the ones you love.

It's like they know what they're talking about, but they don't. Not really.

What is it exactly that makes a person decide, in one final moment, that they can't stay? Is it a slow collapse, years of being chipped away until there's nothing left but dust? Or is it sudden, like a crack in the earth opening beneath them, swallowing them whole before they even have time to scream?

Either way, it isn't something one could understand without experiencing the emptiness you feel when you decide.

It's like one day you just open your eyes and you know that this is it, this is the day you are going to die.

It's not sadness—no—it's absence. The absence of hope, of feeling, of any reason to keep going. Because why would anyone want to keep living when they know that they're never safe from feeling the pain that will tear them down even worse than death would?

Everyone thinks everything can be solved if they would just talk to someone. As if words could change what's already settled in their bones. As if reaching out is easy when you've convinced yourself that no one would care, or worse—that they would, but it still wouldn't be enough. Because what could they even say? It gets better? You're not alone? But what if, for them, it never got better? What if they were alone in a way no one else could understand?

And maybe that's the cruelest part. That some people will never stand on that edge, will never feel the way it calls, quiet and relentless. And those people will never understand why someone would step forward instead of back.

One glance towards Kallias is enough to notice his void expression, his empty, tired eyes, and still somewhat trembling lips even though he wasn't crying anymore.

It made my heart ache in a way I couldn't understand. The grudge I was holding seemed unimportant right now, and honestly, it was. It is unimportant when he is in the process of going through something as bad as facing his younger sister who has no will to live.

"She's going to be alright, Kallias."

"You don't know that." His voice was hoarse, lacking the usual energy he always had.

I sighed, closing my eyes for a moment before looking at him again. "I do."

Words leave my mouth before I can stop them. I don't want to tell him, but if that's what it takes for him to have a little faith, a little hope, I will not think twice before pouring my heart out to him. If that's what will make him understand that she will be okay, then I won't hesitate to do so.

"How so?" He scoffed, but there was no humor in it. He looked at me, his eyes half-closed from exhaustion.

I glance back, taking one long breath before opening my mouth. "Did I ever tell you when I broke my leg?"

His expression falters, and that's all I need to continue talking. I look ahead, keeping my gaze on the road so it would be easier. "It was after I came back. I wasn't sure where I was, who I was, and I had this... feeling, that something was missing, you know? I don't quite know what it was, but it kept me awake at night."

I felt his gaze burning the side of my face, but I didn't look. I couldn't look. "So one morning, I got up early, snuck out of the flat I lived in back then, went up to the rooftop of the building, and then I— I jumped off of it." My voice faltered, though I wouldn't let myself crack.

"I thought that was it, that I was finally going to end my misery." I paused, finally glancing at him and scoffing like it would lighten up the mood in any way. "Then Minho found me. Turned out he was on a morning run that day. Or every day, I'm not really sure. He picked me up and carried me to the nearest hospital, which, to my luck, was really near."

"Minho? That's how you know him?"

"Fun way to become friends with a person, isn't it?" My lips twitched, betraying the smallest hint of a smile.

"What was it like when you woke up?" His voice was quiet and careful, like he was afraid I'd snap any moment.

"Oh, terrible. I know it doesn't sound reassuring, but I wasn't doing well at all. I was so mad at everyone, I was mad that I survived." I scoffed at the memory, tightening my grip on the steering wheel. "I even threw a book at one of my friends when he tried to speak to me. I wouldn't see anyone, I refused to eat or let nurses treat me."

"How did that go?"

"Not well, they force-fed me and sedated me multiple times." I paused, glancing at him once again. "What I'm trying to say is that Mabel isn't going to be alright now. She won't be happy that she survived, whether you like it or not. But that's where you'll need to be tough, Kal."

The nickname slipped out before I could stop it, and he seemed just as surprised as I was. "So she'll throw a book at me then."

I chuckled, looking at the road again. "She might. But she'll be okay. She is surrounded by a group of people who love and care for her."

"Then why would she do that in the first place?"

"Because, sometimes love is not enough to keep a person alive. When things get too much, you slowly start to doubt your place in this world. And then you just... snap. Then no one can stop you."

"So she has been going through it for longer than I can imagine?"

"Maybe, maybe not."

"What kind of brother am I to not notice it?" His voice faltered, and so did his expression.

"Sometimes we miss out on a lot of things. It's not easy to notice stuff if people hide it well. It doesn't make you a bad brother, Kallias. It just makes you a person."

"Did you get better?"

"Yes," I lie. "I'm in therapy, sorting things out, living and accepting what happened in the past."

"That's good." He sighed in relief, leaning his head against the back of his seat. "You said you did it after you came back. Came back from where?"

I glanced at him with confusion, just to be met with a clueless expression on his face. "Camp."

"Camp?"

My eyebrows shot up, and so did his. "You didn't know." I choked out in realization.

"What kind of camp?"

"Conversion therapy camp." I looked at him again, but he wasn't looking. His eyes were focused on his knees, his breathing heavy.

"That's where they—you didn't get sent away to your grandma?"

"Who told you that?"

"My mother." He spat, his voice filled with disgust towards the woman who he referred to as mother. "Now that I think about it, I should've known better than to believe her."

My eyebrows furrowed in confusion. So he thought I was at my grandma's, like Sonya. He was lied to, like her. He never got my letter.

He never got my letters.

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Hi loves!

So this wasn't the exact definition of fun, but it wasn't bad either, I HOPE.

Give feedback please, thank youu!

Anyway. Take care and have a perfect day/afternoon/night♡