Most people had thought about dying at least once in their life. Most people were afraid of dying. It was pointless, to be afraid of things that were inevitable. River had been home alone the last time he thought about death - but didn’t remember much of what happened after this. It was getting dark, and he was very tired and dizzy. The painkillers didn’t belong to him, but he’d had them in his possession for months.

The problem with being a boy is that no one gives a shit if you’re depressed. You’re supposed to deal with it on your own, and not cry about it. But boys have feelings, too, and sometimes, they’re too hard to figure out on your own.

When River arrived home from the hospital, he carried a small bag of new medications. After the mini stroke he’d had the week before, he was meant to look out for his health, and this sounded exhausting. It was getting dark, but it was still warm, and he was sweating. The backyard was small and fenced, containing a circular table and two chairs. River was home alone, again. It seemed he was always alone these days.

“Drink more water,” said the nurse who’d treated him. “You’re severely dehydrated. You’re lucky someone found you and called for help.” River didn’t feel lucky. He felt sick, and hopeless. Behind the brown picket fence, a young woman stood timidly and looked at him.

There was a water bottle on the table. River hated water. It was bland, boring. He took a reluctant swig, shooting a look at the woman. “Can I help you?”

He’d seen her before. She lived in the neighbouring townhouse, and left for work at the same time every morning. Folding her hands in front of her, she smiled sheepishly. “I’m your neighbour. I called the ambulance when you fainted.”

The day of his cardiac arrest, River had been very drunk and very lonely. After washing down a handful of painkillers with a swig of alcohol, he’d become disoriented and lightheaded. It was nothing he hadn’t felt before, but felt different somehow. There had been a tight feeling in his chest: painful and pulling, until he’d become nauseous and stumbled out the front door into the yard. If someone else had been nearby, he certainly hadn’t seen them.

After setting the bottle back down onto the table, River stood to open the gate in the fence. “You don’t even know me.”

The woman had red hair, which looked very dark against her fair skin. “I know you.” She hesitated, took a tentative step into the backyard. “It’s River, right? I’m Sarah.” She wasn’t that pretty. She looked ordinary, and sounded the same way. “I’m happy to see you’re home.”

It felt strange to be noticed. It felt strange to be helped. “How do you know my name?”

When he sat, she sat as well. He wondered how often she’d watched him. “Sometimes, when it’s really early in the morning and you’re still asleep, Salem invites me over after work to hook up.”

Of course he does. “Salem’s got a thing for redheads.” Perhaps he shouldn’t have said this out loud. Sarah didn’t seem bothered by it. She probably knew this as well as River did. “Why did you call for help? How long was I unconscious for?”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

“I don’t know.” From what River had heard in the hospital, he was fortunate to have even survived, let alone to have survived with minimal brain damage. “Maybe ten minutes. I thought you were dead, honestly.” She had kind eyes, and large glasses. “I was in my yard with some friends when you passed out, and I didn’t know what had happened. So I shouted for a friend to call 911 and I tried to give you CPR. I watched the paramedics revive you with one of those defibrillator things.”

It didn’t make sense. It didn’t make sense that a stranger could care about River more than his own family ever had. “You know CPR?”

Sarah nodded. “I work at a daycare. I had to be certified.” She’d warmed up to him a little, and gotten comfortable in the chair across from him. He wondered how many times she’d been here, and felt weirdly violated. “You’re lucky to be alive, you know.”

He’d been told. It had gotten dark, and wasn’t quite so hot anymore. “Why didn’t you just let me die?” He hadn’t meant this to sound so aggressive. “I wanted to die.” This was the reason River had no friends. He was treated with kindness, and understanding, and he reciprocated with anger or hostility. It was no wonder people wanted nothing to do with him.

The girl was silent for a minute, mulling over his words. When she placed a gentle hand on his arm, he wanted to melt into her. “I know you’ve been struggling. I’m not one to just stand by and watch somebody die.” He didn’t deserve her kindness. It felt foreign to be touched with softness after a lifetime of being touched harshly.

“Did my brother send you?” River pulled his arm away. “He didn’t want to leave me alone when he went to work. Did he send you here to babysit?” It had been four months since Salem took him in. There was no telling how much longer he’d put up with River’s shit.

Sarah sighed. “No. I saw you were home, and thought I’d come check in with you.”

I don’t know why I’m like this, Salem. Every time someone is nice to me, I treat them like shit.

Go back to therapy, Riv. You were doing well with it before.

“Do you guys talk about how fucked up I am?”

“No, River. We don’t talk about you.”

“Yeah, right.”

It felt bad to be hurtful. River hated being hurtful. Before saying something harsh he didn’t mean, he turned and trudged back inside. On the dresser inside Salem’s room, there was about half an ounce of shredded weed. Packing one of his brother’s many pipes, he scooped an orange lighter from the top of the snake terrarium.

River stayed up that night painting and fooling around with the theremin. He didn’t smoke weed much, though it had been recommended to him. At seven in the morning, when the sun had been up for a couple of hours already, Salem’s car pulled up in front of the house. River met him at the door, impatient, desperately needing an answer.

“You have your two days off now, right?”

As he always did after getting home from work, Salem looked tired. He claimed he was never tired. “Yeah, why?”

“Take me to Charlottetown.”

It was hard to figure out if Salem got tired of being River’s ride. He insisted he enjoyed being helpful, but River was a person with a lot of doubts. “For what?”

Why was it that admitting shortcomings was so humiliating? River was insecure and looked down upon himself each time he made a mistake. Nobody ever expected their loved ones to be perfect, but always expected it of themselves. “I want to admit myself.”

The province of Prince Edward Island had a single psychiatric hospital, and River had been here once before. He’d hated it. But he hated himself more.

“Okay.” Shutting the door, Salem removed his shoes and pulled a pipe from his pocket. “We’ll go tomorrow. I’m going to go take a nap.” He lit the pipe on the way upstairs, leaving a cloud of smoke in his wake.