Just Like Suicide

Take the time out to enjoy the little things in life, they say.

But what if those little things, the things you truly care about, turn into your worst nightmare?

That’s exactly what happened to Sam. Short for Sameer. My boyfriend.

He loved his life. Perfect girlfriend, perfect friends, perfect car and his perfect family. That’s all he ever really needed, and that’s all he ever really cared about.

He wasn’t a smart-ass, a douche. No, he was the guy you’d love bumping into on your walk to class at college, who’d make you laugh your guts out no matter how shitty it was going until then and manage to turn it around in a matter of seconds. That was his gift. The gift of gab.

So why did he, the most popular guy in his college, with the perfect life, suddenly decide to kill himself? That’s exactly what I wanted to find out. Needed to find out. Because without that closure, without knowing why he did what he did, why he threw everything away, I would never be able to move on.

I’m a realist. I loved Sam. But I know he’s gone, and there’s nothing I will ever be able to do that will bring him back. If he chose to leave me behind alone, he would’ve had his reasons. He loved me, and I know that.

I needed to move on, and that’s exactly why I’m sitting here in the dark in (what was) his bedroom, with the nightlight giving me just enough light to read his suicide note. Just enough light to watch the gleam shine off the edge of the knife I was holding in my hand. Just enough, while I pondered on how to go about what I was going to do next.

So why did he kill himself? Well, let me tell you in his own words:

***

Dear Maddy.

I know you’re going to find this note sometime or the other. I know you’re going to sneak into my room once I’ve done I’m planning to do. Well, by the time you’re reading this it’ll be something I’ve already done. Wow, that’s heavy. It’s like I’m writing from beyond the grave, haha.

I can just picture you sitting on my bed reading this after having snuck into my room in the dead of night, knowing that you just HAVE to find out why. Why I left you. Well, I’m not going to stall any more. Here’s why.

I woke up a few weeks back and just couldn’t get myself out of bed. I couldn’t move my legs at all. I thought it was just my feet going numb because of a weird position I was sleeping in. So I waited a while, and sure enough the feeling returned to my legs. I got up and got through the rest of theday just like any other and completely forgot about it.

Until it happened again, 3 days later.

This time, I knew there was something wrong, because it took me half an hour just to be able to feel anything in my legs.

I didn’t wanna freak my parents out so I went to the doctor, and he gave me a couple of tablets. Thought it would be cool after that, but it didn’t get any better. In fact, it started getting so bad, my butt (haha, I know it sounds funny when I say it here) started getting sore too.

So I went to the doctor again and after a very…how should I put this…”intimate” check-up, he asked me to set up a secret video camera while sleeping at home.  

He didn't say why, but told me to tell this to no one, especially not my family.

I thought it was going to be for some sleep therapist (do those even exist? You have weird ass specialists for everything nowadays, no?) to check up on. So I did it.

I set up a camera and recorded what I thought was going to be a regular, peaceful night of sleep for me.  How wrong was I!

Anyway, I don’t think I can tell you everything here. You should watch the video I recorded. And then follow the instructions that are in the next page of this letter. But please, don’t read it until you’re done watching the video. It’ll spoil the fun. ;)

It’s on my laptop, in the folder named “For Your Eyes Only”. (Drama King I am, no?)

Love,

Sam

***

So that was the letter.

And then I watched the video.

I remembered his password, which was my full name (something I hate being called) and found the video in the folder, just like he’d said.

I cursed him for the password, opened the file and started watching the video.

He had turned the camera on, and gone to bed like he normally would’ve done. Curled up into a ball under his blanket, with just his head poking out as he always does.

Sam had edited the video, so it suddenly cut away to an hour later when Sam was fast asleep (snoring his ass off like he always does).

The door to his room opened slowly. And his  dad entered his room, holding a cloth and a tiny bottle in his hand.

He stood there for a few seconds watching Sam, making sure he wasn’t awake.

He poured something out of the bottle into the cloth and walked carefully towards Sam, not making any noise at all. It was surprising he could be that quiet; when you’re 50 years old and weigh 105 kilos, stealth isn’t usually something you’re known for.

He covered Sam’s face with the cloth for about 15 seconds, and then took it off. He clearly knew how long it took for the (what I correctly guessed) chloroform to take effect.

He walked back to the door, a little quicker and not trying as hard to be quiet, shut the door and locked it from the inside. And then he took off his pants.

I giggled involuntarily. I’d never seen a man that fat, that naked before. Unless you count the time I caught the drunken neighbour next door peeing in our garden.

I shut up and continued watching, knowing but not knowing what exactly was going to happen next.

Sam’s dad got into his bed, threw away his blanket and then slowly pulled Sam’s pyjamas off him. He stroked his leg for a bit, then tugged Sam’s boxers below his knees, exposing his bare butt to him. To the camera. To me.

Sam’s dad already had a hard-on. He didn’t need to try to get aroused. He didn’t need to feel Sam’s testicles, or play with his dick to make him any more turned on than he already was.

And then I watched him fuck Sam.

The negligible amount of food I had for dinner, which was already halfway up by the time I had come to this part of the tape, finally seemed to have found its escape route through my mouth. I threw up on the bed I was sitting, all over the laptop on which I was watching my boyfriend get raped by his own father.

I didn’t need to watch anymore. I shut the laptop.

Now, I knew why Sam killed himself. Why he threw away his “perfect” life. Why he left me alone.

I picked up the letter, and turned the page over.

It only had seven words written on it:

“The knife’s under the bed.

Kill him.”

I

I'm awake. I'm asleep. I'm working. I'm feeling. I'm riding. I'm staring. I'm breathing. I'm seeking. I'm searching. I'm crying. I'm learning. I'm reading. I'm watching. I'm loving. I'm waiting. I'm yearning. I'm finding. I'm wandering. I'm losing. I'm fighting. I'm raging. I'm gazing. I'm lying. I'm dead. I'm alive.

Boy Meets Girl

Not long ago, there was a boy 

Who set off on his dream.

He carried with him nothing more than hope and courage; 

In his eyes they would gleam.

But one stormy night he lost them both, 

He knew not where to find.

He searched the path, both high and low, 

Almost losing mind.

Hope and courage both nowhere now, 

He looked back towards the start.

Taking one short step back home, 

He held his broken heart.

But then he felt a warmth around his hand, 

A comforting, kind touch.

Looking up, he saw a girl 

With bright eyes that shined so much.

She'd lost her hope and courage too, 

She told him as he listened.

He held her tight, and said, "It's fine," 

As tears in her eyes, they glistened.

The both of them sat on the ground, 

Not knowing what to do.

They sat in silence, weeping not, 

But sorrowful, too.

Then the boy stood up, held out his hand 

And said, "Let's walk together."

"We may not have what wanted at first, 

But at least we have each other."

The girl took his hand, smiled and said, 

"I'm glad that we do."

And down the road they walked hand-in-hand, 

with new found hope, courage and a little faith too.

Friction

He looked at the clock to check the time. 17:51.

The damn clock. Two fucking thousand rupees for that chrome plated piece of shit.

Just another thing you made me waste money on, he thought to himself. He didn’t say this out loud though. He knew it would upset her.

The crystal glass lay empty in front of him on the table, but he didn’t pour himself another drink. He hated rushing his drinks, it always gave him a bad hangover the next day.

And I really don’t need the hangover at work tomorrow, he thought. Lots to do.

He looked at her long, wavy brown hair that followed the curve of her breasts as it made its way down to her waist, and he felt a strange sense of arousal. He smiled, slightly embarrassed.

Don’t even think about it, he thought.  She’s not in the mood, and it’s just plain wrong to force yourself on her.

Plain wrong.

***

She walked in the front door, smiling brightly with the bag of groceries she’d bought from the market yard down the road, to find him sitting with his face buried in his hands, crying his eyes out.

“What’s wrong?” she asked him. “What happened?”

He didn’t say anything immediately. He just looked up, eyes blood red from crying for hours, tears streaming down his face, stared at her for a few seconds and then screamed, “I hate you, you bitch.”

***

He looked up at the clock (the damned clock, he thought) again. 18:00.

He leaned forward and picked up the bottle of rum from the table, poured out an almost accurately measured drink and placed the bottle back. He’d left just enough in the bottle for one last drink.

He would’ve poured one out for his wife too, but she didn’t drink anymore. She’d stopped drinking for a while now, for no specific reason. If anyone asked her why, she’d say “I just can’t handle my drink anymore, and he doesn’t like it,” nodding towards her husband, who’d just laugh, shrug and give her a kiss on her cheek.

So he sat and sipped from his glass alone, wishing he had better company than his wife who didn’t drink anymore.

***

“I saw you with him.”

“With who?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know shit, you know just who the fuck I’m talking about.”

“I swear I don’t know…”

But he saw her eyes dart quickly away from his gaze and then back. He heard the faint quiver in her voice as her last word trailed off into nothingness. He felt the heat rise as her face flushed with guilt.

“You swear?”

“I…”

Her voice cracked and she stood dumbfounded.

He stood up.

“I saw you two. I saw you get into the car with him. I watched as you two drove away. I followed you. I saw you park in that asshole’s apartment cellar, right in the corner. Perfect spot, eh? I watched him kiss you. I watched him take your shirt off, and I watched you remove his jeans. I watched him fuck you, you slut. I watched him fuck you like the whore you really are.”

She was crying now. Tears fell from her eyes quicker than the bags of groceries that fell from her hand to the floor. A packet of chips fell on top of the box of Hershey’s kisses that she’d bought for the next-door-neighbour’s kid.

He took a step forward, and the packet of chips burst underneath his shoe.

***

The damned clock said it was 18:35.

He took one last drag from his cigarette, and then stubbed it against the leg of the table. Flicking the butt across the room, he stood up and walked towards the front door.

Before he could he open the door, he turned around and surveyed the room.

His wife was still at the table.

He couldn’t just leave her alone like that. She wouldn’t like that at all.

He went back to the table and sat down. He poured himself the last of the rum, neatly put the bottle cap back on it and placed the empty bottle between him and his wife on the table.

“Cheers,” he said to himself, and sipped at his glass, slowly, so that he could spend as much time with her as possible.

He didn’t want to leave her while she was still that upset. He couldn’t.

He smiled at her.

***

He slapped her hard.

He slapped her in a way he had only slapped his younger brother once as a kid, when he had found the little fucker stealing the money he had been saving for over a year to buy that leather jacket he had wanted for so long.

She was bleeding from her lip, but he didn’t see it.

She didn’t scream or yell in pain. She just sobbed through her now slowly swelling lower lip, mumbling words that sounded like “sorry” and “I didn’t mean to hurt you” and “I was going to end it”.

He didn’t hear any of that however.

He picked her up from the floor and steadied her. And then slapped her again.

This time, she did scream.

***

At 19:00 on the damned clock, he drained the remainder of his drink.

Standing up from the table, he picked up his glass and washed it in the kitchen sink.

He put it back in the showcase in the living room, but not before wiping it dry. He knew his wife hated it when he didn’t dry the crystal out first.

He went to the table, kissed his wife’s cold cheeks and said, “I’ll see you soon, bitch.”

******

He pulled his jacket on, and shut the door behind him.

It was cold out, but the rum, along with his jacket, one that his wife had bought him for Christmas last year, kept him nice and warm.

He found the neighbour’s kid playing with his remote controlled car in front of their house, as he always did.

He smiled at the boy, and pulled out the packet of Hershey’s Kisses from his jacket.

The boy’s face lit up immediately.

He wiped the still fresh blood of the packet on to the back of his jeans, and gave the chocolates to the boy.

He ruffled his hair, smiled at him, and walked down the road, until the boy couldn’t see him anymore.

Whatsongsdotoyou

“The perfect words never crossed my mind, ‘cause there was nothing in there but you.”

I don’t remember the first time I spoke to her, saw her or was even introduced to her. It feels like she’s always been a part of my life, even though I’ve only known her 4 (not sure about that either) years. I find it strange, how people in love keep saying “I’ll never forget the first time I saw you, you were wearing a really cute green t-shirt and jeans and had your hair tied up in a ponytail and…” while I’m still trying to figure out what the fuck it was that made us look at, let alone speak to each other.

Maybe it was a common friend who introduced us to each other. Or maybe we were standing in line at the college canteen and we had both smelled (tasted?) the fart from the fat guy in front of us. Or maybe we met at a mutual friend’s birthday party. I don’t remember.

I don’t remember when we started falling for each other; whether it was slow realization after endless conversations about (other) things we love that went way too late into the night, or if there was an instant spark that turned our whole world upside down with feelings for each other that we just couldn’t ignore.

I don’t remember the beginning.

“No, I won’t wait forever.”

I don’t’ remember the fights, the name-calling, and the deafening silence. I don’t remember if it was jealousy or just mistrust. I don’t remember if we tried enough to make it work.

I don’t remember if we promised to be in touch and for how long we let that façade drag on between us.

I don’t remember when we stopped talking each other, and when those endless conversations of ours ceased.

I don’t (want to?) remember the end.

“All I wanted just sped right past me, while I was rooted fast to the Earth.
I could be stuck here for a thousand years, without your arms to drag me out.”

All I remember is the way she held my hand when I felt alone and had no one on my side, and needed nothing but a hug, some company, and peace and quiet.

All I remember is the feeling I’d get when I met her after a long day at work and needed someone listen to things that just plain pissed me off.

All I remember is how she’d always take my side no matter who or what I was upset with, and how she’d manage to turn my mood around.

All I remember is the way she’d listen when I was ranting about music and writing and the things I wanted to do with my life.

All I remember is how whenever we kissed nothing else in the world mattered to me as much as she did (does?).

All I remember is us.

“In the confusion and the aftermath, you are my signal fire.”