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His expression tells me that he isn’t convinced, as if my story is far too dark for someone like him who routinely kills people.
“You need to believe me. I can prove it. The inside of the car has cracked white leather on the seats. There’s half a pack of menthol cigarettes on the floor by the passenger’s side. Come with me,” I say, fighting my intense vertigo as I stand slowly to my feet.
Still unconvinced, he takes my hand and allows me to lead him back out to the parking lot where the car was left.
It takes me a little while, but after I’ve regained my bearings, I walk over to the car and glance inside just to make sure I’m not misremembering or making things up.
Sure enough, there it is. White interior with my cigarettes on the floor. Sometimes I would smoke those awful things until I threw up.
Adas follows me over to the car, studying the inside with astonishment. “How the fuck-“
“Being in the apartment brought back all my memories. It’s like all of the familiar sights and smells put me back into my old reality, and my brain finally made the connections,” I reply, feeling like some sort of shaman or witch even though I know that my brain is just healing.
But now I have to face the real truth.
I paralyzedmyself.
I put myself into a coma, into a wheelchair, into months of physical therapy.
If I had known that my suicide plan would fail so spectacularly, would I have followed through with it?
Would I have stopped and thought about the sacrifices I was willing to make if I didn’t succeed?
On the one hand, I clearly needed an escape route from my miserable life that I couldn’t find anywhere else. It’s not like people like Adas just adopt sad, financially destitute women like me. If I had never attempted suicide, Adas would have never found me or thought to give me the amazing life he’s provided for me.
All of this information weighs heavily on me. I’ve gone from a meek little housewife with a disability to a horrifically depressed twenty-something with nowhere to go and nobody to turn to for comfort or help.
Is it better this way? Is it better for me to know?
“Are you okay, River? Or... do you want me to call you Ruth now?” Adas asks me cautiously, watching intently as my eyes go cloudy with the depth of my thoughts.
“I want to be River. Ruth is dead. Even if I remember what happened, that person that I was wanted to die. She needed to die,” I reply, my tone grave and serious.
I realize the responsibility in the words I’ve chosen to describe the passing of my former self. I’m sure they would scare a lot of people, and if I’d had anybody in my life before my suicide attempt, I’m absolutely positive that it would have sent them into a frenzied hysteria. I would have been responsible for placating their fears, for comfortingthemin the absolute blackness of my circumstances.
Right now, I am eternally grateful that I had nothing and nobody to answer to.
I’m free.
“Adas, you’re my second chance. You’re the reason I didn’t die. Even if what you did was pretty fucked up, you’ve given me a new lease on life,” I say to him, finally emerging from the depths of my inner mind and turning to him. “I have nothing here, nothing to return to. If I hadn’t ever tried to kill myself, I would have just continued living in that fucking dungeon of an apartment, working at some fast-food place for the rest of my life until I withered away.”
For what feels like an eternity, he simply stares at me with a combination of shock, awe, and sympathy that I wish he would eliminate.
I don’t want his sympathy. I need him to understand.
“You really don’t have anything, do you? No family, friends, nothing?” he asks, still in complete disbelief at what he’s just witnessed.
I’m sure it’s a lot to take in, but he needs to understand that I don’t have the ability to just keep reassuring him when I’m having the revelation of a lifetime.
“Has anyone come looking for me? Have you seen any signs around town with my face on them? I was completely invisible in that life, completely unwanted. You’ve given me a new sense of purpose, and you did it because you thought it was the right thing to do,” I reply, tears forming in my eyes.
He takes me into a deep embrace, and I feel the same thing I felt just before I pulled that trigger – a flood of intense happiness, acceptance, and love.
I’ve finally found where I belong, and I would never have if I hadn’t tried to end my life.
31
RIVER
