Being alone, silence, cars, driving at night, phone calls, asking for help, uber, speaking to strangers, how useless you are, the way your whole body shakes but your hands most of all, when your heart beats too fast, not breathing properly, the possibility you might be crazy, the possibility everybody else knows you're crazy, parties, parties Mat goes to while you stay home, people who are capable of going to parties with Mat while you stay home, your inability to go to parties being the reason Mat could've died, being an enabler this whole time, ambulances, hospitals, white walls, doctors, nurses, never wanting to speak to anyone he's ever fucked, Some Girl he fucked touching you, technically most people touching you, public bathrooms, panic attacks in public bathrooms, the prescriptions you didn't refill on Wednesday, shoes scuffing on tile, being asked if you're okay multiple times by the same person, knowing you're not okay when you're asked multiple times by the same person, attempting eye contact so you don't seem rude, you might seem rude anyway, the haircut you rescheduled last week, forgetting to eat dinner, untied shoelaces even when they're not yours, uncomfortable chairs, crying so hard everything hurts, something bad could happen while you're asleep, the apartment door might be unlocked, your phone is at 33%, the number three sometimes, forgetting your damn headphones and the overwhelming evidence that you really can't handle anything heavy.
She saved him. Everyone has made this very, very clear to you and it makes you feel so fucking small. For years, you've been determined to prevent anybody from ever hurting him again and for what? To end up at his bedside? To let him hurt himself this much without intervening? Without even realizing an intervention was necessary? You're a lousy excuse for a best friend and don’t deserve to be more than that. You're so stupid for ever believing you could be all he ever needed. You're too messed up to save anybody. You can't be good for him. How could you be when you refuse to even take care of yourself? Love can't fix him anymore than it's ever fixed you. And that fucks you up more than anything.
There’s a 99% chance he won’t remember everything she did when you explain what happened and you feel certain he’s forgotten they ever hooked up from how dismissive she sounded about the experience. These circumstances don’t change that she knew what to do. She didn’t panic. She didn't cry. She didn't fall apart. She didn’t let herself live under the illusion that it’s okay to believe it when he says that he’s okay. She doesn’t even know him and she’s still better for him than you. It’s enough to suck the air straight from your lungs and leave you wondering if you even want to breathe anymore. What’s the point if Some Girl can do everything you can't so easily?
He’s still passed out when you wake up the first time, betrayed by your body’s typical lack of interest in sleeping for too long. You remember for a moment that you had hoped for him to be naked this morning, before all this made your desperation to finally fuck again seem so ridiculous. It messes with your head to see him in a hospital gown instead, hooked up to machines that are constantly beeping around you. Every little noise makes you feel closer to tumbling off the edge of whatever cliff you’ve been toeing since Some Girl called you, oblivious that you’d been waiting to hear from him all night.
You want to shake him out of the darkness and yell at him until your typically soft voice gives out. THIS ISN’T FAIR, MAT. What happened to all the promises to live longer? How could he do this to you? Tears well up in your eyes again but you wipe them away on the sleeve of a sweater you stole from his closet. You rest your head back on the bed but your mind is racing. What if this went differently? What if Some Girl had called to tell you that he was just… gone? You can’t let yourself think about it anymore. What makes you anxious is a long list. He's not supposed to be on it.