Edited

Autumn of 1870

Raymond watches the cover of his book as the room fills with the drone of dull Greek. He loathes having to sit still and listen to the man. He thinks of Anne, secluded in Ravensworth. No Greek lessons for her if she did not want it. Her Greek was perfect. He wants her there with him to throw pencils at the teacher then laugh about it when he looked away. All boys' school, he thinks. He couldn't bring her along if he tried. Even his mind has taken to droning out his thoughts. Perfect. Just perfect.

He picks at a loose string from his sleeve, attempting to saw it off with a piece of charcoal, which is more than impractical. Once that becomes boring, he looks at the sketch that is scrawled out on the parchment. It is the beginnings of Anne's solid-black hair, as well as the diamond shape of a kite well above her head. He wants to draw her with a nice, big smile. It would have to suffice until he sees her again and could give her the tightest embrace be could. He has to watch the drawing flying her kite until then, though.

Yes, even a drawing is having more fun than he is, and his only consoling thought was that it was his last year.

Before his thoughts wander back to a certain raven-haired young lady, a knock resounds through the schoolroom.

The teacher mutters something in Greek before opening the door, and as soon as he does, a flushed delivery boy enters, holding out an envelope and saying something that Raymond cannot make out.

"Marshal," the teacher says, referring to him. "A telegram. The man claims it is dire news. Read it." He barely understands what the teacher is saying, for his accent was thick. He hopes that the words are not what they had sounded like, but the teacher holds the envelope out to him with a grave expression.

Raymond scrambles awkwardly out of his seat, still holding his drawing of Anne. By the teacher's desk, he hurriedly opens it, aware of everyone's stares resting on him. His mind floats. Dire news? The only dire news he can think of is anything concerning his father, and so he braces himself. He finds something else, though. Something far, far worse.

Raymond could have sworn that his heart stopped in his chest right then and there. He let go of the drawing and it drops into the teacher's oil lamp, burning. His eyes are, too.

"I have to leave." He does not even stop to gather his things before he bolts to the boarding house to shove his valuables into a trunk and carry it down the stairs himself. Within ten minutes, he is in a carriage with a driver he has paid generously for a fast trip to Ravensworth Castle. By then, his hands are shaking so bad that he has to keep them under his knees so they don't quiver.

He simply cannot get the image of Anne in a bloodstained... bloodstained everything out of his mind. He allows tears to fall. He has never been so afraid.

Her hands would be cold when he arrived. Her nails would be caked with the rust of her own blood. She would have dried burgundy stains all over her skin. She wouldn't be moving, she wouldn't be conscious, she wouldn't be living... she would be in a coffin, and his worst fears would come true. He would have no one to lean on. His lively little storm would be gone before he could reach her.

When they make a stop at an inn along the way, Raymond cannot sleep. He shivers in his bed too much. Nothing comforts him. Not even staring at the stars. Not even old memories of him and Anne. 

By the time sleep consumes him, he has thought of every bad thing that could await him. In his dreams, a ghost haunts him, her green eyes no longer sparkling as she speaks silent words. He knows what they meant, however. She blames him for not being there for her.

He clutches the chunk of rose quartz that hangs around his neck even while he is asleep, dreaming of Anne dangling from the ceiling, looking like a forgotten doll. Blood seeps into her dress and pools below her feet. His name is written all around the walls in her hand, blood used as ink. It goes through the frames, through the pressed flowers and the photographs of them, through the mirror where her eyes are reflected, shut in such a serene manner that she looks as if she could have been an angel, had it not been for the tears of blood that streak down her cheeks and the fire poker, still sizzling hot, that is speared through her stomach. Even in his sleep, he is so nauseated that he can barely breathe.

She is alive and well in the next dream, sitting with him by a lake on the Arundel Castle's grounds. There is a poetry book in her lap, and she is leaning on his chest, laughing. His coat is around her shoulders, keeping her from the autumn chill. He leans in to kiss her, but the rim of her hat makes it difficult. Giggling, she begins to adjust it, but she suddenly slumps to the ground, lifeless. He tries to get to her, to make her open her eyes, but whatever he does makes things worse. When he tries to check for a pulse, his hands are immediately covered in blood from a wound across her collarbones that had not been there before. When he tries to do it again using her wrists, even more blood spills from wounds that have opened up seemingly out of nowhere. He is screaming her name, doing anything just to get her to wake.

There is nothing after that.

George has his arm around his son's shoulders.

The moment Raymond stepped off the carriage, he was shaking so badly that his knees had buckled and it took considerable effort to stand, let alone walk. The poor lad is terrified; trying to keep himself from crying. He is breathing so raggedly that his lungs could have burst. Fearing for his bad lung, George manages to calm him down somewhat, but he is still struggling with his tears.

"H-H-H-How is she?" He stutters before his voice cracks and he lets out a sob.

"Her condition has hardly improved since I sent you that telegram, but she is alive. I have not seen her, so I do not know the extent of... of the damage, but Eleanor says that she will live. She is still feverish, but not as much as she had been before. You know her better than anyone, Ray. She is a fighter."

"But why? What happened to her? W-Why did she-?"

George bites his lip. He does not want to divulge the news to him while he was still so distressed.

"Her reasons are... not so important at the moment. Besides, it would be better if Anne told you herself. Just... go to her. See if she is awake. She has been screaming for you ever since I arrived."

"Screaming for me?" Raymond whispers in disbelief as a new wave of tears floods his eyes. He can barely see through them. "What? But didn't you say her neck was slit?"

"It was. It is. The wound keeps reopening and reopening, and there is nothing anyone can do. Eleanor's been hoping that you'd arrive. She thinks that Anne would calm down if you were there, but I do not know. Go and see her. She can't be much better since I last saw her."

Raymond obliges without saying another word. He tears blindly through the halls and doorways, his heartbeat becoming louder and louder with each second that passes. He is running blind, basically, as tears stream down his face in such a great volume that all he can see are faint outlines and shadows.

The last time he had seen her, she had been so happy. She had only turned sixteen and was presented to the Queen in a quaint celebration. He had escorted her and took her out to see the sights in London every opportunity he found. The only time she frowned was when he had said goodbye to her, but even then, she smiled after he said that they would see each other again. Now? He was not so sure that he would ever see her alive again.

Anne had a penchant for trying to hide her emotions, but he sees through her. She had not been sad at all. She had even shed tears of happiness when he gave her the silver band with their initials engraved into it right after she had been presented.

If he were to lose her, then he would lose himself. He pines for her just as much as she did for him. He has spent years trying to make himself better to make her happy, and if she were to... die, God forbid, then he would crash down. There would be no one to embrace him and keep his doubts at bay.

Yes, he is being incredibly selfish, but the thought of her simply not there is enough to tear him apart. There is too much at stake; Anne is his first love and his closest friend. For the life of him, he could not figure out what on earth he would do without her. He could barely last the long months between school holidays without her company, so how better would he fare if he never saw her again? Even worse, the earth would be devoid of any happiness if she were to...

Regardless, he does not like that his last memory of her would be a dream, where her blood had pooled around like lakes. He almost does not want to enter her chambers out of fear that what he would find was an ashen white corpse, sweaty and open-eyed with exhaustion, but if he does not enter, that vision would most certainly come true.

He braces himself.

A/N: In When You're Gone, I really want to establish that depression chooses no one. There's a social stigma around boys who develop depression and/or anxiety and other psychological issues, but I want people to know that they're only being hurt when they're pushed away like that and not given the help and positive attention that they need.

That being said, When You're Gone will certainly not end like Away From Me did. From the get-go (which was 2-3 years ago), I've planned to give Anne and Ray a happy ending.

Please keep in mind that this story is in no way condoning nor romanticizing suicide, self-harm, or any other sort of negative action my characters do. If you need help, please talk to someone. If you feel like you have no one to share your feelings with, heck, message me. I understand how this feels. I've seen firsthand what depression can do to a person, and believe me when I say that Anne and Ray's story is based off something very real, right down to their mental states.

I hope that after reading a story such as this, it will help those of you out there who feel as if the world hates them or those who feel that they're useless to try and seek out someone that they can lean on and cry to, if need be. Please find someone who can help you let go of your insecurities and doubts.

Writing this, I really felt like I had to break through social and gender norms, and even though it might not take off and raise awareness like I want it to, I can still feel content knowing that I tried to help. I've tried to make this feel as real as possible, or, at least the mental states of my characters.

Lastly, if you know someone with this kind of issue, please try your best to help them. More often than not, they only need someone to listen. Please be that person for them.