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He went on, “But as tempting as it is, I’m not ready for us to meet yet.”
“Why not?” I asked. “I’m sure as fuck ready to meet you.”
“Charlie, you’re upset. I don’t want our first meeting to be tainted with the memory of that so-called boyfriend of yours. You had me going there, for a while, but he was short-lived, huh?”
For the second time today, I told him, “Fuck you.” My hand curled around the knife handle hard, so hard my arm shook.
“That’ll come in time. Really, you should’ve known how pointless it was, trying to date someone else. You should already know you’re mine, Charlie Mulanie. You’ve been mine longer than you could ever know.”
My mysterious stalker hung up after that, leaving my mind racing. I was his longer than I could ever know? That didn’t sound like Zak talking. That… it sounded like something Uncle Dave would say.
I wanted to throw up. There was no way. Just no freaking way. It couldn’t be him. He had no reason to turn to the shadows and pretend to be someone else when he was welcome in this house. He could stroll in through the front door at any time and both my parents would welcome him with open arms.
Another thing that was my fault. I’d kept my mouth shut for so long—at first because I trusted him, and then because I was ashamed. I couldn’t tell either of my parents the truth now.
A fresh tear rolled down my cheek, and my shoulders snapped straight. Still clutching the knife, I went to the stairs and headed to my room, where I then sat at my desk and pulled out an old notebook—still had notes from a class from last semester. I never threw any of them away in case I’d need them.
How pointless. How stupid. It was all so goddamned dumb.
I set the knife and my phone down and flipped to an empty page. I pulled out a pen from the thin top drawer and got to work. Nothing too fancy, no flowering words. Just a simple, handwritten letter that went into how sorry I was that I wasn’t good enough, that I’d tried to be better, to make my parents proud.
All I ever did was fail, though.
I didn’t talk about my stalker in the note, nor did I say anything about Brett or Uncle Dave. There were certain parts of my life I think my parents would be better off not knowing, even after…
After I was gone.
Because I had to go. I had to. I couldn’t keep doing this. I was just so tired, so done with everything. What was the point of any of it? No one understood me. No one knew, and I sure as shit wasn’t going to tell them. Some people were made for tragic endings.
Once the letter was done, I printed my name at the bottom of it and folded it up. I stuffed it in the top drawer of my desk. They wouldn’t find it right away, but… maybe it’d help after I was gone.
Or maybe it would only make everything worse, but what would I care? I’d be dead.
As I shut the drawer, I stared at the knife. It was a big, silver blade, a lot different than the tiny one I had stashed away inside this same desk. A knife like this you didn’t use to simply inflict pain. No, you used it to end, to kill. It was definitely a step up from that secret little blade.
The scars on my inner thighs itched, though that itching was probably all in my head. A ghostly sensation reminding me I’d tried on many occasions to end it all, but I’d always fallen short. I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it, even though I’d wanted to.
Then I dated Zak, and I was happy for a while. I had something else to focus on. When we broke up… that’s when I lost it, when I took that first baby step and drew that tiny blade over the skin on my inner thigh.
God, did it hurt. I did it in the bathroom, in the tub, so cleanup would be easier. At the time, I was too scared to kill myself, but I was so lost in self-loathing and self-hate that I had to do something. I had to hurt myself. As I’d watched the blood drip down the wound and into the tub, I’d let myself wonder what it’d be like to take that tiny blade and drag it across my wrists.
But I was a coward. I guess I’d always been a coward.
Now it was too much. Too much for me to handle. I was done. Done with life, done with my stalker, done with all the shitty memories I couldn’t ever shake. Done with Zak and his mock apology. Done with Brett and everything about him. I was done with everything.
Brett. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I had started to enjoy my time with him. I’d started to like him a whole lot more than I should, hence the sex—and God, what sex it was. It’d been all too easy for me to close my eyes and surrender to him, to feel his warm body on mine. It wasn’t wrong when it’d felt so right.
He was gone now, though, and I’d follow him shortly—in a different way. My eyes glanced to my phone, and though a part of me hesitated, I still reached for it. I unlocked the screen and went to the unsaved number in my message folder.
Brett had taken the phone with him. Maybe he’d never found a place to charge it, maybe it was dead, or maybe I’d be able to hear his voice one last time. Tell him I was sorry for everything.
So, even though it might be the worst mistake ever, I hit the number and called it. I brought the phone to my ear, listening to it ring and ring.
And ring and ring and ring.
The longer I listened to it go on, the more my heart sank. I couldn’t tell if that meant the phone was dead or if he simply wasn’t picking it up because he knew it was me and he didn’t want to talk to me.
He didn’t owe me anything, so I didn’t know why I thought he’d answer.
