Off the Rails;

"we've been keeping each other on this misery diet for so long. it's not fair."

I had been planning to do that for a while now. in every bit of free time I had...in a break for coffee and a cigarrette, in the elevator moving from one floor to another, in the hiatus between lying down and falling asleep. but still, I couldn't figure out a way, the right one, to do it.

as of her, she seemed to be alienated from everything. from our life and troubles together, from the pain left from the weary struggles. she had this bubble of sedatives where she could hide in whenever I dared to start talking about that...

that...I've never been so sure about anything in life, you know? but right now, I knew I needed to end this. I've come to the redundant conclusion that I actually hate her. there was nothing clutching me to her anymore. now it was only this empty, ancient feeling that barely survived in the rooms of our mind. like an old, unwelcome memory you try to get rid of, but still you keep dreaming about it, seeing it...it's called karma, isn't it?

so here I stand, apparently at the last stage of a rehab...where the ex-junkie feels some kind of dawn, breaking inside of him, the resignated state of mind that makes one want to move on. and that's exactly what I had to do. I lit up the last cigarrette from the pack and stood up, walking fast to the exit of the coffee shop, trying to feel something pouring in the air...words, I suppose.

as I walked down the streets, half shivering, half warmed by the smoke, I caught glimpses of her. her devastated face reacting to the sound and meaning of every word I spoke. how she would curse and scream and weep, telling me I'm the great traitor of her happiness. she would think about suicide...homicide, perhaps. and in the middle of the whole scene, she would quote melodramatic, determinist lines, trying to demove me from my one and only decision: to leave her.

seeing that it'd be of no use, she'd finally tell me I'm scum...that I failed to deserve her and all that bullshit I had to hear one million times before. usually, in situations like these, I tend to evade my thoughts, thinking of a song, or a quote from a book that'd fit perfectly to the moment. to the moment I was about to go through, it came naturally to me, whispered: "but it ain't me, babe...no, no, no, it ain't me, babe. it ain't me you're looking for, babe". a folk lullaby sung to the heartbroken ones. but no, not this time. maybe some trashy heavy metal song to cradle destruction and fire. yeah, that'd do.

I was getting really near. only 2 blocks away. in a few minutes, I was going to turn in the corner of the sreet where she lived. I was starting to get chills. maybe it was only the wintertime. I tried to seek for something else inside my head, something that wouldn't make me want to turn back and run to the nearest pub to wash everything off with alcohol. oh, alcohol, where'd I be without you? this made me smile.

but I'm not the character in a movie...these are real relationships, real bullets. do I care about her feelings? no. I don't think she has that. she spends so much time in this half-world, high on her own pain. besides, I really don't give a fuck. I need to live and be a part of the human race...well, in my own way. and this desire for survival has stricken upon my soul so strongly.

I had past the entrance door of the building when I woke up from my inner monologue. I noticed it was 9 o' clock, the close of a silent grey day of november. third floor, I climbed up the stairs, hands on my pocket (seeking for words again), reviving dead and gone times in the corridor, where we once smiled together. I take my time before knocking, fuck, I've delayed this for months, trying to come up with a better way out, but this is it, it's the final cut, the edge of a season.

I knocked, but no one answered. maybe she's out, I'll come back some other time, I just feel like going somewhere dark where they have jack daniels. I forced myself to turn the doorknob, and it was open. I entered. at first glance, everything seemed right, the usual messy room...clothes, books and dolls displayed all over the cubicle. I closed the door and stood there for about a minute, tripping inside my own thoughts. She should be in the bathroom. When I moved my foot to start walking, I notice some stains on the sheets, I take a closer look: they're fresh red. the blood must've been spilled within the last...5 minutes? I'm stuck to ground and breathing fast.

I turn around and see the bathroom door almost closed. nothing else existed in that very moment; all my fears condensed into one single move, one single possibility. just stop thinking and act, you asshole! I took the step till the door and pushed it slowly until it hit the other side of the wall. she was lying there inside the bathtub, with her eyes closed, and the water was deep red. pending from the border of the tub, was her left arm. at that point, any kind of excuse or sound I was trying to make, simply vanished from my psychological reality. I chocked on my own boiling anger.

was she there 'cause of me? didn't I love her enough? I fucking left everything behind just to please her, took every arrow and stone she threw at me for granted, just to make it right. and there she was; bled to death, veins scarred open wide on a hot water bathtub. jesus, how could she do it? that was a stupid question now. warm repressed tears started falling as I tried to drag her outta there, in vain. she felt so cold and heavy in my arms. though that was the first time i think I really felt her, her skin was going to rot in my hands if i stood there yet it felt so true and human.

I couldn't tell if i felt sorry, if i felt angry, if i felt sad or guilty. I can only recall that feeling of smashing reality that took place when i held her cold body, the huge cuts in form of crosses within her wrists. when I touched her for the last time.