His Punishment Broke Me, I Died

Ever since my brother went to prison for financial fraud, I've been hunted nonstop by his enemies. I couldn't land a job anywhere, and constant threats against my life hung over me every single day. The first thing I'd see every time I stepped out my door was dog s**t right on my doorstep. When I dragged myself home at night, I'd find my entire front gate doused with bright red paint. I completely broke and spiraled into crippling depression. Over five long years, I tried to kill myself three times. This last time, I'd swallowed a whole bottle of sleeping pills, and just laid there waiting for death to claim me, completely hollow and hopeless. But through the fog rolling over my mind, I heard my brother's frantic voice cut through the quiet. "I only wanted to punish Sara a little! Who told you to go this far?!" His adopted little sister shot back, voice thick with hurt and grievance, "So she hits me, and I'm just supposed to let that slide?" That was when the truth hit me. My brother, Henry, had never gone to prison. Our family had never gone bankrupt. Every single horrible thing I'd gone through these past five years... it was just punishment for the slap I'd given Zendaya five years ago. I closed my eyes, a bitter ache coiling in my chest. "Your punishment... it's far too light. I'll pay you back with my life." ***** As the anesthetic pumped through my veins, the voices in my head faded away bit by bit. When I finally opened my eyes again, I was lying in a hospital bed, and only a doctor stood beside me. As a regular at this point, Dr. Hugh looked at me with a grim, angry scowl. "Sara, what made you want to die this time, huh? If we hadn't pumped your stomach in time, you'd be dead! Do you understand that?!" My stomach was burning like someone had poured molten fire into it, but I couldn't even feel the pain. I just stared blankly up at the white ceiling, my gaze empty and hollow. "Someone sent me an urn with my own funeral photo tucked inside. They told me I deserved to die." The doctor froze for a long moment, then let out a heavy sigh. "This is your life we're talking about. You're just gonna roll over and die because some asshole tells you to? Don't ever do something this stupid again." You could hear it in his voice. He was just as helpless as I was. Five years. Three suicide attempts in five long years. The first time, I hurled myself off the fourth floor. I guessed wrong about how lethal the height would be, though, and the fall didn't kill me. The second I thought of my brother waiting for me to pick him up from prison, regret crashed into me instantly. I dragged my bleeding, broken body all the way to the hospital myself. The second time, I slit my wrists. When I'd bled almost dry, staring at that pool of crimson spreading across the floor, it hit me all of a sudden, this wasn't even my house, I was just renting it. Dropping dead in someone else's place would leave bad luck forever. So I dragged myself to the hospital again. This was the third time. This time, I couldn't care less about my brother. I couldn't care less about anyone. I poured every last sleeping pill I'd hoarded for ages straight into my mouth. And still, I didn't die. The doctor kept rambling beside my ear, "After you get discharged this time, I'm going to limit how many sleeping pills I give you. You'll come pick up your daily dose every day. No more handing you a whole bottle at once." When he finished talking, he turned to leave. I called out to him, my voice raw and scratchy, "Doctor, did you see a man here? He looks a bit like me." We were old acquaintances by now. Of course, he knew I had a brother locked up in prison. He shook his head, pity softening his whole posture. "Sara, you're disoriented right now. Just get some rest, okay? There wasn't any man. A young girl brought you in, said she was your neighbor." I didn't push it, didn't say another word. After he left, I ripped the IV needle right out of the back of my hand and walked straight out of the ward. That young girl Doctor Hugh mentioned? She was standing right outside the door, waiting for me. When our eyes locked, the raw malice burning in hers couldn't even be masked. It spilled right out. "Sara, if you're so dead set on dying, why don't you just do it right and get it over with already? If you really wanna die so badly, why not just drive a kitchen knife right into your throat? One quick slice and it's all over. Why even mess around with sleeping pills?" I ignored her cruel jab and smiled right back at her. "Since when are you my neighbor?" A flicker of guilt crossed Zendaya's face. "I wouldn't even bother wasting my time on you if it wasn't for brother!" With that, she spun around ready to leave. She'd barely taken a few steps before she turned back, tossing out a 'helpful reminder.' "Next time you kill yourself, do it in the bathroom. That way no one will find you in time to stop you!" I kept my face completely blank the whole time. As soon as she spat that out, she hurried off. After she left, I headed home too. No dog s**t fouled my doorway this time, and the red paint splashed across my front gate had all been scrubbed clean. After a long moment, I pushed the door open and tilted my head up slightly. My eye caught on a tiny security camera hidden behind the tattered old curtains. It was tiny, you'd never spot it if you weren't actively looking for it. It had to be brand new. My brother had been here. I shifted my gaze away without letting anything show, and stepped into the bathroom. Probably because he wanted to leave me some privacy, there was nothing else in here. Nothing, that is, except the shattered urn, and torn pieces of my own black-and-white portrait scattered across the floor. It was like I could see myself, just a few hours earlier, completely broken and hysterical. Disheveled, wretched, hopeless. Now it made sense. It all made sense why Zendaya told me to die in the bathroom next time. There was no camera in here. If I died here, my brother would never find out. Suddenly, the whole situation hit me as unbelievably absurd. My legs went weak, and I crumpled to the floor, pressing my hands to my face as I sobbed silently. Brother, your punishment is still too light. You should have just taken my life already.