Suicide Notes from Beautiful Girls

by Lynn Weingarten

  “Shit,” he says. “His shirt.” He points to a dark stain on William’s back.

  “His drink,” Sebastian says. “From the floor.”

  “Hold on.” Delia runs back upstairs and returns a few seconds later with a button-up shirt, baby blue like her gloves. “He loved this one,” says Delia. She sounds almost tender.

  She reaches out and unbuttons his shirt. Evan and Sebastian hold him up while they work together to slip it off. His chest is pale and soft, clammy-looking, dotted with more dark hair, puckered around the nipples, a jiggly belly.

  They take the stained shirt, ball it up, and throw it in a trash bag. They slip his arms into the new shirt, button it up over his body, gently, gently. Delia smooths it. “There,” she says.

  I am not here anymore. I’m in another world now. I feel motion all around, and then Delia comes over to me. She removes one of her latex gloves and stuffs it in her pocket. Then she reaches out and takes my hand, but I can’t feel it through my own glove. She squeezes. “It’s time to go now,” she says.

  They walk toward the back door, carefully. I follow. They push through it and I follow, onto the porch. The sun is starting to set. The world looks unreal in this light. Evan holds the door, and one by one we make our way through it and down the stairs. I’m last. I turn back and look at the porch, at the rocks lining the edge, at the house where I spent so many days with Delia, so many nights with Delia. And then I look away.

  What the fuck have we done?

  Chapter 52

  Delia

  My mother always wanted me to love him. “He’s family!” she would say, begging, desperate. I couldn’t, I couldn’t . . . not after every fucking thing he did.

  But he has paid for his sins now. He has sacrificed himself to give me what I need. I watched him, his eyes closing, his face growing slack, drooling, helpless, sweet like a baby. For a moment I almost felt sorry. And when he floated away, leaving only his meat lump of a body behind, I felt a surge of something, maybe it was love, maybe I do love him now. Just a little.

  When no one was looking, I leaned over. I kissed him good-bye.

  Chapter 53

  June

  We make our way up through the woods, quickly, quietly. Nothing is real. I am floating and sick.

  Through the fog I feel something hot poking me at the base of my skull. A tiny thought egg that hasn’t hatched yet, but the thought is trapped inside, scratching and scratching its way out.

  “Come on,” Delia says. And I realize she is still holding on to my hand.

  Hot acid swirls in my stomach, I wonder if I’m going to throw up. I try to take a breath, but my lungs have forgotten what to do. I have to fight to get the air in.

  And we keep walking, down the street, toward the reservoir.

  No one is talking, and then we are back at the cars, Ashling’s and Sebastian’s. The air around me is vibrating. We can’t undo this. It can never be undone. “You’ll ride back with us,” Delia says.

  “Back?” I fight my way through that fog. Hear the words.

  “To the house,” says Delia.

  She smiles at me. Evan, Ashling, Sebastian. They all smile. Who are these people? Who is Sebastian? Who is Delia? What the fuck have we done?

  “I need to go home,” I say.

  “But home is with me,” Delia says quietly.

  “I want to go to my house.” I imagine my bed, my dark sad house, my mother.

  Delia is watching me. I can’t look at her now.

  Ashling and Evan exchange a glance. “She can’t,” Evan says.

  Ashling shakes her head. “Later,” she says.

  Sebastian turns away from both of them. He puts his hands on my shoulders, turns me toward him. “The thoughts that come won’t be good. You shouldn’t be alone with them.”

  He stops, and his words sink in. He has done this before.

  He squeezes me. “We did a good thing.”

  “June,” Delia says, “please.” But I don’t know what I’m thinking now, what I’m feeling now.

  “I have to go,” I say. And I force myself to look up at her. “I’m so sorry that everything that happened before happened.” I hear the coldness in my voice. I mean what I’m saying. But I can’t get my tone to match. I can’t pull forth anything but frozen fear. “I’m glad you got out of there.”

  “I really do not think you should go now,” Delia says. Each word so slow and careful. The light is fading. I can barely see her anymore. The moment stretches into infinity.

  But I shake my head. I break free.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her.

  Evan is staring at me. He starts to reach out toward me. “Don’t,” Delia says. “Not now.”

  Sebastian leads me over to his car then and puts me in front. I think Evan is yelling now, but I can’t make out the words. Ashling kisses Delia on the lips, but Delia doesn’t move. I watch them until we drive away.

  The sun is going down. I watch the road and trees and cars in front of us.

  He pulls up to my house. He is shaking his head. “I told you you didn’t have to,” he says quietly. “Didn’t I tell you that?”

  He kisses me softly on the cheek. His lips are burning hot. I can still feel the heat of them as I take my key from my pocket to let myself inside.

  Chapter 54

  Delia

  She wasn’t supposed to leave me. She wasn’t supposed to leave me. She wasn’t supposed to leave me. She wasn’t supposed to leave me. She wasn’t supposed to leave me. She wasn’t supposed to leave me. She wasn’t supposed to leave me. She wasn’t supposed to leave me. She wasn’t supposed to leave me. She wasn’t supposed to leave me. She wasn’t supposed to leave me. She wasn’t supposed to leave me. She wasn’t supposed to leave me. She wasn’t supposed to leave me. She wasn’t supposed to leave me. She wasn’t supposed to leave me. She wasn’t supposed to leave me. She wasn’t supposed to leave me. She wasn’t supposed to leave me. She wasn’t supposed to leave me. She wasn’t supposed to leave me. She wasn’t supposed to leave me. She wasn’t supposed to leave me. She wasn’t supposed to leave me.

  She won’t.

  Chapter 55

  June

  I dream of rotting fruit, bruised, sticky, sickly sweet. Evan and Ashling are on all fours, shoveling it into their mouths, the juice dripping from their chins. They ask me to join in. And then there is Delia, telling them I already ate it, that she fed it to me when I was asleep. I feel myself start to choke then, choke on what I’ve been fed. I wake in the middle of the night, gagging, and it takes me no time to remember yesterday. What we did. I close my eyes, and everything is right there waiting for me—his skin, the way his face was transformed when he was no longer inside his body.

  It’s still pitch-black outside. I pull myself out of bed, make my way toward the bathroom. And that’s when it happens—the egg lodged at the base of my skull bursts. This is what comes pouring out: Delia’s words when she told me the story of that night, what he did to her.

  I bit until I tasted fucking blood.

  I remember William, heavy body. And his skin, waxy and pale . . . But what about the bite mark? I close my eyes. I cannot, suddenly, remember seeing one. Did I? Was there anything there?

  I bit until I tasted fucking blood.

  I need to talk to Delia, to talk to her so she can make me understand. We did what needed to be done, he deserved it. The world is a better place without him. I didn’t even do anything, I just didn’t stop it.

  I just didn’t stop it.

  I throw on clothes, choke back bile. I’m running down the stairs, stomach churning.

  I bit until I tasted fucking blood.

  My mother is in the kitchen, standing in front of the stove. “Do you want some dinner?” she asks. “Or maybe we’ll call it breakfast. I just finished my shift.” She never asks this, ha
sn’t in years. She flips a grilled cheese onto a plate. She cuts it in half and steam rises up.

  My mouth is dry, my spit thick. I can feel the acid burning in my gut.

  She looks at me; our eyes meet. Our eyes never meet. “Are you okay?” She sounds actually concerned. “What are you doing up? And dressed?”

  I shake my head. I don’t remember words. I have to get out of here.

  I bit until I tasted fucking blood.

  “Jesus, I mean, the world is really crazy sometimes,” she says. She shakes her head. “I’m assuming you’ve seen the news.”

  William. Already.

  I try and keep my face calm. I breathe.

  She goes on. “I mean, what are the odds, two students at your school in less than two weeks, but I suppose only one of them was an accident.”

  “What accident?” I say.

  “A car accident,” she says.

  “Wait, what?”

  “I don’t remember the boy’s name. He wasn’t in your grade though, he was a senior. I’m surprised you haven’t already heard about this.”

  Something inside me is sinking, floating, spinning. I have to get out of here. I put on my jacket.

  My mother looks at me again, tips her head to the side. “Where are you going? It’s five in the morning.”

  “I have to be at school early,” I say. And I’m out the door before she can say anything else.

  I’m in my freezing car, hands shaking. I take out my phone. Search for Breswin, car accident, North Orchard. What comes up is this:

  A Breswin teen has died after his vehicle struck a guardrail earlier today. Investigators believe brake failure may have been the cause.

  The victim, Jeremiah Aaronson, 17, was declared dead upon arrival by emergency personnel at 1:46 this afternoon. This is the second tragic death this year for the North Orchard High School community . . .

  I raise my hand to my lips. I have a bad feeling, a terrible feeling. I’m no longer on earth. But this was an accident, right? A horrible coincidence, that’s all. That’s the explanation. That’s it. It has to be.

  Chapter 56

  June

  I do not scream, I do not think. I am nothing but pure motion, a bullet, shot toward that house.

  I pull into the driveway. There are lights on inside. The air is silent and still, and in the distance I smell the faint hint of smoke.

  I get out, shivering, stones crunching under my feet. I am afraid to stand there, to walk forward, to move at all, to be on this earth. I am shaking and shaking for I don’t know how long. I look up at the sky, at all that empty blackness, and know there will never be enough of anything to fill it.

  I hear footsteps behind me.

  And Delia’s voice, “Junie, you came.”

  I turn. She is standing around the side of the house, walking toward me. I can see her face now, lit by the glow from the windows. Our eyes meet. She is inside me, in my body, in my heart. We are staring, and for a moment there is nothing but this.

  “I knew you would,” she whispers. “But you scared me.”

  There is someone else there now, Evan coming around the side of the house too, squinting in the dark. “Is that her?”

  Delia coughs, turns, and answers. “I told you she would come.”

  “Good,” Evan says. “It’s much easier this way.” But he doesn’t look at me, he walks back in the direction he came from.

  “I need to talk to you,” I whisper. There is so much to say, to ask. I am so, so scared.

  Delia shakes her head. “Not now, Junie. Please. Just wait.”

  She grabs my hand. She starts to run and won’t let go. We stumble across the grass, following the scent of smoke around the side of the house. There’s a bonfire down by the river, glowing bright against the slowly lightening sky. Ashling, Sebastian, Evan. They are tossing things into the fire.

  There’s a pile of papers in the center of the flames, and fabric, maybe a shirt. The fire is much too big for this backyard. But there is no one around for miles. No one to even see the smoke.

  “What’s going on?” I say.

  “We’re getting ready to go,” Delia says quietly.

  “It’s good you came back,” says Ashling. There is a flicker of something in her tone.

  The sun is beginning to rise. There’s a thin line of dark red at the horizon. A razor slash in the sky.

  I catch Sebastian’s eye. He looks away. “So, she knows then?” he says. But not to me.

  “What is . . . ?” I start. My entire body is buzzing.

  “I’m taking care of it.” Delia sounds almost angry. And then she turns to me, her tone softens. “Let’s take a walk.” She still hasn’t let go of my hand.

  She leads me away, along the river, out toward the woods. We make our way in silence. She stops. I turn around. We are far from the others; it is just the two of us now. My head is spinning so fast, none of this is real.

  I remember what I came here for.

  She wants to say something. I don’t let her.

  I take a breath. “What happened to Jeremiah?”

  Delia stares at me blankly in the early morning light. Maybe she really doesn’t know. For a second I feel so strange and sorry to have to deliver this news. For a second I have hope.

  “He was in an accident, a car accident. It was really bad.”

  I wait for my words to sink in, but her expression doesn’t change.

  “Did you hear me?” That feeling is back in my stomach. This was her boyfriend. “He didn’t survive.”

  “You protect the people you love.” She is speaking too slowly.

  “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

  “Junie, you protect the people you love. No matter how you have to do it.”

  “What do you mean protect, what are you . . .” I stop. I can’t breathe. My heart is pounding so hard. “William’s chest, I’m not sure . . . I don’t think I remember seeing a bite mark.”

  She is shaking her head. “So?”

  “When he tried to rape you.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own. “You said you bit him till there was blood. But when his shirt was off . . . I can’t remember if I saw anything.”

  “Well, I don’t know.” Delia says. “Did you?”

  I am sick with fear now.

  “Listen, June,” Delia says. “Junie, J, my heart, my love. That is not even important. It is just totally beside the point. It’s time to go. Do you understand what that means?”

  The red line on the horizon is getting thicker. The sun is coming up fast. I can smell the smoke in the wind. I turn. The fire grows and grows.

  I feel heat in my belly, rising. “We did . . . what we did because of what you said he did . . . Did he actually?”

  “I can’t believe you’re even asking me that,” Delia says. Delia shakes her head. “Let’s stop talking about this now. It’s not what you came here for.”

  I feel something happening behind my eyes. William. Jeremiah. Even Ryan. I have no idea what is true. “What did I come here for?”

  “June,” she says. “You came here for me.”

  I am rushing through the air, spinning, floating.

  “I came here to find out what happened. The bite mark. Jeremiah. Delia . . .”

  “NO.” She’s shouting. She stops then, takes a breath. “You came here for me.” She motions back toward the fire. “And it’s time to go now. We’re leaving.”

  “You’re leaving,” I say. I feel my heart float up outside my body and beat between us.

  Jeremiah. William’s chest.

  Delia shakes her head. “No, we are. They agreed. You’ll come with us. They know you can . . . deal with real shit. They know how much you love me. We take care of each other, you and me. We always have.”

  “You’re asking me to
go with you?” I grab her shoulders. I am squeezing them. I need to make her look at me. “Delia, listen, do you understand what I am saying?” I say. “I don’t know what’s going on, and I’m really scared.” I sound desperate. I am desperate. “Did he actually try to rape you? Did he do the things you said he did?”

  She isn’t breathing.

  I feel the cool air against my skin. I imagine myself floating off into space. No one and nothing is holding me now.

  She leans in. She is whispering. “Or it can just be us, just the two of us, if that’s what you want.”

  There is something in her eyes—I see it. In there she is every age she’s ever been, every age I’ve ever known her.

  “Why did you bring me there? Why did you bring me to your house to kill him?”

  “Because I needed you there,” Delia says.

  “For what?” I say. But suddenly I know. And under the fear, under that otherwordly terror, I feel the loneliness sucking at my insides, the black hole threatening to pull me in.

  “I almost killed myself for real, you know,” she says. “Once, a hundred times, a thousand times. I almost killed myself every day. And you know what stopped me?” Her eyes are filled up now. “You.” Tears fall. She reaches into her jacket.

  I think I’m crying too. And for a moment nothing at all matters but us here in this moment, the two of us, my best friend. Oh God, what have we done.

  I start to wrap my arms around her. But she doesn’t lift hers. And I realize Delia is holding what she pulled out of her jacket. And I am understanding something. There is just one thing I forgot about.

  But now I remember. Tig. What Delia stole. She never returned it.

  “I won’t tell anyone. I promise. I swear. I would never. This never happened, any of it.”

  “Every day since I met you, you stopped me.” She is not looking at me anymore, the tears sliding down her cheeks as though they are someone else’s tears and someone else’s cheeks. She sounds so far away. “Even when you weren’t my friend anymore, you kept me alive. Because I knew, I just knew, somehow one day . . . I’d have you back.” She holds it out in front of her now. “I stole this for me to use on me. Before I knew what was possible.” She holds it up. “Do you understand what I’m saying? You need to make a choice now.”