Story Twelve

I woke, sitting in the bathtub and staring at my wrists, in disbelief that I did it wrong again. No big gushes as I hoped, only surface wounds that would heal, like they always do. I was tired and just wanted to sleep forever, but I slowly slipped out of the tub and walked to the bedroom. I had set a whole outfit of his clothes on the bed on the side he slept after I got the phone call. Someone had rear-ended him and when he left the car to check the damage another person hydroplaned and ran right into him. As soon as my boss heard I was given two weeks paid leave as long as I was able to fax or email all my work.

The first few days the only time I left the bed were when people came over and had cooked for me. People don't seem to understand food is the last thing people grieving want but after a few obligatory bites I would find an excuse to make them leave, then throw out the food and pile the dish in the sink before returning to bed.

The next few days, I threw myself into work items and filled out forms which I sent back through the USPS. The days felt long because the projects took three hours at most.

I sat passively watching TV one day and this one woman was talking about how she feared for her daughter because the twenty-something cut herself.
My attention turned to my wrist and slowly traced a vein until my finger lay inside my arm. I looked at the coffee table and the only sharp object was the fingernail clippers which aren't very sharp so I got up and walked around, into the kitchen. I stood there, listless and looked around. The kitchen knives sat in one corner not being used. I silently walked over to them and picked one out. I slowly slid the metal across my wrist, feeling the cold steel against my skin.

I couldn't do it and put the knife back, before walking back to the couch and sitting down.

A day later, I found myself standing there and the knife again in my hand. I closed my eyes and inhaled, before slowly digging the knife into my wrist. A small sting resulted from making contact, which made me bite my lip and wince.

A second later the pain was gone and I lifted the knife. A small trickle of blood was in its place.

I stood there and just watched it drip, until it stopped and gelled.

Fast forward to now, after a few more tries, I lied down on top of his clothes, curled into a fetal position, wrapping the arms of his shirt around me. I had a few days left before I had to return to work and back to reality. I also had run out of coffee, which was the only thing I've been allowing to pass my lips, so I had to go to the store.

I walked into the nearby VONS to grab another can of coffee, and stood in the aisle, before reaching for the canister. My hand grabbed it, but before I could, another hand reached for it and my hand on top of theirs.

We both turned and looked at each other. Someone equally miserable was staring back, but I wasn't looking into a mirror.

Before we could say anything he started crying and I looked and his hand on the can wore a wedding band.

We stood there, unmoving for a long time. We were the only people in the aisle, and I found myself open my mouth and say the words, "We should both kill ourselves."

He stopped crying suddenly and nodded.

"I haven't been able to do it myself, so I want someone else to do it," I continued.

He wiped his face, before finally saying, "I own a gun. Is that what you want?"

There was a long exhale, before I said, "Yes."

We met a few hours later. Branches shaded and secluded us at all points. He had came to this place before. His wife left him for their son's teacher and his first reaction was to leave the house and walk aimlessly around the neighborhood.

We aimed the two Smith and Wessons. He told me one belonged to his wife, his former wife as she had recently gotten remarried to the teacher, but that was one of the things she left behind. Our hands shook but we stood our ground.

"Ready?", he said.

I slightly hesitated, then said, "Yes."

We both fired.

Silence followed by black.