I remember the first time Eli found out I wasn’t taking my meds.
It wasn’t a fight, not at first. It was just a quiet, heavy moment between us—one of those moments where the weight of everything I carried threatened to crush me.
I was sitting on the floor of my apartment, staring at the bottle of pills on the table. I hadn't touched them in days. Maybe weeks.
Eli walked in, setting down the takeout bag he had brought for us. "Hey, I got your favorite—" His voice trailed off the moment he saw me.
His eyes flicked to the untouched pill bottle. Then to me.
"Iris," he said softly, kneeling beside me. "How long?"
I shrugged, feeling the familiar guilt creep up my spine. "I don’t know."
He exhaled sharply but didn’t say anything right away. He didn’t yell. He didn’t scold me. He just sat there, watching me like he was trying to understand.
"Why?" he finally asked.
I swallowed, gripping my arms. "Because I hate how they make me feel."
He didn’t look surprised. Maybe he already knew. Maybe he had seen the signs—the way my moods shifted unpredictably, the way I withdrew, the way I clung to him like he was the only thing keeping me grounded.
I expected him to be disappointed. Maybe even angry. But instead, he reached for my hand and laced his fingers through mine.
"Then tell me," he murmured. "Tell me what you feel."
I hesitated before whispering, "Like I’m not myself. Like I’m empty."
Eli’s grip on my hand tightened. "Iris, you are not empty. You’re still you—with or without the meds."
I shook my head, my throat burning. "But what if the real me is just… broken?"
He cupped my face, forcing me to look at him. "You're not broken," he said firmly. "You're struggling. And that’s okay. But you don’t have to do this alone."
Tears welled in my eyes, and for the first time in a long time, I let myself lean on someone else. I let myself believe—just for a moment—that maybe I wasn’t too much to love.
And at that moment, Eli made me feel safe.
Even if I didn’t always feel safe from myself.
I was sleeping when I dream. A man, wait, it was Eli. Why is it dark around here? "Eli...?" he didn't speak. I approached him. "Eli,"
He looked at me with a smile. "Are you okay?" I wondered. "Huh?"
"Don't be sad anymore, I don't want to see you sad. Please, always remember that I'm here,"
He hugged me, but he disappeared immediately. So, I immediately woke up, panting and sweating.
My heart pounded as I gasped for air, my body drenched in sweat. My room was dark, the only source of light coming from the dim glow of the streetlamp outside. My hands trembled as I ran them through my hair, trying to steady my breathing.
It felt so real.
Eli’s voice still echoed in my head. "Don’t be sad anymore. I don’t want to see you sad."
I swallowed hard, trying to shake off the overwhelming feeling of emptiness left behind by the dream. My fingers curled around the blanket as I pulled my knees to my chest, rocking slightly.
Why did it feel like a goodbye?
I reached for my phone on the nightstand, my hands still unsteady as I unlocked it. 2:47 AM.
Without thinking, I clicked on Eli’s name and started typing.
Me: Eli… are you awake?
Me: Please, reply if you're awake. I want to hear your voice/
I waited, staring at the screen, hoping—begging—for a reply. Seconds passed. Then minutes. Nothing.
Maybe he was sleeping. Maybe I was just overthinking again.
I sighed, placing my phone back on the nightstand, but sleep no longer felt like an option. My body was exhausted, but my mind wouldn’t stop racing. The dream clung to me like a shadow, refusing to let go.
I couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was wrong.
That maybe… I was about to lose something. Or someone.
I didn't sleep until he replied. Until it was 3:25 PM, and then my cellphone rang. I immediately opened my message inbox until I fainted. "Hi, Iris. This is Eli's mom, Eli is gone. We rushed him to the hospital, he committed suicide, Iris."
No, I'm dreaming. It was a prank. My hands are shaking. My vision blurred. My breath hitched.
No.
No, no, no.
My fingers trembled as I read the message over and over again, but the words refused to make sense. Eli is gone. He committed suicide.