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The best result that I was hoping to get out of my disappearance would've been something along the lines of this: I get home, and see the relief and joy of my parents that their only child had returned from God-knows-what. After a slight admonishing for worrying them, I explain to them what prompted me to run away. They alert the school, who find the main causes of my suffering and sentence them to hefty suspensions, Saturday detentions, and large black marks on their oh-so-valuable transcripts, fucking over any chance they have of getting accepted into anything but community college. The rest of the student body realizes that they've pushed me far enough to do something this drastic, and collectively make amends for all the teasing and bullying they've sent my way the last seven years. Maybe they won't befriend me, but at least they'll leave me alone.

Absolutely none of that happened.

First, the car ride home. Silent as a graveyard. Sure, they were happy to see that I was still alive, but it was obvious that I'd sorely underestimated how angry they'd be for going missing for two days. When we did get home, the next hour and a half was spent sitting repentant in the living room as my dad gave me a tirade that I was sure he'd been saving up for a while. As if he knew I was going to fuck up royally somewhere down the line, and he was going to make sure I heard in pristine detail how I'd let him down over the years. He didn't care what was going on with the other kids in school, except to say that I was letting them "walk all over me" and that I had to "man up" if I wanted them to stop. He brought up my grades - mediocre at best, because I was so emotionally exhausted from day after day of torment that I had no desire to study or do homework - and all the potential that I'd let go to waste. My mom, who I'd looked upon more than once to temper my dad's anger, could only chime in every so often with a point of her own, about how they couldn't help me if I didn't help myself, how important my grades were to get into a good school, and so on.

They grounded me for two weeks - not that I had anywhere in particular to go - and gave me the threat of more punishment if I didn't get home immediately from school every day. As in, I had to be in the door by 3: 30 or I was going to be in even bigger trouble.

Meanwhile, I was still shivering from the rain, and they'd already thrown out what was left of dinner. It wasn't until they finally released me from their tongue-lashing that I finally got to take a shower and warm up.

Worse yet, because the next day was Friday, I'd still have to go to school. And with my parents' reception being so much colder than I'd expected, the dread I felt of returning to

school after my little stunt was so overwhelming that I couldn't sleep - despite my first night in a soft bed in three days.

When I got to my first class, everyone was already looking at me like I'd strangled a baby in public. Even the teacher, who informed me that I'd get zero credit for any assignments they had while I was gone. I didn't bother explaining why I ran away: after the negative reaction from my parents, I knew that if I told them why - to get away from their bullying - that it would only make the bullying even worse.

Nonetheless, they figured it out anyway.

"So I heard you ran away," the classmate seated behind me whispered in my ear as the teacher droned on about Ping Pong Diplomacy. "Thought you could hide out in the ravine, did you?"

"Shut up," I sneered back.

"You idiot, everyone knew that's where you were hiding. Nobody said anything because we didn't want you to come back."

"Shut the fuck up," I repeated, this time griding my teeth as I said it.

"Why don't you go back over there and cry some more? That's probably what you did the whole time anyway. 'Wah, wah, wah, nobody likes me because I'm such a fucking dork, and I'm too much of a fucking sissy to handle-"

"I said SHUT THE FUCK UP!!" I screamed, turning back in my seat to face him. That brought the class to a screeching halt.

"Mister Donahue!" The teacher bellowed. "If you're going to disrupt my class with your foul language, then you can go straight to the principal's office!"

The rest of the students looked quite amused at the way I'd managed to get myself into even more trouble at school.

"You know what?" I got up from my desk. "You're all a bunch of assholes! I hope you all burn in Hell!" I stormed out of the room, my eyes already starting to sting.

I was fortunate enough that the principal had the slightest bit of empathy for my situation. I'd talked to her more than once, and although she never gave me any advice beyond the same "ignore it" garbage I'd heard from every other adult, at least she didn't give me any detention. With the curfew I already had imposed on me by my parents, I had enough problems in that area.

Still, the rest of the day was just as bad. It was obvious that everyone knew that I'd run away just to try and get some attention, and I got no sympathy from any of them. What I thought would be a cry for help turned out to be an invitation to escalate their torments. Even walking between classes didn't protect me from their venom. Last period was PE as usual, and I was relegated to the bench once again. Not that I wanted to play anyway; I was so worn down by everyone that I just wanted to disappear. Permanently, this time.

I didn't say a word to my parents at all that day. I simply retired to my room after dinner, lights off, staring out the window. The one chance I had to redeem myself backfired. Guess I should've known; after all, it's not like I ever managed to succeed at anything anyway.

That's when those thoughts started creeping into my head again.

The ones that say, just end it already. Anything to make it stop. Whatever death is, it can't possibly be any worse than this. It's never going to get any better. Just find a way, and end it.

What stopped me in the past was the worries of regret and shame that I'd bring on everyone for committing suicide. My parents would open my bedroom door, see me lifeless in bed, and be devastated. They'd kick themselves for not doing more to reverse the downward spiral I'd been on for years. Meanwhile, the school would hold a memorial service in the auditorium, with teachers and students alike coming up to the stage to eulogize, and those who were most hateful to me would have to live the rest of their lives knowing they were responsible for me ending mine.

If I knew that any of that would happen, it might've stopped me this time. But being called a failure by my father, plus what had gone on at school that morning, convinced me that literally nobody would care if I died.

It was late at night. I wanted to make sure my parents were sleeping, because I didn't want anything to get in the way. If my plan to run away didn't work, I was going to make damn sure this one did.

In the kitchen were the various prescription drugs my parents took. My dad's blood pressure pills, my mom's osteoporosis medication. I quietly plucked the bottles off from the top of the fridge. Then, sneaking into the main bathroom, I grabbed some of the over-the-counter sleeping pills my dad had gotten after a short stint of insomnia.

I went back to my room, with only the street light shining outside providing any illumination.

I took a couple of deep breaths, squeezing the last few tears out of my eyes, and popped open the bottle for the blood pressure pills.

I heard a noise from outside. Despite my plans, I was curious, so I went to my bedroom window to see where the noise was coming from.

Standing on the street corner, I saw it again. The same creature that I'd encountered in the ravine the night before. Again, looking straight into my window. Thanks to the street light, I was able to clearly make him out, and marveled at the notion at I was looking at what could only be described as a werewolf. He - it was clearly a "he" now - was covered in fur turned a dingy yellow by the light. He looked imposing - even at a distance I could tell he was about 7 feet tall, with an athletic frame that would only come from a natural wolf if they spent less time running through fields and more time pumping weights.

He looked at me through the window with those same golden eyes, and then he raised his head towards the sky - and howled.

How fitting that only one that would mourn me is an animal. I shook a few of the pills into my hand.

He howled again.

I looked back at him. Surely he tracked my scent from the ravine and is just bemoaning the fact that his prey is behind a layer of glass and drywall - or is he? Could he possibly know what I'm trying to do? I wasn't an expert on werewolves, but nothing I'd ever seen or heard about them said anything about them being psychic.

Yet another howl echoed from the street corner. Anyone awake would have heard it, but it was 3:00 in the morning so nobody except me probably did. I could almost hear the message behind it. Don't, it seemed to say. Don't do it. Not now.

I practically wanted to climb out the window and get closer, but doing that would risk waking my parents up. Instead, I whispered - as if he could hear me. "Why not?" I asked. "Why shouldn't I?"

One more soft howl. You'll see.

With that, he scampered off into the darkness, fast as the wind.

I could only stare at the spot where the wolf had been, pondering what had just happened. I looked at the little white pills in the palm of my hand. How tempting it felt to just pop them in, swallow, and finally put an end to my sadness. But I couldn't do it. My arm wouldn't respond to its command. I was frozen - in fear? No, I was over that already. It had to be the wolf. It might have been a hallucination, a figment of my conscience made real in an attempt to jolt me out of my reverie and do the right thing. That's why I ran out of the ravine the night before - because the wolf chased me out. But whether it was real or imagined, it worked.

I dropped the pills back in the bottle and closed the cap.