A Year Without Johnny

Harry Mitchell is a young boy whos best friend commited suicide. Since the event, even more terrible situations have come to pass and Harry is left making heart wrenching decisions. This is his letter that lets you into his life, his thoughts and feelings, as he lives a year without Johnny.

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4. Three months without Johnny

So another month passed by. I know I am skipping ahead a little here but I should tell you that, on that second month without Johnny, very little happened. I visited Lizzie on and off, and spent most of my time unpacking my suitcases. I probably could have done it in one day but I chose not to, for reasons not even I am sure of.

On the third month without Johnny, events started to unfold a little more and I think real progress was made, for me and Lizzie. I was slowly coming to terms with the loss of Johnny and, in doing so, started to understand music a little better. I know it sounds stupid but Johnny used to tell me to stop focusing on beats and listen to the lyrics more. I never got it as music was about dancing and having fun, but it was on the first day of that month that I finally understood.

A familiar song was playing softly through my earphones as I attempted to get some shut eye, reminding me of the good times that once were. I knew where the song was from. It was the last song that Johnny and I ever listened to together, as we sat in my room waiting for Lizzie to show up. Johnny knew every word to this song and claimed that they spoke to him. I never knew how lyrics could ‘speak to people’. Yet, now I was hurting, I knew. I couldn’t hear the music, only the lyrics, and they reflected my situation and it felt invigorating.

What was strange was, on that night, in what I believe to be thanks to the fact that I drifted to sleep during that song, is that it was the first time in a while I hadn’t found myself having that dream. That horrifying nightmare where I would find myself stood at the top of the highest building. Always ready to jump.

As far as I can remember, it was around this time I saw Jessica for the first time in a while. I was completely thrown when I saw her. It seemed that during the two months I was away, she somehow managed to get even prettier, which I felt was impossible. Her face was always so slim and her body so toned, her ginger hair was always full of life, which I can tell you almost definitely reflected her personality.

The day I saw her in town, she was with Ricky. I had never really spoken to Ricky before, other than in Biology once. He asked if he could borrow a pen. I have to admit, Ricky always seemed like a bit of an arse to me, but he was nothing like that once I got to know him. I think I only figured that he was like that because those handsome, well kept boys were usually so obtuse and pompous. Not him.

I had barely said two words to Jessica when we saw Lizzie. She was walking around outside in her giant top and joggers, the same outfit she’d been wearing for the past month or so. It upset me to see her like she was, hopelessly searching around for someone to comfort her, to help her. I was straight to her aid and Jessica and Ricky weren’t far behind.

I helped Lizzie back to her house and her mother looked at me with such gratitude, her father, not so much. They didn’t even know she was missing. Even now, writing that, it makes me feel anguished. I am sickened by the thought that they weren’t looking after her well enough.

There was nothing more really to it than that. Though, I did meet up with Jessica and Ricky later that day at the pub. Jessica had begged me to meet them and I agreed, knowing that she was interested in Lizzie’s well being.

I told them everything about how Johnny’s suicide ruined her life and about her depression. I told them how she seemed to be blaming herself and didn’t want anybody to help her. Ricky asked me how I was handling it all. I told them that I was fine. Of course, I was lying.

Jessica, being the caring soul I always knew she was, genuinely wanted to help Lizzie, understand how difficult life must have become for her. Ricky also wished to assist us claiming that he felt no one should ever go through what ‘that poor girl’ was going through.

A few days later, we found ourselves at Lizzie’s house and she was sat in her usual position on the bed, crossed legs, eyes so distant. Jessica did a little introduction of Ricky but Lizzie was uninterested.

I felt it necessary to calm the mood a little in the, now awkward, room. Scanning Lizzie’s CD collection, I put on Alex Clare and watched as a slight smile dared to approach Lizzie’s lips. I knew she would like to hear the sound of ‘Too Close’ filling the room.

I can’t remember when exactly, but I noticed a few of Lizzie’s scars were open, fresh and deep. Drips of blood were rolling down her arms and she was inevitably in pain. I screamed for bandages, shouting at Jessica and Ricky to find some and to help Lizzie. Thinking back, my level of voice was quite unnecessary but I was frightened. To see your friend in such a state, knowing they did not care that they were hurting but instead would let the blood drain from their body.

Lizzie screeched. Her voice, a deafening tone as she rose from the bed and screamed to Ricky’s face. I don’t really know why the hell she did it. It was something about the bottom draw of her dresser which, at a guess, probably contained something of up most importance. Though, it may have just been where she kept her blades.

She started crying then. Uttering something about how it was too late. How she never gave it to him but she didn’t want him to leave. I guess she was talking about Johnny. Of course, I questioned her but she gave me a blank expression. I knew she wouldn’t say anything more and with that, we left her in peace, to rock silently through the night.

We did manage to get her out of the house, though, that month, many times in fact. The first time was extremely difficult as she believed people were staring at her, which they were. She wouldn’t eat. Lizzie just struggled on by. It did pay off as, after a few mishaps, Lizzie started to progress in confidence. Sometimes, she didn’t scream at all.

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