She pressed the razor against her skin just hard enough to draw a little blood. Such a small flimsy instrument this razor was and yet it had the power to end a life. To end her life. The frail, weak nature of humanity revealed in the moments before her death. But she didn’t do it. Just sat in the tub, the warm water soaking her legs, the razor shining just a bit in the glow from the candles. The trickle of blood dripped catching on the white suds of her bubble bath.
“Do it, her mind urged. Carve up that fucking vein, lets see what happens next.”
Her hand shook, the razor fell into the water. The headache hit like a nuclear bomb, her temples exploding in pain. Her brother was there standing in the glow, among the flickering shadows of the tiny bathroom. Her dead brother. His face half decomposed, his nails crusted in dirt from digging himself up. When he spoke it was with a wet gargle, as if all he had in his lungs was water.
“Don’t you want to join me sis? Why are you afraid, you left me so alone when I was alive, why can’t you join me in death?” Time doesn’t matter here.”
“Leave me alone!” She screamed.
“Then let go, move on.”
“Your not even here!” She rose in the tub, her skin chilling in the absence of the water. “You are a figment of my fucking imagination.”
When she saw him this denial would usually work. He would fade at her words. Tonight he grew more solid. One of his hands flashed out, gripping her around the knee. His hand made her so cold that she was burning hot, burning from the inside out.
“Maybe, he told her. But what is real is the fact that you let me die, while you live on. Coward.”
That final gurgling insult lingering in the air, he faded.
She was on her bed naked still dripping wet as she had not toweled off. The candles still burned in the bathroom, she could see the shadows flickering in the hallway.
She wanted to get high so fucking bad that her veins were burning with the anticipation of the needle point breaking the vein. Her mind euphoric at just the thought of that moment when the drug pulsed through her. Things scurried under her skin pushing out from time to time, looking like mutant goosebumps.
God, it burned.
Headlights cut through her apartment window. Her neighbor Bob was home from the mill. She peeked through the curtains and saw that Bob’s wife was still at work. She wrapped a towel around herself, ran across the street before he even had time to unlock the door. He seemed unsurprised at her sudden appearance, a wicked grin tracing the corners of his mouth. This grin contrasted what had been handsome features ten years ago. She hated it. But she needed him now.
“Be more careful, will ya? You know that bitch lives upstairs will tell my wife if she sees you over here.” The grin grew more pronounced. “Now get that tight little ass inside.”
His dick was inside her in a matter of seconds. Bob was big, he felt so good moving and grinding on top of her.
She saw Sara standing in the corner of Bob’s bedroom. He saw nothing, just continued to pound away. Sara had been her best friend, she had known her all through high school. They had known each other even before the drugs. She had started sleeping with Sara’s boyfriend after Sara had become pregnant. They had been twenty at the time. Sara’s boyfriend had stormed out one night looking for an excuse to get away for a few hours. Sara had lost the baby because no one had been there to drive her to the hospital. She had been fucking him while that life died. Sara never forgave her.
Bob’s dick didn’t feel good anymore. He was hurting her, she thought that she might even be bleeding. It took him forever to get off, she was in tears when he finished. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
She waited for him to fall asleep before grabbing a shirt and a pair of his wife’s jeans.
She hadn’t worried about Bob’s neighbor who was seventy-two and never at home on Friday nights. She was never at home on Fridays because she went to the cemetery to visit her late husband. Even on a brutally cold January night such as this one, she would be there bundled up, standing over his grave. With her purse on her arm. She took Bob’s truck, cursing him silently for being untrusting enough not to leave his wallet out. She crept up behind the woman in the graveyard, the moonlight spilling on the stones, the wind covering the sound of her approach. She pushed her into the snow, hearing her startled cry of surprise. She landed at the foot of her husband’s stone in a heap of snow. Her purse had been parted from her arm.
She sped down the road in the borrowed truck, the tires slipping before catching again on the snowy pavement. She was so high. Higher maybe than she had ever been before. The streetlights passed by, slowly, quickly, blurring to an orange ember that danced against the night.
She was going to kill herself. The speedometer reached eighty, this road ended in the side of a brick building. Her decision had been thought out, her choice made. This truck would smash into the building, her life ending in a grand collision. She saw the building up ahead, just a few more seconds now. She removed her hands from the wheel, they were no longer needed. Momentum would take over.
The wheels spun out, the truck flipped over. The windshield exploded, bits of glass floated at her in the slow-motion her intoxicated mind created. One or two cut but her attention was on the building that was still in front of the truck. It stopped three feet short of impact. She was still alive.
“No, she screamed. I made my fucking choice, don’t do this to me!”
For the first time in her life a voice in her mind so unlike her own answered her cries.
“It was never your choice to make.”
This is dark, disturbing, and more than a bit nasty. So Do Not Read if you are easily offended. Addiction is not pretty and this short little story has for the moment exhausted me mentally.