I’m not happy, Josefine.
Why didn’t I ask more questions? Why didn’t I pick up on the signs? Why couldn’t I see them? He saved me, but who was saving him?
We both want to die.
My body gives out, sucking air it’s desperately seeking despite me still being in the water. In the process I swallow a lot of it, so much, my throat and nose burns as I cough it back up. I lift myself up and climb out. I crawl on my hands and knees away from the pool, sputtering the water out but as I do, my shaky arms give out and I collapse.
“Fuck,” I groan, smothering every pent-up emotion wanting to burst.
I missed the signs because I’m an unfeeling piece of shit.
I deserve to be alone.
April 15th
My phone buzzes on my nightstand. It’s probably Vienna; I haven’t answered her messages. I don’t know what she wants or what she knows, but I know I don’t want to talk to her. I don’t want to take out what I feel on her.
I’ll get angry if she tries to get me to talk, and I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to do anything. I can’t get out of bed, and I hate it because it’s not my room; it’s one of the spares. I couldn’t sleep in my bedroom because some of his things are in there.
I feel everything in me slowly detaching and losing control. I don’t want to, but I just don’t know how to make it stop.
Make yourself feel, I told Daniel, but it was a bunch of bullshit because I did and now, I’m alone. I let myself be happy, but he wasn’t. He was faking it, and I didn’t see it.
I close my eyes, but I catch something as I do. Something yellow.
It’s a Post-it he randomly placed, one I was hoping I’d never find.
I want to pretend it’s not there, but my body is moving robotically in a way that’s not mine, going towards it. When I grab it, the tiny string that was keeping me tethered to sanity snaps.
I’m so happy you’re here, Josefine!
With love, Garcia
Tears are running down my face before I can stop them. I don’t know when they had the chance to build in my ducts, but they’re furiously pouring down. I crumble the paper, drop it on the ground, and stalk to the kitchen. I grab the vase with the flowers still in them and throw them across the living room.
The glass shatters against the wall, the water spills everywhere, and the dry wilted petals and leaves unhurriedly fly everywhere.
Absently, I grab something else, slinging it across the wall, not caring if it breaks or where it lands. But it’s not enough. I’m still vehemently raging, and there’s not enough of anything in the living room to destroy.
I head to the only place I’ve never touched, her goddamn office. The one place that I always steered away from. I push the door open, grabbing her medals, trophies, picture frames, papers—anything that meant everything to her—and throw it against the wall as hard as I can.
It all rips, breaks, or falls to the ground. When I’m done, when I’m slumped against the wall staring at it all, I realize how empty I am because this changes nothing.
She’snot coming back.He’snot coming back.
Feelingdid nothing but make me realize how alone I am.
I exhale harshly, raising my knees to my chest but stop when I see a streak of red running down my forearm. I somehow cut the side of my hand and didn’t feel it. It bleeds a lot, not enough I could die, but it’s bad enough it drips on the floor and my clothes.
I let it be and slump down on the floor in a fetal position. I’m too tired to care and move.
I really wanted to make him happy, is the last thought I have before I close my eyes and fall asleep.
“Josie!”
I peel my eyes open, but close them when I see the mess in front of me. I can’t deal with this right now.
“Josie!”
