I never thought it would come to this. Was I shocked? Not really, the depressive tendencies were always there under the surface. I knew that. I knew a lot of things I probably shouldn’t have.
I was not doing well, my health failed, only a few months left. Of course I never told him, well, not at first. At first it was a flirtation. It’s surprising how the reality of death looms around your mind and makes you careless. I wanted to relive the life I was losing.
Being diagnosed with a few months to live, I didn’t want to mark time, becoming what I used to see in movies. The heroine laying on a multilayered death bed, wasting away as her lover sits by her side weeping. I wanted to be the woman who received the miracle cure at the last moment.
This wasn’t going to happen unless a religious miracle came about. I’m not even sure when I stopped praying, I know it’d been a long time since I offered “up” a prayer to help myself, if there is help, if there is a supreme being up there. Just where would up there be, anyway? Well you get it, I knew I was doomed. And why does anyone say “doomed” if they truly believe there is an “upthere” place?
You can see how it is, I was a bit off kilter as my grandpa would say. And that was the reason behind my recklessness, excuse for my actions. I started writing on the Internet, looking for someone, anyone, really, to play with, have fun, maybe someone a bit dangerous? I had nothing to lose. My first attempt was answered immediately, starting with flirtation, turning to need, both of us looking for something we didn’t have.
Right away I felt attracted to him, and not only because of his wit, but his sudden attraction to me. . .me, the sickly, weird person who was incapable of anything lasting. I didn’t intend to make a mark on him, hurt him, but at the time I was all about my own needs. That is when a serious relationship began. I told him the truth, that I was sick, and wouldn’t be around that long. I believe my intention, however masqued even in my own mind, was to warn him. I want to believe that, even now, as I lay here in nothingness.
I played back, eventually meeting and waiting for him to be enamored of me. I needed it one last time. He seemed as deprived of passion as I was, and we completed each other’s wanton desires day and night. He seemed almost too willing to be my “everything”, but I was too desperate to care. I’m trying to feel no regrets, but guess I used him.
I was getting weaker, in pain. He was vigilant, sorrowful, and caring. The last night he came to me, holding a cup, breathed the quiet words, “I love you”, and drank a poisoned liquid.