Unanswered Suicide

*I suppose this is more of a story...I hope you take the time to read it. :)

She hasn't left her bedroom since she got the news,
three days has been a century.

She hasn't showered nor eaten,
not acknowleged her cell phone ringing countless times...
or the knocks her mother keeps making every 30 minutes just to make
sure she's still breathing,
she is in a trance,
the only movement she makes is screaming his name into her pillow,
and biting her fingernails until they bleed.

"Today is the day," her mother states blankly,
"I picked this out for you, I hope it's okay"
She stares at the black dress, simple yet elegant,
she imagines herself shredding it, stomping it in the mud until she can
no longer make out a single thread... yet she simply nods,
her mother takes that as a thank you and silently leaves.

She finally decides it's time to get up, time to get this over with so
she can come back home and resume her daily tasks of crying,
wallowing in her bed until the sheets come off,
and hating him for being so stupid, so selfish.

While showering, she has flashbacks of
his crooked grin he always shared,
his gray eyes, you would think they would be dull,
however, they shined more than the sun;
his laughter that would echo across mountains...
her tears began to flood the bathtub as she whispered his name.

Black was his favorite color,
I guess he'd be happy with everyones attire today.
She avoids the casket, his mother, the "Oh my god, I'm so sorry" speeches...
she's sure the gossip has traveled thousands of miles by now,
she will forever be known as the girlfriend of the boy who committed suicide.

Flowers...what's the point?
They will die, just like him... so why?
One day perky and colorful the next wilted and dried up.
Dead.

Thankfully the rest of the evening no one seems to notice she's there,
she blends well in this room full of darkness.
There's at least a 100 people here... if they all cared so much,
where were they when he put a bullet through his head?
She's the only one who truly knew how much he suffered from depression,
but she thought her love was enough to keep him stable...
she thought.

She couldn't even fathom going to visit him,
why have an open casket when there is a hole in his head?
Morbid, don't you think?
Her mother keeps repeating, "Go say goodbye"
All she wants to do is scream in her face.
Why did he put her in this position?
Why did he leave her alone with all these nagging people?
Why couldn't he have dialed her number instead of pulling the trigger?
So many questions will forever be unanswered.

The rest of the funeral was a blur,
she didn't listen to a word the preacher said,
people were getting on her nerves,
she wanted to be alone,
not to be hugged or listen to their pathetic sympathies.

She was a zombie, a robot, a teenage widow.

Of course afterwards she had to go to his house,
are they trying to torture her?
She held her breath as she entered the familiar entrance,
remembering the countless times he had invited her in.

His house was like a muesem dedicated to him,
pictures upon pictures, memories stained their walls.
The smell of food knocked her down,
she had to run to the bathroom to puke.

As she stepped out and began walking down the hallway,
his mother stopped her... asking for a moment of her time.
She began to tremble,
she couldn't bare to look into her eyes,
he had her eyes...sunshine on a rainy day.

Her mother had a large manila envelope in her hands,
she recognized the handwriting on it immediately,
his.

She quickly explained she didn't open it,
didn't want to invade his privacy or hers...
but asked with a tear slowly cascading down her cheek
that if he had left me some sort of clue,
an explaination, anything...
to please inform her so she can begin to heal.

Heal? Does anyone ever truly heal?
Her heart will always be shattered,
he took the only piece that can mend her heart,
the biggest one...the core.

Agreeing to let her know,
she went straight to the car to wait,
she couldn't handle another second inside that house.
She decided she would wait to open the envelope until she was in the privacy
of her own room,
she felt like she was on suicide watch in a psych ward.

She kept feeling the weight, it was pretty heavy,
kept herself busy trying to guess what was inside.
After what seemed like eternity, her mother arrived back to the car...
scolding her about how rude she had been the entire time.
Thanks mom.

Once they entered their own home,
she hurried up the stairs and into her cave,
locked the door and started to strip herself of the little black dress,
his t-shirt he left there months ago was more fitting for the opening ceremony.

Emotions began to rush at her all at once,
excited that he at least thought enough about her to give her this,
scared of what she will find,
sadness, realizing that whatever is inside will never compare to him.

Sighing, she decides it's time.
Slowly she pushes forward the metal clasps and flips the top open,
then reaches her hand down inside to pull out the first object.

A pink CD inside a pink case with her name scribbled on the front,
nice touch,
a slight smile formed across her face,
the only reason he even bought the pink blank CD's was for her,
she remembers the conversation in the store like it was yesterday.

He started to pick up the silver re-writable CD/DVD's and put it in the basket
when she stated,
"Um, those are too plain, you have to get the colored ones."
"I'm not a girl, I like plain," he teased.
"Well, if you ever want to burn a CD for an unnamed girl,
it needs to be pink," she said playfully, bashing her eyelashes at him.
The next thing you know, he picks the plain ones up and replaces it with
the pink ones, just for her.

She set it aside and slipped her hand back inside the envelope,
she grabbed a hard glass object, pondering on what it could be.

His cologne, Abercrombie & Fitch.
The only kind he ever wore.
It was half empty, but she knew she would never use any of it,
just take a sniff whenever she was missing him,
savoring the scent.

The rest was a few odds and ends,
a pair of gloves,
candid pictures of them dancing at prom,
his book of the full collection of Edgar Allan Poe poems and short stories;
she recalled him reading them to her while she had her head laid upon his chest.
A notebook full of his own original poems she decided she would read later,
she didn't think her heart could handle much more.

She hopped off the bed with the pink CD and grabbed her Dell laptop from her desk,
she opened the disk drive and popped it in, impatiently waiting for it to load.
The first thing she saw was his smiling face...she couldn't hold back her
tears any longer. He was jibbering on about how he was going to play her a song - he picked up his guitar and began to sing... his voice as smooth as silk.

After his song, he started to explain the reason for his gifts.
A pair of gloves to keep her hands warm since his no longer could,
his cologne so she would never forget the scent of him,
pictures so she wouldn't ever forget the memories they shared,
the book so she could re-read the poems he had once read to her,
his poems so he could show her that she was his only muse,
and lastly this video so she could watch it again and again and see his face,
hear his voice like he was still here.

He talked for hours,
she cried more tears watching this video than she had
the entire 3 days he has been gone.
He told jokes that made her giggle,
stories of their great adventures,
memories of all their firsts.

Until finally, his posture changed...
his voice changed, he began to choke a little bit on his words.
She could tell he was having a hard time saying goodbye, so why did he?
Why did he leave her if he loved her so much?
She kept waiting for him to state his reasons...
he never did... He finished it with "I love you, my girl",
all she heard was click...
and there was nothing but a black screen with a "play again" button.

She wished she could hit play again, hit rewind back to 4 days ago...
try to convince him to stop... she wondered if it would have done any good.

The answers will never be truly known.

She wept all night long,
she slipped on his black gloves, wishing it was his hand instead of leather;
she opened his green wide-ruled spiral notebook to see the title of the first poem,
"Cassie: My Muse"
As she began to read the beautiful metaphors of his undying love for her,
she felt a sense of warmth fill her hands and smelt a slight hint of Abercrombie,
even though the bottle was closed across the room.
She smiled and knew even though he was gone,
he would make himself be known somehow, someway.

He would never truly be gone.

Copyright 2012: Hannah K.