2. Storm
I’m supposed to start work in two hours, but my buddy, Ross, owner of the bar I work at, still hasn’t knocked on my door to tell me to come down. I usually sleep all day, and I’m up and at ’em at night. But tonight is different. Tonight is my last day on this goddamn planet.
I’m twenty-five years old. I have nothing going for me. I sleep with random women to help numb my pain. People are ashamed of me. I live upstairs of the bar I work at, and tonight, I’m going to kill myself.
I put a bottle of sleeping pills on the sink in the bathroom and unscrew the cap of the tequila bottle, taking a swig. I figured it would be easy. Swallow the pills, chug the rest of the tequila, and lay in a bath until I fall asleep and never wake up again. Quick and painless.
I crack the bones in my neck and stare at my reflection in my mirror, tracing a crack with my gaze in the top corner. Every time I look at myself, I don’t see the green-eyed stud I used to see. No, now all I think about is what my babies would’ve taken of mine. Would they have had my eyes, my slender nose? I hoped they’d have my smile. I got a pretty nice one.
But that instant connection and love I created with them was ripped away from me. They were eleven weeks old when she killed them without telling me. My bitch of an ex-girlfriend, Leah, dragged me to her first appointment and showed me the babies on screen. The sound of their heartbeats still rings in my ears.
When I found out she was pregnant, I was so happy. I planned our life down to the color of the babies’ rooms. We saw the babies, heard their heartbeats, and had pictures printed of them. Not even three days later she killed them. Four days after seeing my babies, I cheated. We were twenty-two when it happened. And twenty-two when I became the asshole everyone sees me as. I keep a photo of Leah and me on my dresser as a memory of the pain I endure every single day.
And I don’t care anymore. I’m done.
I’m so fucking done.
My trust in people diminished. My thought of loving someone was ripped apart.
My heart is so beyond broken, I don’t think it matters if I’m around or not.
My heart was torn open, and I used women to fill the void. Not like it works. None of it works. Tonight, deciding to do this, is my escape. I just need an escape.
Leah was supposed to be my wife and mother to all my children. We got together when we were eighteen. Young and stupid, but fuck did we love each other. That type of young love that makes you crazy. Makes you drop everything to be with them.
When we turned twenty, I told Leah I was going to save up and buy her the most expensive ring. She didn’t believe me since I was just a bag boy at the general store. But I wanted to marry the shit outta her. Then, when I finally had enough saved to buy her a ring, she got pregnant. Best. Day. Of. My. Life. I finally found my purpose. But she ripped that away from me. She killed a piece of me and I’ll never get it back.
For three fucking days I had my purpose. I was thrilled, overjoyed. I had my babies that gave reason to my life. Then, that snake ripped them away from me. Took my reason to live away without telling me. Informing me that this is what she wanted BEFORE showing them to me. We didn’t talk about options. We were together for four years; this was what we were meant to do. Not to her, though. So the day after she killed them, I killed our relationship by getting wasted and sleeping with someone I don’t even remember.
The thought of ending it all crossed my mind so many times. When a woman loses a baby, it’s tragic. She’s hurt. She’s sad. Everything is worthless. But no one ever asks the man how he’s taking it. I hated it. I hated myself. I blamed myself for not being good enough. I am not good enough. I wasn’t man enough for Leah to keep those little beings we made. She’d rather kill them than confront me because I had no drive. I still don’t have drive.
I had my suicide all planned out, too. I know Leah is getting married next weekend. I want to ruin her wedding without making a fool of myself. And I won’t make a fool of myself because I won’t be here anymore. People will have to choose—my funeral or Leah’s wedding. I’m going to ruin it and make her feel as shitty as I feel.
I take another swig of the tequila and sigh, going to the kitchen to find a pen and some scrap paper. People need to know why I did it. They need to know the truth behind my scars.
I open one of the top drawers and see the last letter I wrote to my eldest brother of ten years, Denny. I couldn’t send it. I’ve sent him so many letters over the years that all go unanswered. But I knew if I sent him this one, the one that tells him I was planning on killing myself, he’d answer.
But what would the use be, anyway? I’m the one who put him in jail. And I know, the second he’s released, he’s going to bang on my door and wrap his hands around my neck until the last thing I see is his matching green eyes.
If I off myself tonight, or tomorrow, or wait to reconcile with my big brother, I’m still a dead man. No matter how I look at things. My life is over, one way or another, I don’t want to be here anymore.
I pinch my eyes shut, sighing. I have one person I would hate to leave behind. My nephew, Heath. He’s my favorite person and I’d give my life just for him. But he will see my pain when he’s older. He’ll see why I did it. One day he’ll understand.
I start the letter with, This is why I killed myself.
But that’s just stupid.
I scratch it out and write, My last words.
Again, stupid.
Do I even need to write a note? Not all suicides have letters left behind.
I groan, crumble up the paper, and pull out a fresh piece when the door to my apartment opens and Ross walks in.
“Storm?” He comes into the kitchen and nods his head at me as I toss the crumbled paper in the trash. “Hey, man, your shift starts soon. I need you to stock the bar and make sure we have enough glasses behind it. It’s a rainy one tonight, you know people will pile in fast.”
I have fucking plans tonight that do not involve work or anything other than my pills and my tequila. I’m leaving this godforsaken world once and for all.
I glance up at him, a shiner around his left eye from the bar fight last night has started to darken. I stepped in, taking down the two out-of-towners who had no business being that intoxicated on a Thursday night. I’ve always had Ross’s back growing up, given that he’s a foot shorter than my six-foot-four ass. He constantly calls me his giant watching his back.
Wait until Denny gets out of prison, Ross’ll think I’m a shrimp compared to him.
Ross looks at the paper and pen in my hand on the counter and the open drawer with a letter addressed to Denny in it. “He ever write you back?”
I shake my head and stuff the paper back in the drawer. I’ve decided, I’m not writing a suicide note. “Not once. But figures, I think he’s still pissed about…everything.”
Ross studies my face, looking me up and down. All I’m wearing is a pair of jeans hanging low on my hips. “Your mom’s supposed to head up in a few days, why don’t you go with her? Maybe if he sees you in person, things will blow over,” he suggests, crossing his arms as he leans on the threshold.
I snort, cracking my knuckles. “Things will blow over once Denny gets his revenge. I put him away for almost eight years. No letter or visit will make it go away.”
He lifts a shoulder, pushing off the wall. “No harm in trying is all I’m saying.”
No need to try once I’m dead.
Ross taps the countertop and I shift my gaze to him. “Work, now. Let’s go.” He smirks. “Maybe you’ll find yourself a pretty little thing to get that smile back on your face, hmm?”
I roll my eyes, heading to my room for a black t-shirt. “No pretty little thing will fix me, dumbass.”
Ross laughs, his heavy footfalls clunking down the steps as the door at the bottom creaks open. The booming music gets louder than it was. Fucker left the door open, didn’t he?
Okay, new plan. I do my shift to make sure the bar is good for when I’m not here, come back home, take the pills, chug the tequila, and take a bath. Same plan, just later than expected.
I go back into the kitchen and take the paper and pen out.
These are my last words, they’re not something useful, just something for Heath.
I love you the most, big guy. Never forget that.
With one more deep breath, I fold the paper and leave it on the counter. Eight more hours. Just eight more hours until my meaningless life will be over. Maybe I’ll get to see my babies again. Wouldn’t that be something?