I couldn't move, I was almost positive my heart had stopped beating…"Go, Alex, go. I don't want to see you here again." His words echoed in my head as I remembered his gorgeous eyes alight, demanding. "I said Go!"

I did go. I made my feet leave my life behind and I focused all my energy on my panic. I turned my back on him, on what I lived for, making my knee bend, lifting my leg, bending my knee again and putting my foot in front of the other. I faintly heard the pounding bass as I wound my way through the once fascinating club. I made my breath go in and out in sync with the movement of my legs. I tried not to think of the strangers pressing in on me, but more than that I tried not to think of who I was walking away from- I knew that would hurt more that any blow in the world.

But now as I sit here I know that's not the case, I know I was wrong about the pain. I know I was wrong about everything because in this moment I feel nothing. There are no tears, no panic, no agony, only this horrible nothingness. It is not like it is in the movies, nothing feels slower than usual, I don't have to grab Kleenexes in a frenzy trying to dry my eyes, and I certainly don't feel the need scream, or even to breathe. Nothing exists. The cool breeze blowing through my open window is imaginary, my hands-fictional. Who cares if my dad walks in on me, sees me staring blankly at nothing? So what if he realizes that I snuck out, will it matter? If nothing exists does anything matter? If he's dead how will I live?