My Neil, please come back

Ethan still brought meals three times a day, but each time he delivered a meal, he would take away the untouched one from before. He had tried to persuade me many times, but I always replied that for someone on the verge of death, eating one more meal or one less didn't make a difference. This morning, however, he was so shocked by my actions that he dropped the entire breakfast on the floor because I had harmed myself.

I had been lying in bed, looking at Neil, thinking about his pain and my guilt, repeatedly dwelling on the same thoughts. Suddenly, an idea struck me. If I followed Neil in death, I would only experience dying. My poor Neil endured unimaginable pain alone, pain that no one else knew or understood.

I picked up something sharp and started cutting into my own flesh. Wherever Neil had a wound, I made a cut on myself in the same place. I had made about a dozen cuts when Ethan walked in. Seeing what I was doing, he immediately threw the food aside and rushed over to take the