I’ll miss Mother the most, but the hurt I feel inside is too unbearable and indescribable. It is too painful for me to continue, day in and day out, with just a hollow emptiness that erodes and corrupts any happiness that briefly surfaces. The dawn of each new day only brings me more heartache and renewed memories. Some memories are like leeches. They latch on for dear life and slowly, ever so slowly, suck and drain all the blood, all the living out of you. You are left with just a shell of the old you and that’s no way to survive. Not for me, anyway.
When they find me, I want it to look like I’m sleeping, peacefully. Just like Sleeping Beauty who only needed a handsome prince to kiss her and awaken her from the darkness that engulfed her. However, for me, there won’t be a handsome, charming prince to wake me, save me, and ride off into eternity. All my so-called princes were monsters in disguise with their hidden agendas that attempted to crush and stamp out my self-esteem. Yes, just blessed sleep awaits me.
I chose pills. I couldn’t subject Mother to a messy, bloody scene that comes with slitting one’s wrists or shooting one’s self. I refuse to take my final breath with that heavy on my heart. I don’t think my heart could handle anything else weighing against it. As it is, I feel like I have 300 pounds weighing me down, crushing the life out of me.
As I settle myself comfortably on my queen-sized bed, slowly pull the red satin comforter up to my chin, and stare at the full bottle of prescription pills carefully nestled in my right hand, I can’t imagine not waking up in the morning.
What will it be like to not see the rising sun? To not hear my alarm clock going off announcing it’s time to get ready for another day of work? Not hitting snooze to give myself another fifteen minutes? Not rushing to finish my morning rituals before I dash out the door and into rush-hour traffic? What will that feel like?
More important to me now, though, is will it hurt? I hope not. I have never been able to tolerate too much pain: physical, mental, or emotional. Yet, that’s what Drake has caused me for the last year of my life. Pain. Intolerable suffering.
I only wanted to love him and for him to love me in return. Simple enough. Was that asking too much? My part of the equation was accomplished, effortless. Drake claimed he loved me, but he really didn’t. Probably never could. Didn’t know how to love or receive it. After what happened last week, I know he didn’t. Yet, I gave him everything: my heart, my body, my soul. Now, I have nothing left to give myself. I’m empty inside.
As tears slowly flood my weary eyes and blur my vision, I look around my cozy bedroom for the last time. Ever. It used to be one of my favorite rooms in my small two-bedroom, one-bath apartment. There was nothing better than lighting several fragrant candles, drinking a little white wine, and cozying up with a good romance novel. Yes, that was heaven. Simple things excite me. Always have. Watching a sunrise or sunset, waking up to birds chirping in the treetops, walking hand in hand through the park with the one I love: all these things brought me great joy.
Mother will have to understand. I left her a note, propped up on the nightstand, in full view, that explains how much I love her and Daddy. What will she think when she can’t reach me tonight? I would love to hear her soothing, loving voice one last time. Yet, I know I wouldn’t be able to go through with my plan if I did. I’d give away my intentions over the phone or Mother would pick up on my foul mood and that would be that. I’d wake up another day with this aching, dull pain inside, tearing me apart, bit by bit. Pain that dulls and diminishes every ounce of my strength, all the way down to my pores.
Drake Collins. His name leaves a bitter taste on my tongue. Just the thought of him brings bile to the back of my throat. I will forever regret the day I met that man. If I could turn back the hands of time, do it all over again, I would have called in sick that day or run for the hills. I was just fine with my life the way it was. Sure, it wasn’t exciting or glamorous, but it was enough for me. Drake came with the charm, movie-star looks, glitz, and high drama, and reeled me right in like a bass caught at sea. I gladly jumped into his net.
I say a silent prayer of forgiveness as I place one, then two colorful pills on my tongue and swallow dry. I didn’t think of getting a glass of water. I can’t think. The lump in my throat quickly diminishes. There’s no turning back now. Just like there was no turning back when Drake turned me out. The countdown begins. Ten, nine, eight… I’ve lived a happy life. I have tons of good memories. I’ve treated others the way I wanted to be treated.
I hope this happens quickly. I steadfastly place three, four pills on my tongue and swallow again. Hot tears start to spill forth and stream down my cheeks as I realize the final result of my actions. Seven, six, five… It’s for the best. I need to stop the pain. Will he even miss me? Or will he just move on to his next victim? Will all this be in vain?
I guess I’ll never have that family now. The one I used to daydream and write about in my journal. The family with the almost perfect mommy and daddy and two kids: a boy and girl. The boy would be the oldest, and he’d look out for and protect his younger sister. They’d have cute, adorable names and they’d know they were wanted and loved and cherished by their parents. They’d never feel unwanted.
Four, three… I swallow a handful of pills this time. I’ve lost count of how many I’ve digested. As spittle escapes from my mouth, I gag. I wipe the overflow away with the back of my hand and keep right on shoving pills in my mouth until the orange-brown medicine bottle is empty. I look inside, in awe, shake the bottle, and can’t believe the pills are gone so quickly. Just like the illusion of love. If you blink, you’ll miss it.
I wonder if Drake even realizes how much I loved him. Now, I wait for blessed relief and peace to take away my hurt and pain. I’m so tired. I am tired of loving the wrong men. Tired of giving my all, coming up empty, and getting absolutely nothing back in return. Good sex isn’t the end all to everything. Drake taught me that lesson.
Two, one…It won’t be long now. I faintly smile and lie back against my down pillow. I welcome peace. In my mind, I start silently repeating Psalm 23. I shall walk through the valley of death; I shall fear no evil, for thou art with me. I’m so sleepy. I can barely keep my eyes open. I can feel myself giving in to the fog that slowly invades my mind. Maybe if I close my eyes for a few moments. Yeah, just rest them for a few minutes without seeing Drake’s face behind my heavy eyelids.
Suddenly, I feel lightheaded, like I’m floating on a big, fluffy white cloud, bouncing up and down, giddy, with not a care in the world. This is a different sensation that I literally reach out my right hand to embrace and never let go of. Not a care in the world. Nothing matters but blessed, uneventful sleep. I close my tired, weary eyes as the countdown ends. Fade to black.
Chapter 1
“Kennedy, baby, you ate like a sick bird. Look at this. You left the majority of your food on your plate. This is not acceptable. Not acceptable at all. You need to eat more, dear, in order to get your strength back,” Mother stated, lifting and retrieving the small bamboo food tray from my lap. She had even included a small vase of fresh, colorful flowers to brighten my day. Everyone who knew me knew I adored fresh-cut flowers of all shades and varieties. I would splurge on flowers the way some women treated themselves to a new outfit or shoes.
“I’m not really hungry, Mother,” I declared, changing position and turning away with my back to her. I didn’t want her to see the frustration that was clearly etched across my pinched, crunched-up face.
I understood she meant well, but I only ate as much as I did to please her. I didn’t have an appetite, and I certainly didn’t feel like talking. In fact, I didn’t feel like doing anything but sleeping. I wanted to curl up in a tiny, tight ball, pull my covers over my head, and simply sleep my meaningless life away. Sleep was my comfort and salvation.
“Since when did you start leaving my famous scrambled eggs, grits, and country ham on your plate?”
I didn’t bother to answer. I only pretended to be sleepy as I faked a wide-mouthed yawn. I didn’t even bother to cover my mouth with my hand.
“Usually, by now, you are on your second helping,”