Chapter 69, Just the driver

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A/N: Okay so whatever happens, just trust me. This is for the best. Don't stop reading. At least finish this book and then you don't have to read book 3, but don't let this be the last chapter.

Not saying he dies. But y'all will get triggered. 

Also I have to put up a warning for sensitive readers. Read with caution. 

I turn up the radio of the car to drown out the thoughts strangling me.

For a few days now, I've just been driving around. The only stops I take is when I'm filling up the tank or sleeping in the backseat. I love cars. I've always had. 

My dad was the one that made me love cars. He had his own garage and it was struggling, but he couldn't let it go. It was his passion. My mom and dad met when she had a flat tire and he stopped to help her. Their honeymoon was in a car when they could only afford to get to the location, but not to get a hotel.

Then there's the infamous story of how my mom gave birth to me in a car on the way to the hospital.

I was happy. I can actually say that once upon a time, I was undeniably happy.

One of my favorite memories pops up, but I block it out. Because thinking about how great everything was makes it so much worse remembering the bad.

"See-an? Why do you say your name like that? It's supposed to be Shawwwn, Stupid!" Tom teased after school. I was ten and waiting for my dad to pick me up from school. He was late as usual.

"It's my name. I can say it how I like," I defended and took a step back to try and let the stop sign keep me busy. Hopefully Tom and his gang of friends would walk away now, I thought to myself. I'm a tiny, scrawny kid as it is, but I felt smaller than ever.

"Are your parents also stupid? Can't they read? Why would they pronounce your name as See-an. It's weird," Tom  continued.

Yesterday he had a problem with my bony knees. Today it's my name, I remarked to myself. I heard the sound of a car coming closer and for the first time, I wish my dad had one of his very late days. Or that he's driving a better-looking customer car this time.

Dread sank into me seeing my Dad stop next to us in a beat up 1980 ford with 3 different paint colors from where he had to replace parts. Smoke was coming from the engine and it was making the ugliest noise possible.

"Get in, Sean!" Dad called out after rolling down the window. His cigarette hung loosely from his lips and the toxic smoke mixed with the fowl smell the car had, could be smelt from a mile away.

Embarrassed beyond repair, I rushed into the car and kept my head down while Tom and his friends laughed uncontrollably.

"How was your day?" Dad asked.

"Please, just drive," I begged and sank down lower into my seat.

Dad pulled away and the engine cut off at the worst possible moment. More laughter ruptured from the bullies and I wish I could've disappeared right there. I wished with my whole heart and soul to just vanish.

And I did.

Not at the time and not immediately, but over the years I got my wish. I turned invisible and though it means avoiding people like Tom, it meant avoiding people all together. It means getting walked over and ignored.

Being invisible had its perks though.

For example, when my dad's garage was taken away, he lost almost everything. There were the few years when mother couldn't take the poverty and used liquor to wash the worries down. Dad was still kind to her - even when she'd hit him over the head with a bottle or yell at him senselessly. Those years seem like heaven compared to the time she decided liquor wasn't doing the job good enough.

The worst part is that I helped. To make her calm and not go off at dad, she needed money to buy her drugs. I should've said no, but when she was crying and on her knees and begging me to sell the car I built, I went soft.

And in Tygerwell, the best way to earn money fast was being in a gang.

I joined the East side gang as the lowest of the lowest and told myself it wasn't permanent. I'd only do it until I got enough to make my mom happy or get her help.

Before I could do that, an overdose solved all my problems.

The guilt and regret wrecked me so thoroughly, I couldn't bare looking at my father's face. Sure, mom was not herself the last couple of years and she beat dad, but he still loved her through everything. I had to stay in the gang life to afford my Dad a place and now I send him money every month to get by.

Just when I was getting over knowing I helped my mother die, the day came that I'd lose myself completely.

The East and West gang got in a fight and Owen was forced to be the new leader. His anger made him assemble his gang and approach one of the Western gang members during his patrol shift a few weeks later. The guy was young and looked up at us in confusion when we stood right  on the edge of the Western border.

Owen lifted his gun and aimed. The Western gang member froze and raised his hands in surrender. "Please... Wait..." he said.

Owen frowned and then handed the gun to me. "Do it," he ordered.

I knew Owen gave me the order because he couldn't do it yet. It was my fault really in anyway. The East-side gang thought I had killed before. Which I technically did if you counted my mother, but I was never the direct cause.

With shaky hands, I raised the gun.

I didn't want to do it.

But a curious part of myself wondered that if I did it, maybe it'll kill me too.

And it did kill me. 

But not at the time and not suddenly. Slowly, over the years it killed me until I knew I was just an invisible corpse walking around. People treated me like an invisible corpse too. Better yet, a funny invisible corpse.

I want to die.

Hahahaha so funny.

I wish I was never born.

Love the dark humor hehe.

I literally plan to kill myself.

Lol okay, Sean. Hahaha.

I drive through the Western Main road back into Tygerwell and head South East. I drive along the coast that's between Southern and Neutral territory. When I find the familiar secret side road, I take it and drive my way to a parking almost nobody knows about. It over looks the ocean and it's a pretty good view. Whenever I feel down, I always drive here.

When I'm where I want to be, I cut the engine and sit back. I try clearing my head. I try breathing steadily, but I can't. Feeling myself getting hot, I take off my hoodie and throw it to the passenger seat. I can't help noticing myself. Noticing my frail arms made of skin and bone.

Starving does that to you.

It's not that I want to be skinny, it's that it's an easier way to die. Slower, but consistently there.

I frown while letting my one hand rub my arm.

Don't look, don't look, don't look, don't look, don't look.

I give in and turn my arm over - revealing raw, open wounds on my wrist. They're just horizontal lines, so I know they can't kill me, but they can hurt me though.

And I deserve to hurt.

I deserve to hurt so much after everything I've done.

I let my finger slide over one of the wounds and I hiss at the sharp, stinging pain. I've seen those tumblr posts with people cutting themselves and it's always so fake and wrong. Wounds don't go deeper, they go wider. Your flesh tears apart and it sits on your skin like an oval kind of shape. 

I stop picking at my cuts and put my hands on the steering wheel. 

Nobody has called me yet.

I've been gone for a while and yet I have no calls.

Why am I surprised? 

Of course nobody would call. Of course nobody would care. I have no one. I'm alone in this fucked up world and nobody can save me. No matter how many times I begged the world to just look. To just see how I'm not okay. How I need help so desperately.

I start feeling sorry for myself and a tear slips from my eye. I didn't even notice the threat of tears. 

The first time I thought about dying, I was doing it because I thought there's a chance I might be reincarnated or be born as someone else. I can start over. I can lead a life where I don't hate myself everyday or wish I was dead or cut myself or starve myself or be so fucking alone. 

Now?

Now I want to die because I want everything to just end. I don't want to be reincarnated. I don't deserve that. Even my supposed friends seem to think that.

I take out my phone and look for a contact.

When my eyes fall on Amber's name, I take a breath and decide to type a message.

I put my phone down so fast that I think I almost break it for a moment. 

With my heart beating out of my chest, I sit back again and rub at my legs while trying not to panic. I'll give her 15 minutes. This is a win-win situation no matter what. If Amber calls, it means I really am not alone. She's been kind and the only one that can see me sometimes. We could be friends and she could help me feel a little less alone.

If she doesn't call me in the next fifteen minutes, it means she doesn't care or she's too busy for me. And then death will take everything away. See? Win-win.

I have 15 minutes left.

That's enough.

Five minutes pass and I still don't have a call.

I continue to look out over the ocean and think about what it would be like to drown. I don't think that's my cup of tea though. I want to die in the thing I love most. A car. Appropriate that since I was born in a car, I would die in a car.

Somehow the cold, metallic structure has been more of a friend to me that most warm, soft people.

I check the time on the dashboard and there's five minutes left.

A gut feeling tells me Amber won't call. She's too busy for me. And that realization makes me start to shake. I can't even try to stop the tears flooding my cheeks - dripping down onto my black shirt. This is it. This is going to be the end. The end of Sean Shavel.

It's just so hard knowing nobody will know or care. It's so heartbreaking to know that in eighteen years, I failed at making even one person care about me. Maybe that's a sign. I was set up to fail from the start.

There's one more minute away and it feels like I'll kill myself with a heart attack.

Nobody is coming for me...

Nobody...

I hope I go to hell. I deserve it and the fact that nobody cares enough about me to call, proves the theory. How horrible must I be to not have a single friend? To get my mom killed and another person murdered and... And people after that. I haven't even allowed myself to think about the people Jane ordered me to kill on my latest mission... Teenagers...

Panic starts to suffocate me. What would nothing be like? I will just stop existing. Just disappear officially. My breath gets less and less at the thought of if there is something. Suicide doesn't make it to heaven, does it? My throat gets dry. I can't think straight. Soon I won't think at all.

I deserve hell.

Just before my time is up, my phone suddenly rings.

I gape in surprise and tears of joy flood me within seconds. I was wrong! I was wrong! I was wrong! I was wrong! People do care! Relief and joy is everything I know while grabbing my phone to answer the call.

"Hello, Amber! You called! You actually called!" I shout. I can't help myself.

"Good evening sir, I am calling from Secure Insurance. We would like to know if you'd want to take out any life insurance plan for you and your family," the person on the other side of the call says.

Everything stops. The tears dry, my smile fades, the wind stops blowing and it feels like my heart stops beating. All thoughts gets switched off while holding the phone to my ear and staring at the 19:01 clock on the dashboard.

"Hello, sir?"

Nobody is going to call.

"Sir?"

I do not matter.

"Sir are you there?"

I deserve what's coming next.

"No," I suddenly answer, "I do not need life insurance."

I hang up and hold the phone in my hand with no grip. No energy. Everyone's too busy. They'll probably be too busy for my funeral as well. That's if I get one... Which I doubt.

Giving it one more breath, I drop the phone. I don't go back into the chat and notice the notification that was sent. I was expecting a call after all. So of course the notification stays in my phone, on the floor of the car.

I'm not sure if seeing it would've amde a difference.

So, with a violent calmness, I get out of the car and go to the boot. I take out the pipe I brought and insert it into the exhaust of the car. Using good old tape, I make sure the pipe stays secured to the exhaust. When that is handled, I bring the other end of the pipe with me into the car. I make sure all the windows are rolled up and let the one where the pipe is coming in, close as much as it can without stopping the pipe.

Calm, I start the engine. No hesitation. No looking back.

And as the lovely sound of the engine fills my ears, the lovely smell of petrol fills my nose.

I find comfort in the dark, infinite haze that clouds me. The slow, suffocation and endless sleep that comes like a soft caress. And then the blistful emptiness my mind falls into.

They won't miss me. I'm just the driver.

Hey goldies...

SO WAIT A SECOND. MOST OF Y'ALL ARE PROBABLY SAYING YOU'RE NOT READING FURTHER BUT PLEASE GIVE ME A CHANCE HERE. Jeeze! At least finish the book. After I write the last chapter, I'll be okay with you leaving me and not reading the third book I'm planning.

I know most of you guys are upset over this, but please just trust me. Everything I do, I do for a reason. I STILL GOT SOME FIGHT IN ME GOD DAMMIT.

Now...

Who cried?

Who didn't cry?

Anything you wish you could've told Sean?

I really do love you guys so much and hope you will still vote. The fight starts in the next chapter so prepare.

~ Holly Shmit

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