A/N: This week my school had a suicide awareness event. It's a horrible and sad thing that's caused by depression in 90% of cases. So, in order to spread the awareness, I decided to write this one-shot with my favourite Harvest Moon pairing. Please spread the word.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harvest Moon and its characters.

Warning: This story contains scenes of self harm that may be disturbing or triggering to some readers. Also contains some mild swearing and suggestive themes.

Suicide Awareness

Death is easy. Peaceful even. To be free to just float off into whatever realm awaited after this one. With no worries and no stress left on your shoulders. It sounds like a blessing.

Living. Now living is hard. There's so many things to deal with; your job, your school, your family, your god damn pent up emotions. All of it is just stress. I'd like to live without it all.

There's no time when you actually feel good. Sure, there's a rare laugh or smile that someone can drag out of me but behind it all is the overwhelming sadness that absolutely refuses to abandon its home in my heart. No matter how much I tell it to leave; it never does.

The thought of taking out my pocketknife crosses my mind briefly where I sit on my bed. The firm mattress supports my ass but doesn't give me any comfort. It's a plain bed. Nothing special. Like everything else.

My bedroom is dark, the only light coming from the crack under the locked door. But I didn't need any light to know what was in my bedroom. I've only lived here for all of my twenty years.

The walls of the room were painted black, along with the ceiling. The floor was made from old oak, one of the few things I actually appreciated. As for the rest, there wasn't much to speak for. The bed was covered with black sheets, there was a small desk and a dresser for clothes.

Nothing hung on the wall. There were no ornaments or knickknacks lying around. Just my backpack thrown against the wall and some homework and textbooks strewn along my desk.

My ears slowly begin to throb from the loud music I had playing on my iPod. While I realize the volume was turned up insanely loud, I couldn't bear to turn it down. Because not only did it help cloud my thoughts but it was actually a pretty good song.

Instead I crank the volume a few notches. The pressure by my head increases but I barely even wince. Instinctively I grab my drum sticks even though I'd sold the actual drums years ago.

But it doesn't matter what I pound the sticks on though. Nothing sounds just right. Grief over the lost instrument flits across my mind for a moment, but I dismiss the emotion. I got rid of those drums for a reason.

Angry at myself for even thinking about that, I toss the sticks across the room where they clatter on the floor after thumping against the wall. But the anger vanishes all too quickly; replaced by the ever present sorrow.

My throat begins to feel scratchy and my vision blurs along with it. Almost drunkenly, I stumble to one of the walls and press my arms tightly against it. With my head turned down to the ground, I shakily draw in breath to prevent myself from crying.

I don't notice the cold from the floor that tries to claw at my bare feet. The music in my ears could have been on mute for all I knew. Her image swims past my closed eyelids against my will, the glow of her skin and the radiance of her smile taunting me in my prison. When my

eyes tighten in an attempt to rid myself of the image, I'm not surprised when a single stream of tears rushes down the side of my face to plop onto the floor.

I needed a release. Suddenly the knife hidden in my cowboy boots sounds like a really good idea.

Quickly I snatch up one of my boots from its resting place beside my bed, knocking the other over in the process. It takes me a mere moment to detach the knife from its hidden compartment and flick the knife open.

The steel glints when it catches the light from under the door. Gently, I touch the point to my finger, an action that causes a prick of blood to form on my forefinger. It hadn't lost its point for sure.

I bring the knife closer to my face. Even though my father had given me this knife before he passed away, it still looked like brand new. Though, I could faintly make out a bit of dried blood near the handle.

My lips twitch downwards in a small frown. I guess I hadn't cleaned it as well as I thought I had last time. I would have to remember to clean it better this time.

With the knife still held in my right hand, I roughly pull up the sleeve of my long black shirt; revealing my not so pretty forearm.

For a moment I pause and just gaze at my arm, letting my eyes linger over the angry red scars from the last time I'd cut. Gingerly I tap one with my index finger, but the sting was finally gone.

My heart falls, as if with a sudden weight, as her image passes in front of me again. Goosebumps raise on my arm as what must have been a breeze brushes over my scars. It was probably just my imagination, but I could've sworn it felt like her fingers had been brushing my skin again.

My throat begins to choke off another sob, and I grip the knife tighter as I raise the blade to my exposed skin.

As the tip touches my skin, I relax all my muscles and then let the blade slice across my skin; leaving a molten red trail behind.

My eyes close and my head tilts back of its own accord as I let out a deep breathe through my mouth. The blade comes off my skin and I place it on my desk while I catch my breath.

My chest heaves and I can feel the blood trickling down my arm, soaking the base of my shirt. The pain was unbelievable; it seared like a fire roaring across the grassland. And it felt so good.

It helped me concentrate on the physical pain instead of the emotional pain. Physical pain was easier to deal with, easier to manage. Because there was a chance things could heal. When things got emotional, it was never very easy to heal.

I yank the ear buds out of my ears with my free hand, leaving them dangling over my shoulders. The music still blares but it's slightly reduced and gives my overheating ears a chance to cool down.

Abruptly there's a violent knocking on the door. My entire body freezes in place as my eyes widen to the size of diner plates before I remember that the door was locked.

My heart stops trying to choke me once a voice begins to speak. "Vaughn it's supper in ten minutes! Mirabelle wants you to set the table now!"

Panic starts rising again at the happy-go-lucky voice of my blonde cousin. Quickly I call out to

her through the locked door. "Give me five minutes!"

"Make it a fast five minutes!"

I pause at the door while I listen to her footsteps fade in the hall. Even as I let out a low blow of breath, I spring into action.

Hastily I make my way into the adjoined bathroom in my room. As I flip the lights on, I thank my lucky stars that there actually was an adjoined bathroom.

As I search for a cloth under the sink I let the water flow from the tap and warm. A glance at my arm shows that clotting had began but I would still have to change my shirt.

Pushing the cloth under the water and letting it soak for a moment, I use one hand to scour the drawers for that healing ointment I can never remember the name of.

I plop the newly found ointment on the tile counter and flick the water off. First squeezing the excess water out of the cloth, I then gently press the cloth onto my open cut,

My teeth clench as air hisses past my teeth. That stung like hell! Oh sweet mercy...

Carefully I lift the cloth and press it onto another area of my arm, washing away the blood. Normally I'd give myself a longer cleansing, but I was rushed for time.

The blood rushes down the drain and erases the existence of it; though there's yet another angry red mark on my arm that will scab over in a week and end up becoming another pale white scar in four.

Almost regretfully, I unscrew the cap on the ointment and dap some of the medicine all along the edge of the cut. It stings, but not as bad as it did before. I blow on it to help it dry faster as I cap the lip back on the ointment and shove it into a drawer.

While that dries, I hurriedly rip my shirt off, throwing it in a corner so I could properly deal with the mess later. Oh yeah, I'd have to clean my knife again later too.

My mind occupied with all the tasks I'd have to perform in the future to get rid of the evidence, I grab some cloth out of another drawer. This was more like gauze, but different. As I'm not a doctor I don't know the name and I never bothered to remember it. I'm a walking emergency room right?

Carefully, I tightly wrap my arm. While there was little chance it would start bleeding out of nowhere, if that bumped into anything it was going to hurt like mother fucking hell. And I do not want to split it again either. That was an episode I will never want to repeat again.

"Vaughn you'd better be down here in five seconds!"

This voice is older than the other voice and I know that it's my aunt. I grimace and shoot out of the bathroom, yanking on another black long- sleeved t-shirt and a brown vest.

"Five!"

"Shit, shit, shit..." I mutter the word under my breath over and over as I yank on my cowboy boots.

"Four!"

I shut off my music, the sudden stillness in the room felt a little out of place for a moment.

"Three!"

Out of place feelings gone. I grab my hat and set it down snugly on my head, over my silver hair. Gently I let out a deep breath and glance to the bathroom mirror to stare straight into my empty amethyst eyes.

"Two!"

"Shit," I mutter again as I shut off the lights and hurriedly unlock the door. Yanking it open, I resist the urge to sprint down the hall. The adrenaline rushing through my bloodstream would have to wait for a other day.

"On- Vaughn." Mirabelle cuts off her counting as I walk into the kitchen to see her. She gives me a smile, but I don't return it. Just silently grab the plates from the cupboard so I can set the table.

"Vaughn, we're having company. Could you please make sure to set enough for two more people?" She flashes another smile at me as I grab two more plates before walking to the table. "Thanks dearie."

Setting the table is an automatic motion; something I don't have to think about and can just go with the motions. Placemats, plates, cups, utensils; they all belong in a certain order and it was a good way to occupy my mind.

Before long I'm satisfied with my work. Once the guests got here, whoever they would be, I would fill their cups. But for now, I get Julia, Mirabelle and my usual drinks. Milk for Julia because she doesn't drink, Cider for Mirabelle because it's her favourite and red wine for myself. Yet another one of my many cleverly planned escapes.

"Vaughn!" My cousin's squeal ripples through the air to hit my sensitive ears (ironic right?). Before I can even wince, she's thrown her arms around my waist.

"It's so good to see you again!" She smiles up at me, her teeth blinding white and her blonde hair done up in its usual ponytail.

"You saw me an hour ago." I tell her gruffly as I push her off of me, careful not to brush my arm against her.

Julia pouts slightly, but not really fazed in the slightest. I know this; because that's just how she is. "So?"

I simply shrug and take a careful step away from her. "What are we having for supper?"

"Lasagna!" Mirabelle exclaims as she walks into the dining room carrying a huge pot with oven mitts. Although it didn't look it, I knew the dish was hot; fresh out of the oven.

"I love lasagna!" Julia giggle, raising a hand to cover her mouth.

That's her favourite dish too.

Mentally I scold myself for having the thought. Unconsciously, my right hand presses against my left arm as I shake the thought from my mind. If I wanted to stop sinking in the ocean I was drowning in, thoughts like that weren't allowed.

""So when are they getting here?"

My question is answered not a moment later when there's a knock at the door. Julia laughs lightly and rushes to go welcome our guests. Mirabelle asks me to put her oven mitts away and I silently oblige.

"It's so good to see you! I'm so glad you could make it!"

I simply shake my head at Julia, even though I can't see her. That girl was way too damn lucky. She had an optimistic personality, a faithful boyfriend in Elliot, a living parent, and an amazing offering at a really good college. Sometimes I wondered what I did in a past life to deserve all my crap, and what Julia had done in hers.

"Jules, you flew to visit me last weekend! It's hasn't been that long." There's a heartfelt laugh that accompanies the statement; but I feel like I just received my death sentence.

"Well it's felt like it. Come in, you must be freezing outside!"

"It's not that cold." Slight pause while the door softly closes. "Jules, you remember Mark right?"

My jaw clenches down hard and my hand grip the kitchen counter until my knuckles are white, and even then I don't let go. this couldn't be happening. Not now. Please god, not now.

"Of course Mark! How could I forget?" Julia laughs.

"Hey Julia." Mark. Bastard. I hate that son of a bitch. "Nice to see you again. And you too Mirabelle."

Mirabelle speaks up. "Of course dearie. I'm so glad you both could join us for dinner. Vaughn will be ever so surprised." Surprises isn't the word I want to use.

"Vaughn doesn't know we're here?" Finally, the slightest hint of panic and worry sounds in Chelsea's voice; but it's brushed off by my cousin.

"He'll be delighted! Don't worry about Vaughn, he's fine."

Just goes to show you how much family really notices about you. Not that it was them I want to talk to.

I almost have to rip my hands away from the counter to force myself to go into the living room. Deep breaths. Just remember to keep breathing. And don't do anything rash. Yeah...

She's the first thing I see when I enter the living room. My heart begins to ache with an all new pain that I didn't know could exist; my cutting earlier had been for nothing now that she was here. But now that she was, I couldn't (I wouldn't) take my eyes away from her.

In her red wool sweater and slim navy blue jeans, she looked ready to snuggle up by a warm fire. Her feet were only covered by socks, and I guessed she took her shoes off at the door; though I couldn't be bothered to check. In its usual place, her dainty red headband lay on the top of her head.

Was it just me, or was that the one I bought her? It must be a trick of the light, but I could've sworn I saw our initials on the edge that I'd written...

The thought leaves my mind the moment she catches sight of me. I don't know about her, but I felt like the rest of the world had just melted away and it was just the two of us. Her skin was light, and those freckles still graced the sides of her nose. Her lips were that full red that never seemed to wane, and the proportions of her face were as delicate and perfect as I remembered. And her eyes. Those bright blue orbs that pierced through my soul and stole my heart. I wondered if she knew that she still had it?

"Vaughn." I'm broken out of my trance when she says my name. There's a smile on her face but I notice it's not the one that reaches her eyes. She's faking it. Why would she be doing that?

"Chelsea." I choke out softly, still caught up in the memory of how I used to be able to make her scream my name with a passion. It was almost like we'd been reduced to strangers.

"Vaughn." Only when he speaks do I notice that the blonde sun of a bitch is holding onto her arm. Like they were a couple. And I knew they were. He's the reason this is like this. The bastard stole her from me!

I just nod at him. Bastard didn't deserve for me to addresses him; much less use his name. I was never going to like this guy.

"I'm Mark. Nice to meet you." He smiles and it's so god-damn white and put dimples in his cheeks. Damn it. Now I begin to seriously look this guy over. No wonder she'd ditched me so fast. He was tall, granted not as tall as I was at six feet but still pretty tall, his unruly blonde

hair was something girls loved to push back, he had those broad football player shoulders and he had green eyes. For god's sake, he was so normal! No wonder she picked him. That settles it. I hate this guy.

I grunt at him, giving him my best sneer. That was all he deserved. Well, he also deserved the bird, but I wasn't going to give him that. Not now. Maybe later.

"Vaughn that's not very nice." Mirabelle's probably blue eyes prod me as she rests her hands on her plump figure. "Say hello."

So I step towards Mark; I'm sure my eyes are burning. I stick out my hand for him to take.

He grasps it and I squeeze as hard as I can while stepping forward slightly. I hear the whoosh of breath that leaves his lungs at the pain of my powerful grip, making me smirk. Then I lean over and whisper in his ear.

"Nice to meet you, you son of a bitch."

Then I promptly release his hand and take steps backwards; making sure he never forgot my angry eyes or my hateful gaze. His was one of shock and confusion.

"Well why don't we eat supper?" Chelsea speaks up suddenly, trying to relieve the tension. Everyone complies the moment she makes the request.

In the end, I end up sitting next to Julia and dead across from Chelsea. The son of a bitch sits next to her, his one hand under the table. No doubt on her thigh; something that makes my heart harden with both anger and unbelievable sorrow. Mirabelle occupies the head

seat.

Everyone is handed out food. Suddenly I remember that I forgot to get drinks for the guests in my shock of seeing my ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend.

I rise without asking to. But no one objects. I doubt anyone even notices. It makes me feel like crying; I'm living like a shadow in my own house. Only there when needed and then promptly forgotten.

Silently I storm back to the kitchen. I didn't really care what the asshole drank; but I did care about Chelsea.

It doesn't take me long to make. It used to be her favourite concoction; I hoped it still was. Just a Shirley Temple. 7UP, cherry flavouring, no ice and two cherries plopped inside. She loved this

drink more than anything.

I grab dickwad a glass of water.

When I return and give them their drinks, I notice Chelsea's eyes light up as she stares at the drink I put in front of her.

"You made me a Shirley Temple?" She asks softly, her blue eyes looking up straight into mine.

I nod softly, suddenly unable to speak even if I had wanted to. Her smile widens and I feel my own expression softening as she takes a delicate sip.

She grins up at me again. "No ice?

I nod again, and somehow find my voice. "Two cherries. Just how you like it."

An adorable blush rises to her cheeks as she takes another sip. Then she smiles at me again, making the heartache in my chest swell at least double what it was before.

"Thank you Vaughn." She pauses, as if she's about to say something else. My breath catches as I pray for her to say something else. Please say something to me, anything! Just let me hear her voice again! But she decides against it and brings the drink to her lips again.

I turn my gaze to my food; mostly to hide my sharp disappointment. With my fork I break the food apart, only to discover that Mirabelle had put carrots into the lasagna.

It takes all my effort not to complain loudly. How could my own Aunt forget that I was allergic to carrots? But by the way Chelsea kept glancing between the lasagna and me, I knew that someone remembered.

So I decide to just push to food around on my plate to make it look like I ate something. My growling stomach could behave for an hour until I could sneak a sandwich from the cabinet or something.

"So Chelsea," Mirabelle begins after she swallows a bite. "What's it like living on the other side of the country?"

Chelsea smiles slightly before setting her utensils down to talk. "Well it's different that's for sure. It's warm there all the time for one thing. I've missed seeing the snow around this time of year."

Julia laughs her light little bell laugh. "I'd swap you any day! The snow can be such a pain when you're in a real rush to go somewhere."

But Chelsea shakes her head. "I'll agree with you, but there's nothing like a white Christmas."

Murmurs of "True that" spread around the table as everyone continues eating. I continue pushing food around my plate, wanting to leave so badly.

"So Mark," Julia starts after a pause in conversation. "How did you guys meet?"

I didn't want to hear this. I shouldn't be here: couldn't my cousin have been a little more sensitive? Did anyone besides Chelsea and me actually remember our relationship?

Mark smiles though and glances at Chelsea. She doesn't notice what his gaze holds; but I do. I recognize that gaze. It's a gaze that says, "God I can't wait to just fuck this girl." My hatred of this guy just grew profoundly.

"We actually first collided on the first day of school." He chuckles as he remembers the scene. "Literally collided."

Chelsea snorts. "This guy was running down the hall with a bunch of his football buddies and crashed into me! Knocking all my books to the floor!"

Mark just smiles that smile again. Under the table I clench my fist in an attempt to rein in my emotions. He looks at Chelsea again. "Yeah but I helped you pick them up. And it was when I looked in your eyes that I knew you were the one."

Oh come on! He's totally making that last shit up! But Julia and Mirabelle both coo as Mark leans over to kiss her lightly on the cheek. I think my fingers are starting to draw blood from my palms.

"You're so lucky Chelsea." Julia sighs dreamily.

Chelsea smiles at her. "What about Elliot?"

Julia suddenly blushes a bright red and looks nervous. "Elliot is amazing, but I wish he could just pluck up the courage and ask me already."

The corners if my lips turn up slightly. Elliot had talked to me yesterday, as I was the man of the house, to ask for permission to ask Julia's hand in marriage. I granted it, telling him that he didn't have to ask me. He would propose to her tomorrow while we opened Christmas presents.

"I'm sure Elliot will pull through Jules." Chelsea smiles at Julia, making her smile back.

"I'm sure he will." She sighs dreamily again and twirls her fork on her plate.

The conversation turns to more harmless things like how Chelsea's college was, when her next break was, movies, homework and stuff like that. No one says anything to me. Chelsea glances at me a few times, but I don't say anything. Our conversation will have to be a private one.

Finally Chelsea puts her utensils down and throws a grateful look at Mirabelle. "That was really good. Thanks so much for inviting us over."

Mirabelle practically beams. "Don't worry about it dear. It's a pleasure to have you here. You're always welcome."

Everyone gets up and heads over to the living room; leaving me with the responsibility of cleaning up. With a great sigh, I stand up and begin the task.

My uneaten food goes to waste, but everyone else managed to finish all of theirs so I don't have to pack anything away. It only takes me a few minutes to load all the dishes into the dishwasher and then start the machine.

I take another deep breath to compose myself before I joined them. Anxiously, I pour myself another glass of red wine in an attempt to calm my nerves.

After a sip I carry it into the living room and then promptly drop it onto the ground; the liquid splashing out of the glass and staining the white carpet. No one notices though; they're all too focused on what's happening.

Mark. The son of a bitch who stole my girlfriend is on his knees in front of Chelsea. With a ring in his hands.

"-marry me?"

I only catch the last part of what he said; but it makes fear grow like weeds in my heart. I must have let out a shocked gasp or something because Chelsea looks up at me.

Her eyes are clouded, and I imagine mine look the same way. I try to use my eyes to tell her, tell her that she couldn't do it. Couldn't marry him. Because I was still in love with her.

I feel something wet run down my face; that's when I realize I was crying. Chelsea's eyes begin shining too, but she looks back down at that son of a bitch.

My vision blurs as I run out of that room. How could she do that to me? Why? The slam of the door is deafening in my ears as I flee the house.

I don't really see where I go as I leave the house. The path I was traversing was one I could've gone on sleepwalking; I'd been there that often. It was the place I went to think.

But I wasn't going there to think this time. Not this time. This was a time for action. The ache in my heart wasn't something that I could solve with the small release of cutting. I need an escape. A permanent one.

Today was just way too much to deal with. Everything had just spun out of control the moment Chelsea walked through that door.

But god she was beautiful. My memory of her didn't do her justice. And the way her eyes lit up when I gave her that drink...I would've done anything to see her that happy.

But I couldn't. That son of a bitch better make her feel like a queen every single day of her life. Or I'll personally make sure his life would become a living hell.

After a lot of stumbling and wiping my eyes on my shirt, I've arrived at the place. The place where I've spent the last two years cutting, thinking and planning; planning for a day just like this.

It was a park. Well, not really a park. More like a secret garden type of thin. But it was pretty secluded, so I felt safe that no one would find me.

Tears are still pouring down my cheeks, but I ignore them as I head to the old oak tree in the center. At the base is a small hole where I have my tools hidden.

I've thought very intensely about how I would die. Drowning sounds like it takes to long, and shooting a bullet in my head just sounds nerve-wracking. Stepping in front of a speeding bus would be really messy and burning to death sounds just a little too painful.

From underneath the oak, I draw a long gagged kitchen knife. With the ridges on the knife, I could slice through any soft material with ease.

Blood loss. I could die from that. Slashing my wrists would give me my normal release; I'd just slash it enough that I wouldn't be able to clot. Then, I'd steadily grow weaker until I blacked out and then I would die. Peaceful. Almost.

I pull up the sleeves of both my arms as I sit down on the grass and lean against the old oak. Lightly, I unwrap the bandages on both my arms and toss the bandage ok the ground. Someone would pick it up later.

Beneath the wrap, my skin is raw with all the cuts I've inflicted on myself. It's almost sickening to look at, but I have to search for my veins.

The bluish lines that cross my arm are almost hidden, but I find them. I'd have to slash there in order to receive the fastest result. Yes, I did research. Sue me.

My hand shakes as I lift the knife to my skin yet again; for the last time. I concentrate and try to steady my hand but it won't. With a touch to my face, I realize that I'm still crying.

Chelsea's image flashes by my eyes and brings a sharp pain to my heart. I let out a low groan and bang my head against the tree. This was real pain. This was true suffering. And I want it to end.

My hand slashes downwards and an involuntary cry of pain escapes my lips. I glance down at my hand to find it bleeding like no tomorrow; streaming down my arm, soaking my shirt and falling on the ground, turning the snow a bright red.

With my jaw clamped tightly together, I pass the knife off to my bleeding hand. As I shift my arm to a position to cut my right one, blood begins to stain the knife and drip onto my right arm. Quickly, I press the knife to the light blue vein on my right arm and then slash.

My fingers release the knife and it falls to the ground as yet another strangled cry passes by my lips. Now blood is streaming from both of my arms and my vision becomes filled with red.

My breathing becomes harsher, more ragged as I slump onto the ground; lying down in a small pool of my own blood.

Soon, I close my eyes and relax instead of wrestling with the pain. This was what I wanted. To make everything go away. For the pain to finally end.

My head begins to feel really light, and for a moment I think I hear someone call my name. But I'm imagining things, so I ignore it.

"Vaughn? Where are you?"

I swear that sounded like Chelsea's voice. But why would she be out here? She wouldn't be though...she doesn't love me anymore. That's why she broke up with me. Isn't it?

"Vaughn, where are you? I need to tell you something?"

It must be my imagination playing tricks on me. Only in my dreams had she ever wanted to talk to me again. Over the past two years, she never even called me once. Why now? What's the point?

"Oh my god...VAUGHN!"

I feel some air brush by my side right before hands begin clutching at my arms. Was someone trying to stop my bleeding? I couldn't let that happen.

I open my eyes, struggling against the darkness for the first time. When Chelsea's worried face appears before my eyes, I assume it's my imagination. Until she speaks to me.

"Oh my god Vaughn. What did you do?"

I glance down to see that her hands were pressing down on my cuts in an attempt to stop the blood flow. Her hands were covered in my blood.

"There's no point." My voice is raspy as I attempt to speak to her.

One of her hands moves to wipe her brow, and it leaves a trail of blood. She looks at me, her eyes completely lost in my face. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking on my part.

"What do you mean? Why would you kill yourself?"

I swallow and struggle against the darkness again. I wanted to tell Chelsea this before I parted. She needs to know.

"It hurts too much." I whisper to her as I move one of my hands to lie over my heart. "In here. Seeing you with him." I don't bother saying his name; she knew what I was talking about.

"Oh Vaughn." Her hand moves to gently caress my face and I lean into it; feeling more tears run down my face. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You never called." I whisper, relishing her touch. It didn't matter that we were both covered in my blood; she was with me and that was all that mattered.

"I'm calling now." Chelsea whispers to me as she whips out a cell phone. She only punches in three numbers and I know who she's calling.

I place a hand on her knee and shake my head. "There's no point. I'm going to die and you can be happy with whatshisface."

She grasps my hand tightly with her own as she speaks into the phone. "Yes, I need an ambulance. My friend just attempted suicide and he's bleeding really badly."

Chelsea gives them the location of where we were and says something else but I don't hear it. I close my eyes again.

"No, Vaughn! Stay with me! You're going to survive this! You have to!"

"Why?" I whisper, my voice hoarse as I feel my body getting weaker. Chelsea must see it too, because the next second she's ripped off her shirt and spilt it into two pieces. She ties the pieces around my arms to try and stop the blood flow.

I avert my eyes from her, not wanting to disrespect her. Besides, she wasn't mine to look at in that way anymore.

"Vaughn. Look at me." Her fingers grip my jaw and turn my face towards hers. Before I can even comprehend anything, all I feel is her lips pressed tightly against mine, the warmth and realness of it makes me moan as I kiss her back like I've always imagined doing again.

She backs away for a moment. "I love you Vaughn. I always have. You can't die on me now!" Her hands clutch my shirt tightly. "You hear me? You can't die on me! You're going to live!"

Tears are fast streaming down her face. With all my strength, I raise my hand and wipe them from her face. With the movement, the darkness becomes overbearing. Before I submit to the darkness, I whisper to Chelsea.

"I never stopped loving you."

The first thing I hear is a beeping sound. Just repeating, over and over. Was that right? Everything is still dark but I can still hear that beeping. Was I dead? I'm supposed to be dead right now...

Soon I begin to feel my body again and with great dismay I realize that I'm in a hospital. The beeping was a heart monitor. My heart seemed to be at a normal pace.

Then I feel someone holding onto my hand. The hands were small enough to fit into mine and the feel was something I'd never forget. Concentrating hard, I manage to make my grip tighten around Chelsea's.

"Vaughn?" Her voice is worried and sounds like she'd been crying. "Vaughn are you there?"

"I'm here." I manage to whisper out as I force my eyes open.

The light are blinding at first, but they dim down after I open my eyes. I notice that Chelsea was the one who did that. Then I see her face and I hear the heart monitor behind me pick up a notch.

She smiles at me. "Don't strain yourself cowboy."

I smile back at her. That had been the first thing she ever said to me; when she first met me I'd been carrying a whole load of fodder at my farming job. I'd fallen in love with her even back then.

"How are you doing?" She whispers to me, as her hand reaches over to gently stroke the side of my face.

I lean into her hand. "I'm weak, but I think I'm dreaming."

Her brow creases. "Why's that?"

"Cause you're still here." I look deep into her blue eyes. "Shouldn't you be with Mark?"

Her brow creases even further. "Why would I be with him?"

Now it's my turn to be confused. "Isn't he your fiancé? Didn't he propose to you?"

Chelsea lets out a breath and then laughs softly. "Is that why you attempted suicide?" I don't have time to nod before she leans over and kisses me chastely on the lips, making my heart monitor beat like crazy. God, she did something to me. She's got to know that now.

"Mark is my friend." She tells me when she backs away, allowing my heart to calm down. "He has a girlfriend back at the school. Her name is Sabrina and he was practicing proposing to her because he was nervous."

I'm not quite so sure yet. "Why did he kiss you then?"

Her thumb gently strokes my wrist as she hoods my hand. "He does that to everyone. It's just how he is. When we got here, he even kissed Julia and Mirabelle on the cheek. You just didn't see it because you were in the kitchen."

I still have more questions, even though I'm starting to get really excited. "Why did he say that you were 'the one' then?"

She laughs. "The one who could help him." Chelsea smiles at me. "He was failing math class and he needed a tutor. He knew I could help him from the advanced math books I was carrying in my arms."

My heart rate slowly picks up a bit as I ask another question. "When we were eating, he had one hand under the table. Wasn't he touching you?"

She shakes her head, still smiling softly at me. "Mark gets really fidgety. He was playing with a rubber band under the table."

"So..." I pause and think for a moment; now that I was sure she wasn't with Mark, I wanted to know something else. "Why did you break up with me two years ago?"

Chelsea raises my hands to her lips and kisses them gently all over. "I thought that long of a long distance relationship would be too much for you, so I broke up with you so you could be happy with someone else while I was away."

She kisses me again. "I never thought this would happen. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought you didn't love me anymore." I whisper, grasping her hands.

"I could never be happy with anyone else Chelsea. I never dated."

She smiles and laughs softly. "Neither did I."

Chelsea leans down and kisses me gently on the cheek to avoid upsetting my heart, but even that small motion set my heart going at a much faster pace.

We both laugh as she backs away a bit. Curious, I sweep my eyes around the room, but there's no one there.

"Where are Julia, Mirabelle and Mark?" I ask her as I turn my gaze back to her.

She smiles softly and kisses my hand again. "Mark flew back to the school. Mirabelle and Julia are at home planning her wedding with Elliot. You've been out two days."

Wow. I missed Elliot proposing to Julia. But I could imagine her reaction pretty well. But that brings me to yet another question.

"How am I still alive?"

Chelsea just pushes up her sleeve, revealing gauze wrapped around her arm. Then she points to a spot over my head where a bag of blood hangs. It's then that I realize that it's attached to an IV in my hand.

She pushes her sleeve down again. "We're blood matches. You've got my blood in your veins now."

Chelsea's blood in my veins. I think my heart monitor picked up a few notches just at the blissful thought.

"You saved my life." I whisper to her. "Thank you."

Suddenly she smirks. "You owe me though."

I smile softly at her. "Anything you want."

The biggest smile I've ever seen lights up her face. She leans down and kisses me softly by my ear. "I want you."

She backs away to look deep into my eyes. "I love you Vaughn. You want to be my boyfriend again?"

I shake my head at her. "No. I don't want to be your boyfriend."

Her jaw drops and her eyes begin to swell up with tears. Gently I bring her hand to my lips and kiss her skin ever so gently. Then I look up into her eyes. "I want more. I want to be your husband."

I grip her hand tighter as a tear falls down her face. "Chelsea, will you marry me? I don't have a ring right now, but I'll get you one as soon as I get out of here. Please Chelsea, I love you. Marry me?"

She smiles at me through her tears. "Not how I've always imagined; but I like this better." Then she leans down towards me.

"Yes Vaughn. I want to marry you."

And then she kisses me full on the mouth, no holding back. The heart monitor behind me goes crazy but we ignore it as we make up for two year's worth of kisses. And we would have plenty more years to add to our love; knowing she was mine forever.

It's the happiest moment of my life.

Suicide Facts

1. One out of every five high school students contemplates suicide.

2. Five out of every twenty college students has a suicide plan

3. Males are four times as likely to attempt suicide but females are four times as likely to succeed.

4. Suicide is the 3rd largest killer of people between ages 10 and 24.

5. Every 20 minutes, someone commits suicide.

6. Suicide is 100% preventable.

And these stats rise every day.

Is someone ever tells you that they're planning on committing suicide, STAY with them. Don't let them out of your sight. And listen to them. Take them seriously. And call or get help, immediately.

In An Emergency, Call:

1-800-273-TALK (8255)

National Suicide Hotline: (800) SUICIDE (1-800-784-2433)

Christian Teen Helpline: (800) 394-HOPE

Youth Crisis Hotline: (800) 448-4663

Suicide Prevention: (310) 391-1253

O.C. Suicide Hotline: (714) 639-4673

Cutting Yourself?: (800) DONTCUT (1-800-366-8288)

Remember, suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. There is always someone who cares about you, never forget that you are important to everyone around you. It's okay to ask for help.

Suicide. It hurts.