Crossing Over, chapter 1

The sky had turned a washed-out gray. Leaves flew off trees and landed at my feet. The sharp cold stung my fingers.
I walked up to the doorstep, my mind crammed with thoughts. Memories. Ideas I would never tell anyone.
Or would I? I was never sure.
A van flashed by, sending leaves flying in circles around me. The cold cut through my sweater. Now I constantly wondered why I hadn't gone into the house. It was right there, three steps away. But the anger in my heart wouldn't let me.
Why was I angry? I didn't know.
I was on my own.
Since I had turned fourteen, my life had changed for the worse. Dad moved away, mom got sick, and I started to go to therapy. Oh, and my fish had died. This might not seem much, but I am afraid of death. No, not afraid of what it can do to me. I'm just afraid of other people dying. My mother, for example. She had turned so thin and fragile. No longer did she have long, auburn hair, just a few thin bristles on her shorn head.
"Darren!" a weak voice calls. Funny how every time my mother calls, I am surprised by her voice. The anger inside me told my brain to stay. But still, I stood up, shook the leaves off, and walked through the door.

"Okay, so where do we start?" she asks, placing her notebook on her lap.
Her office looks the same as it did yesterday. The magahony desk. The dying roses in the lavender vase. The half-empty tissue box on the table beside the couch. My mind starts debating if the box is half-empty or half-full.
"Darren? Could you tell me what's bothering you?" she asks. Her voice brings me back to reality. I stare into her brown eyes and shrug. I wasn't in the mood to talk. I wasn't in the mood for anything.
"Look, I know you don't want to be here, Darren, but please cooperate," she said, angrily and pleadingly at the same time. My eyes wander to the nametag on her blouse. Lorelai Smith.
"Lorelai," I whispered unconsciously. The name was like music to my ears.
"Excuse me?" she said, her pen poised over her paper. I quickly ducked my head into my hood, shielding my eyes from view. I hear her sigh wearily and cap her pen. I listen to the way she searched in her file cabinet. I think she was giving up on me.
She sighed once more. My eyes travel down to my old, black sneakers. I began counting the stitches on the side.
"You're not going to talk, right?" Her voice startles me once again. I shrug. She sighs.
"Our time's up," she said. She stood to say something else, but I was quicker. I stood up, throwing the cushion I had in my hands to the floor, and rushed by her. She was startled, but she didn't say anything. She merely watched as I ran through the lobby and out the sliding doors to my freedom.

As I sit on the doorstep, I think of the near "future" that awaits me. In a way, I believed that I would never reach it, no matter how close it was. I began to wonder why did I go to therapy. I wasn't sure if it was therapist or a shrink or a psychologist that was attending me. I didn't care. I didn't think I was crazy. But maybe I was, in a way. Thinking of it tired me.
I feel a light hand on my shoulder. I jump.
It was my mother.
"Come along inside, sweetie, you'll get cold," she said in her weak voice. She keeps smiling that smile of hers.
I smile and stand up. For a second I wonder how many people are standing up at the same time.
"You need anything?" I ask jadedly, running my fingers through my black hair. My voice surprises me.
"No, honey, just come inside."
Her patience with me is something that not even I can understand. For a paranoid moment, I believe she just wants to spend her last hours of life with her son. I hesitate. But the few sane brain cells in my head obey almost instantly to this motherly request.
My mother simply smiles.
I go to the kitchen. As I searched around, I hear my mother walk slowly to her bedroom. I hear the mattress springs groan as she lies down. I hear her sigh, ever so slightly.
My hands find a glass and I fill it with water. I grabbed the pills and headed towards my mother's bedroom.
The word "pills" echoes in my head.
Pills, pills, pills...
I suddenly feel desperate. But I try not to show it. I carried the water and placed it on the beside table. My mother opened her mouth as I placed the pills carefully on her tongue. She grabbed the glass of water and gulped it down quickly.
I couldn't make the word "pills" leave my head.
"Anything else?" I asked, fingering the pill box gingerly.
"No, it's okay," my mom said. I closed her door and watched through a small opening how she dozed off, the covers drawn up to her chin, the light spreading itself on her in the most becoming way. For me, the sight is unbearable. I head downstairs to the living room, where I lay down on he couch, wishing that I could empty my head from thoughts in general. That I could shut down completely...

I barely slept. Vivid images kept popping into my head. The couch seemed to jump all over the place.
I hear screams in my head...
My eyes snapped open. I felt panic raising in my chest. I tried to breathe slowly, but my lungs wouldn't cooperate. I started blacking out as my breathing starts getting faster. I was weak; I could barely stand. In my mind I told myself to breathe calmly. But I was afraid. I could feel anxiety crawling up in my chest. I still could feel it, in the back of my head. That little voice.
Soon...
It'll be over soon, Darren...
Darren... ?