The Death of Me

by Yolanda Olson

  He would learn to accept what I now wanted from him; he owed me for years of a stolen childhood I could never get back.

  Twenty One

  (Friday Morning)

  I allowed him the luxury of sleeping the rest of the day and majority of the night in my king sized bed, while I stayed in the living room on the couch. For what I had planned for him, I admitted to myself that it was the least I could do; to let him have a small amount of comfort.

  I woke up with a crick in my neck and a rage that was swelling my heart, easily masked by my day to day ability to blend in with the rest of humanity. Like the automated humanoid I had trained myself to be, I went into the kitchen and decided to make enough coffee for the both of us. I needed him alert and willing to fight for what he wanted.

  Reaching into the kitchen cabinet, I retrieved two mugs and placed them on the counter, before going over to the island in my kitchen and hopping onto one of the stools. As I sat there waiting I tried to wrap my head around the fact that it had been a week since my grandfather had died and all of the horrid feelings I had left behind in Los Angeles, came back washing over me like a torrential downpour of pain and selflessness.

  With a quick glance toward the brewing coffee pot, I got up and decided to go to my room to retrieve my laptop. I quietly and slowly opened the door as to not disturb Garrett if he was still sleeping, which I saw that he still was when I glanced inside. I pushed the door open halfway then slid into my room, found my laptop, and closed it quietly behind me as I went back into the living room and powered it on. I wasn’t going to hunt for any obituaries; I had learned my lesson the last time. No, instead I was going to open a blank Word document and see if I could put my feelings down on paper, so to speak.

  I knew that nothing I said would be as eloquent as what Scott had tried to put into words, but I would do my best. I would let anyone who had the heart to read it know that I had the best of intentions with what I was going to do. I wanted anyone who sat down to read it, know that even though things hadn’t quite turned out as they should have, that I was finally happy and it was the best thing for everyone.

  By the time I had filled about five document pages, I heard Garrett’s shuffling feet as he entered the kitchen. The coffee had long been brewed, but I had become so engrossed in what I was doing that I hadn’t moved. I wasn’t even sure I had heard it finish since I had somehow managed to desensitize myself to everything that wasn’t what I had set my mind to do.

  “Good morning,” he said groggily as he opened the small glass jar that held the sugar. I immediately saved and closed the document, before pulling the lid down on the laptop. I wasn’t done yet but I couldn’t let him see it until it was complete.

  Gingerly, I dropped my chin into my hand and watched him scoop sugar into the beige ceramic mug, before pouring coffee into it, then going into the refrigerator for milk. I smiled when I knew he wasn’t looking; it made me wonder how this tired man who had been through almost as much heartache as I had, could still function without forcing himself to be normal. Garrett Spears was an enigma and with as much as I wanted to figure him out, I knew there wouldn’t be enough time for that.

  “Morning,” I replied softly.

  I watched his back as he raised the mug to his lips, took a deep breath, and a sip, before turning and coming to sit at the island with me. His eyes were still red and I couldn’t tell if it was because he had been crying again or if he was just tired.

  “You okay?” I asked, running a hand back through his hair.

  “No. But I’m not worried about me right now,” he said, taking another sip then placing the mug down on the island top. His dim brown eyes searched mine seriously before he spoke again.

  “Zaydee, I know that you’re a tough woman; you always have been. But I need to make sure that you’re okay before I leave and go back to L.A.”

  A smile danced across my lips again. Tough wasn’t the word for what I was; empty, broken, damaged, and self-loathing were probably the words I would have chosen, but I wasn’t going to worry him over something that wouldn’t be a problem for much longer.

  “I’m fine,” I replied, putting a hand on top of his. “I hope you’re not leaving any time soon though.”

  Garrett’s eyes fell down to my hand for a moment. Almost as if he were deciding whether he should pull his hand away from me, but ever since that first time in his classroom, I knew that my touch was something he always craved. Even when he shunned me and tried his best to pretend that I didn’t exist, I knew.

  “I’m scheduled to return to work on Monday,” he reminded me, his eyes still on my hand. “But I can try to extend it and stay as long as you need me to. I won’t ask you to come back to Los Angeles; I know what that would do to you psychologically.”

  “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘you can’t fix what isn’t broken’? That’s kind of where I am right now, only it would be more along the lines of ‘you can’t break what isn’t meant to be fixed,’” I said, taking my hand off of his.

  “Zaydee—”

  “Stop,” I said cutting him off and holding up a hand. “I know what I am, Garrett. I know what’s inside of my head every second of every minute of every day, and you don’t. I know that you love me, but I can’t say that back to you because I honestly believe myself to be incapable of loving anyone in that manner anymore. Did I ever love you? Yes; at one point, I believe I did. Can I ever love you again? No and it’s not because of you’re abandoning me when I needed you, it’s because of who I am.”

  He grunted and took another sip of his coffee before he got up from his stool, went over to the sink, and dumped it. The mug made a dull thunk noise as he dropped it into the sink before gripping the edges of the counter with his hands. I could tell that he had a lot to say to me but didn’t know how to say it. I assumed he wanted to plead a case for the theory of “us” and no matter how strong his emotion would be behind it, I wouldn’t falter. I wouldn’t let myself know heartache and loss again; I refused to allow it.

  “Why am I here?” he asked quietly.

  “Because I asked you to come,” I answered, getting up from my stool and going over to him. I put my cheek against his back and rested my hands on his. “I’m sorry that I can’t and don’t love you. I’m sorry that this can’t go back to what it used to be, but you just being here with me makes me feel better about everything that’s happened. Can that be enough for you?”

  He didn’t answer me, not with words. Instead he took another deep breath before he turned to face me. I crossed my arms over my chest and looked up into his eyes wondering if they would ever shine with the beautiful light they once did. The same warm, shining brown eyes that had taken my breath away when I first walked into his classroom.

  “I guess it has to be,” he finally said letting out a sigh.

  Placing my head on his chest and wrapping my arms around his waist, I made him a promise I intended on keeping.

  “It’s okay, Garrett. It’ll all be over soon anyway.”

  Twenty Two

  (Friday Evening)

  What time is it? I wondered, craning my neck to look at the clock in the kitchen. If my eyes weren’t deceiving me, it was 8:00 p.m. and Garrett was still asleep on the couch. I hated to wake him up, but I knew that if I didn’t start this now, I would never get it done.

  “Hey,” I said softly, leaning over and giving him a gentle poke in the side. “Garrett?”

  He moaned quietly and rolled onto his other side, eyes still closed, and a foot still in dreamland.

  “Garrett?” I asked a little louder, giving him a gentle shake. “Are you awake?”

  He groaned loudly and rolled onto his back. I smiled; I couldn’t help it. The way his hair sat messily on top of his head, so wild and free, was far from the kind of person I knew he was.

  I gingerly placed a hand on his thigh and waited for him to open his eyes. It was something that made me feel somewhat loved, to know that a single touch from me could have so much powe
r over him.

  “I am now,” he finally said, using one of his knuckles to rub his left eye.

  “I think something about this house makes it easy to sleep for hours,” I said in amusement.

  Garrett sighed and let an arm rest across his forehead, blinked a few times, then cocked his head so he could look at me. His eyes smiled at me, but his lips couldn’t form the sentiment that they shared. I wasn’t upset with him for it and I certainly wasn’t angry. He was grieving a loss that should have been both of ours, but I had laid the burden of it on his shoulders so he knew he would have to do it for me as well.

  “How are you holding up?” he asked curiously.

  “Fine,” I replied, taking my hand away from his leg. “And you?”

  He scoffed and brought himself up to a seated position. I pulled m legs up to my chest on the couch and wrapped my arms around them as I waited for him to respond.

  “Fucked up,” he replied honestly, running a hand irritably through his hair. “Not that you would know what that feels like.”

  I rested my head on top of my knees and looked at him for a moment. Garrett didn’t know me; he didn’t know what was inside of my head and no matter how frustrated he was with me for not throwing myself on the floor and crying my eyes out, he couldn’t possibly know the true depths of “fucked up” that was spiraling inside of me. It was like a giant sinkhole in the middle of the ocean that pulled at me every day, threatening to drag me to the darkest depths, and it was all I could do not to drown.

  But today would be the first day since I started swimming near that sinkhole that I wouldn’t fight it’s pull. I would welcome it and I would let myself spiral down, just to see how far into the darkness I could go before I finally succumbed to the pressure caving in all around me. Until every dark thing that had ever run rampant in my mind finally took over and crushed me in it’s precious grip.

  Would I survive the pull? I didn’t know and I had finally reached the point where I didn’t care and hoped that it would be a beautiful demise; I hoped the intensity of it would make me smile one last time before I let it take me into the unknown.

  But, first thing’s first.

  “Can I ask you something?” I said, turning my eyes away from him.

  “Yeah,” he replied tiredly.

  “That first time. In your classroom? How did it happen? I can never remember,” I admitted softly.

  “What do you think happened?” he asked curiously.

  I scoffed and got to my feet. I walked to the doorway that sat between the living room and the kitchen and leaned my back against it, letting my eyes wander toward the ceiling.

  “I honestly don’t know. I’ve spent most of my life thinking you forced yourself on me, but with as many times as you’ve told me you loved me in the past couple of weeks, something tells me that’s not what happened.”

  “It’s not!” he replied in shock. “Zaydee, I never forced you to do anything. You came on to me and I didn’t stop it from happening. I know that I should have and this all never would have happened, but I couldn’t resist you. You looked at me with such sad eyes, such heartbreak, and then all of a sudden you looked at me the way a grown woman would. You’ve always been ... more developed than you should be and I lost myself in that lie. I saw you as a woman and not as a child and I ... fuck. This is all my fault. All of it. I’m so sorry.”

  His voice cracked when his millionth apology left his lips and I turned my face slightly to look at him. I pitied him for loving me as much as he did. I pitied him for thinking that telling me would change the kind of person I was. But most of all, I felt sorry for him because I knew how this had to end.

  “Garrett? Remember how when we were going to Grandma’s house? You said that the next time we would go through with what we started?” I asked.

  He didn’t verbally answer me, but he nodded his head slightly, using the back of his hand to wipe the tears from his face.

  “Give me a few minutes,” I said, walking away from the the door frame and heading into my bedroom.

  I didn’t want to drag it out any longer than I had to and I just wanted to leave him with a small ounce of happiness before I left. I have to move faster, I thought as I glanced at the time on the alarm clock on my nightstand. Friday would be over soon and I didn’t want to wait another week.

  I went to my walk-in closet and walked straight toward the back left corner. I pulled out a pretty black dress, held it up, and smiled. It was what I had worn the last time I saw my grandfather and it still fit me for the most part. I pulled off my clothes, before slipping it over my body then went back to my bedroom. I went over to the entertainment stand that held a box of jewelry that belonged to Grandma when she was younger and pulled out a beautiful silver necklace. I wanted to look my best when I left and one glance in the standing mirror mounted on the inside of the closet told me that I looked just fine.

  I closed the closet doors and flipped the light off in my room. When I went back into the living room, I walked over to the smaller closet space I had in there and pulled out a pair of black flip flops. Everything was ready; all I would have to do was slip them on then leave once I was done with Garrett.

  I turned around to face him and smiled shyly. It was as sincere of a smile as I could muster and for the briefest of moments, it looked like his eyes were shining again.

  “Ready?” I asked softly.

  “For what?” he asked, in confusion.

  My smile deepened slightly as I walked over to him and straddled his lap.

  “For me,” I said softly, as I gripped the sides of his face, leaned forward and kissed him as passionately as I could.

  In no time, his hands were gripping my hips tightly as he returned my kiss and I almost shivered when he sighed gently into my mouth. I reached down for his shirt, but before I could pull it out of his pants, he grabbed my hands by the wrists and pushed me back.

  “No. This isn’t right; not now,” he said, his breath laboring slightly.

  “This is your only chance, Garrett,” I replied trying to kiss him again.

  “Zaydee, stop!” he shouted shoving me off of his lap.

  I hit my head on the coffee table and fell onto the carpet, a hand cradling my injury. I brought my hand forward and saw a small amount of blood on the tips of my fingers before I pushed myself to my feet.

  “I didn’t want to have to do it this way,” I said quietly.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t ... I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. Can I look at that please?” he said, reaching for me.

  I took a few unsteady steps backwards, before I went over to where my flip flops were sitting and slid my feet into them.

  “Zaydee, let me look at your head,” he said again, getting to his feet.

  “Stay away from me,” I replied sharply.

  I knew it wouldn’t work. Trying to be normal was something that I had to work hard at and the facade never lasted longer than mere moments.

  I went into the kitchen to retrieve the last item I needed before I left. With an angry slam, the drawer I had opened clanked shut, the insides making a loud noise as the contents rattled around inside.

  “Hey,” he said, entering the kitchen. “Are you going to let me look at your head or am I going to have to strap you down and do it?”

  I put the item I had come in to retrieve on top of the island and his face turned white. He held his hands up and took a step backward.

  “Zaydee, what are you going to do with that?” he asked cautiously.

  “Oh it’s not for you,” I replied in disgust.

  “Then who’s it for?” he asked nervously.

  “Go get the vase,” I commanded, nodding toward the living room.

  “Give me the knife first,” he said quietly. I could tell that he was mustering courage to come near me. Me of all people; Zaydee Lansing, the girl who had accomplished nothing in twenty eight miserable years on the planet.

  “Go get it!” I screamed, picking up the large, sharp k
itchen knife.

  Garrett licked his lips nervously, but finally nodded in agreement as he quickly left and reappeared with what was left of the only good thing I might have done.

  I placed the knife down on the counter and held out my hands. Garrett handed me the vase and I smiled as I looked down at it. A sad smile, a smile that told me that I was doing the right thing. I took a deep breath and held what was left of my son closely to my chest, my eyes closed for a moment.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered to Scott.

  In quick movements, I placed the vase down on top of the island, pulled the lid off and looked at the ashes deep inside for a moment. Then I grabbed the knife and dragged it as deeply as I could across my throat. My hope was to get some of what was left of the last few moments of my life in with my son’s ashes. This way I would have finally been with him in a sense.

  The feeling of the cool blade burned slightly and I had to tug it across after I managed to get it stuck somehow in the front of my neck.

  I heard Garrett’s horrified scream as I fell over and I could feel the choking feeling take over me as the light from the world started fading again.

  But it was over now; I could feel it as the cold washed over me. And I would look my best when I saw my grandfather and possibly my son, for the first time.

  Frances Lettsworth, aged 84, the greatest man I had ever known, died on a Friday not seven days before. I could only hope that he knew in his heart that I had done this for him.

  About the Author

  Yolanda Olson is an award winning and international bestselling author. Born and raised in Bridgeport, CT where she currently resides, she usually spends her time watching her favorite channel, Investigation Discovery. Occasionally, she takes a break to write books and test the limits of her mind. Also an avid horror movie fan, she likes to incorporate dark elements into the majority of her books.

  You can keep in touch with her on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.