The Suicide Club

by Rhys Thomas

  She didn’t say anything but her shoulders slumped. She clearly wanted to say something but didn’t. A few seconds passed and I left the room.

  By the time I got to school, music was blaring and the disco lights were laser-blasting everywhere. The whole place was stuffed full of eleven- to eighteen-year-olds. The first years were all skidding around on their knees, just as you would expect, of course.

  I couldn’t see Matthew or Jenny, or Craig or Freddy. Or Clare.

  ‘Rich,’ somebody called. ‘Hey, Rich.’ It was Phil, one of the boys who had once liked me but who had now followed the herd and deserted me after the Bertie incident.

  ‘Hey, how’s it going?’ he said, grinning.

  I found myself doing something very odd. I was judging him. I looked him up and down. I had been friends with this boy up until just a few months ago. But now I felt like I didn’t know him at all, like he was an embarrassing memory from my past. I know that what I was doing was a bad thing, but I don’t want to lie and pretend that it didn’t happen. Freddy’s mediocrity theory was seeping into me slowly but surely. This boy in front of me would never do anything exceptional. He would get a job for which he would be well paid, but he would hold people like me back. Was I really thinking this? I was disgusted by myself. But that’s how I felt.

  He was drunk. Completely off his face, in fact. He stumbled over to me and put his arm over my shoulder. He was a good foot taller than me.

  ‘What’s your problem lately, Rich?’

  I could smell the alcohol on his breath.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I said diplomatically.

  ‘Why don’t you hang around with us any more?’

  ‘What?’ I said. ‘It’s not me. You lot have totally snubbed me since Bertie died.’

  ‘All you do is hang around with that fucking faggot Freddy,’ he said, ignoring me.

  I immediately removed his arm from around my neck.

  ‘Get off me, you fucking loser.’

  I pushed him away. He looked at me with contempt.

  ‘You’re a prick.’

  ‘You know what, Phil?’ I said. ‘You’re pathetic. What sets are you in now, anyway?’

  He just looked at me with glazed eyes.

  Then I said something quite bad.

  ‘You’re going to end up just like your father – a fucking manager. It doesn’t mean anything.’

  We both looked at each other. Whatever had gone before, I was now cutting myself loose of my old life. After saying something like that, there was no going back. I didn’t really expect him to do what he did next though, which was to try and punch me. I felt bad as I stepped to one side and pushed his back. I stuck out my foot so that he tripped and went sprawling over the floor. Basically, I removed all of his dignity.

  He got to his feet, but some of the other boys held him back. There was a wall of them, the people I used to know, and they all looked at me like I was a disease.

  ‘You’re all mental,’ I said to them and walked off.

  ‘How’s your counselling going, Rich?’ somebody shouted. I stopped where I was. My heart went thud in my chest. They knew. Fuuuuuuuck!!!!!!!!! I turned round and saw that everybody had smirks on their faces. Something suddenly hit home. Everybody knew. Everybody knew about me being in therapy and must have been laughing at me all along behind my back.

  A nausea suddenly came into my throat and I felt my ears heating up. I was a laughing stock. Me. And I was so much better than all of them, I told myself blindly. So why was I getting so angry? Why were my hands balled into tight fists? My existence was crashing in around me. I wondered where Clare was but couldn’t see her. I looked at my old friends, who had all turned against me. Who were they anyway? What would they ever do with their stupid fucking lives? Nothing. They’d get jobs and fade away into the mediocrity of life. They were completely pointless. A hundred years from now, nobody would even know they had existed.

  ‘Why don’t you all fuck off ?’ I shouted, a little too emotionally. My voice cracked and the last part of my sentence went way too high. I closed my eyes as everybody laughed at me. Now I felt really sick. All along I had thought that everybody laughed at Craig Bartlett-Taylor because he was nuts, but it was me they were laughing at.

  My thoughts suddenly strayed to the Suicide Club – to Freddy, Jenny, Matthew, Clare, even Craig. Had they been laughing at me too? Had all of my bad thoughts about humanity been totally misplaced? Was it me who was wrong and evil and mediocre? My body felt like an empty eggshell. Was this what it was like to be unpopular?

  Suddenly the music stopped and the next song came on. Music cranked out of the speakers and do you know what song it was? It was ‘Teardrop’ by a band called Massive Attack. It’s probably the most beautiful song you’ll ever hear and now here it was cascading over me as I was being humiliated in front of everybody. I wanted to scream, cry, hit out, buck against it all, but I stayed where I was, my feet made of concrete.

  ‘We’ve known all along, Rich,’ said one of the boys.

  As I stood there, helpless, flailing, I knew exactly what Freddy meant. This was how the mediocre took down the exceptional. It was me against them, and there were more of them. It was they who had cruelly cut me out of their lives, yet still they did this to me.

  I had to do something to stop this. I had to make a decision. So I did.

  Deliberately, I turned away from my old life and, across the dance floor, saw Clare. She looked up and our eyes met. The first line of ‘Teardrop’ kicked in and my destiny came crushingly to life and I took my first steps towards my love. All thought of my humiliation was gone because I was about to show everybody how life should be lived. Clare was heading for me as well, and my arms went weak. I saw Clare’s friends look up at her as she walked away from them. Their eyes followed her path and saw me at the end. They put their hands over their mouths. I could feel the eyes of the other kids behind me burning into my back.

  Still the music poured out into the hall and then I was only ten feet away from her. I lifted my right hand ever so slightly, so that I could brush her hair away from her face when I reached her. She didn’t smile at me because she was nervous and I could feel her energy. The golden rope came up between us and reeled itself in around our souls as we got closer. It was pure magic.

  We finally reached each other and stopped. The song percolated into us and would for ever be etched into our memories. I took her right hand in my left and moved her hair away with my right.

  Here it was. We looked at each other for no longer than a second and then came that most amazing plunge where all fear and doubt retreats and you tilt your head. Our lips met and I suddenly realized just how much in love with her I truly was. More than I knew. We stood there for about thirty seconds, our jaws moving up and down in tandem as we tasted each other properly for the first time. I think in that kiss I experienced pure being; that physical joy where you forget everything.

  I could feel a circle of people around us but I kept my eyes closed. I had won. My secret about therapy was out and I had been completely humiliated, but here I was kissing the girl I loved. The song just carried on and on and I remember it ringing in my ears as I kissed her. We pulled away together and looked at each other.

  I have to admit that after kissing I never know what to say and I usually say something to embarrass myself. Which I did this time as well, but what I said was quite sweet, I guess, even though it was very cringey.

  ‘Now am I playing the game?’ I said.

  I saw for the first time everybody gathered around us, looking on in near disbelief.

  Then something happened. Clare looked me in the eye and took a step back, just like she had in the graveyard that night when she refused to free me.

  ‘No, Rich,’ she said coldly.

  A shiver went up my spine as I noticed her friends were laughing and high-fiving.

  ‘Don’t you get it?’ she said as she took another step back. She brought her hand up to cover her mouth, but not
so much that I couldn’t see the emergence of a smirk.

  My sweet Clare was leaving me. I felt like I was in Hades or whatever it’s called and was saying goodbye to her. She was being taken away across the water in one of the boats, wearing only a white gown. And she wasn’t looking back. The mist and the night finally dissolve her.

  She lowered her head and looked out at me through the tops of her eyes. Her mouth opened.

  ‘You are the game.’

  22

  I STOOD THERE as Clare took three or four further steps backwards and I thought I was going to dissolve into the spaces between the atoms. Chest swelling with too much oxygen in my lungs, my feet became stuck to the floor and I started to sway. I wanted to be physically sick right there. My mouth filled with moisture as my glands secreted saliva to line my throat. I felt like somebody had hit me over the head with a chunk of iron. I don’t know if you’ve ever taken a blow to the head, but right after it happens your brain just empties and you can’t do anything. I knew what the problem was, just as surely as I knew that there was no cure. I had had my heart broken.

  Clare had just hurt me more than any person had ever hurt me before. Even more than when my parents split up. Somewhere in the distance of my mind a switch clicked on and I heard the end of the song. Suddenly the place was silent, apart from people laughing. Not even Drama could save me now. If I collapsed into a ball on the floor, it would make no difference this time. It was all over.

  She had even kissed me. I still can’t believe how cruel it was to do that. She could have just told me that she wasn’t interested. But for her to go through the motions of that kiss, which had meant so much to me; it was just too cruel to bear.

  I couldn’t believe what had happened. I felt so empty and helpless.

  I hate the way I let my emotions get to me so much. I wish I could control them so that they didn’t hurt me as badly as they do. I’m glad I still feel the pain because it reinforces the fact that I’m still human, but I don’t feel any happiness any more. That end of the spectrum is closed to me now.

  All because of Clare and my unrequited love. Unrequited love is a terrible thing. I don’t think many people know it as deeply as I do, but it can tear a man apart at the seams. If you get a bad dose of it, you can’t recover. I loved Clare so much that for about four months I had thought about little else. Even now, years after everything, I’m still in love with her. When I tell people about it they laugh and shake their heads and think, What a fool, but that’s only because they don’t know. They think I’m being dramatic and childish and some of them are even worried about me. I tell them not to worry, but the fact of the matter is that I’m a bit of a wreck. How can you move on from something when all you want is that one thing that you can’t have? What’s the point in moving on? It’s unhealthy, yes, but it’s all that matters to you. Jesus Christ, I’m really mining my soul here; I must sound like a lunatic.

  The first person to come and speak to me was Matthew. He sat down and handed me a can of Coke, which had quite a lot of vodka in it. I gulped it all down because I knew the alcohol would make me feel better.

  He said some pretty cool stuff to me about how he thought I was a great guy, and how I had once pulled him out of an icy lake (which I had) and how I had given him my entire collection of WWE wrestling figures when his brother had been run over (he didn’t die), and how I used to help out at the homeless shelter with Clare more than anyone else. I guess he was right that I had been a pretty good kid, but now things were different. I didn’t see life in the same way any more. The world had crushed my spirit out of me and now I was nothing more than the school psychopath who had killed the falcon and was seeing a shrink because I had mental problems.

  It was sad, but it was the state that things had reached. Matthew gave me his hip flask of vodka and, even though I was just fifteen, the drink was gone in under an hour and I was on my way home alone.

  I’d be lying if I said that on the way I didn’t take a detour into a side street, sit down on a kerb and stare at the ground for about half an hour. I didn’t cry because I was numb. My social life was gone but I was OK with that because I was sort of trying to cut myself loose from my old friends anyway. But losing Clare was like getting cancer on the surface of my bones. Every time I moved it would rub up against my muscles and sinew and leave my entire body raw and tender.

  I was fairly drunk and I stopped at the twenty-four-hour garage, where I bought a packet of cigarettes and some matches. I went to the park and sat on a swing.

  I lit a cigarette and only smoked about half because my head started spinning crazily and I whitied out, which usually happens when you smoke too much marijuana and pass out, but it can also happen with cigarettes if you’re not used to them, which I wasn’t. I managed to get to the bushes before vomiting. My stomach came up in thick waves and scratched at my windpipe as it came. I dry-heaved about ten times before I collapsed on the freezing grass and lay there in a cold sweat, shaking.

  It was only ten thirty when I got to my front door and my parents were still up. I scrambled inside and couldn’t even be bothered to hide the mess I was in.

  When my mother saw me, she said, ‘Oh my God, what have you done?’

  I could feel remnants of vomit mixed with saliva between my fingers and I looked at her bleary-eyed. I couldn’t focus.

  ‘You haven’t changed at all,’ she said.

  That would have hurt so much if she had said it at any other time, but after what had happened I just didn’t care what she said. I smiled and felt a little bit of dribble bubble up on my lip.

  ‘You’ve got sick all down you,’ she said. ‘How clever.’

  I just sighed and fell against the wall and started laughing my head off. My mother went crazy and said that I had to get out of the house for ever, which was shocking coming from her, but I just slumped further down the wall until I was lying on the floor, laughing.

  ‘Why don’t you just re-laaaax,’ I sneered disgustingly.

  ‘Don’t talk to your mother like that.’ I didn’t even see my father come into the hall.

  The whole room was turning like those slow-motion cameras that photograph the stars wheeling in the sky over the course of a whole night. I started feeling hot again as a feeling of impending sickness consumed me. I got on to my knees, crawled to the downstairs toilet and emptied my stomach again. I think my mother was crying, but I’m not sure. I grabbed the toilet door and slammed it shut before sliding the lock across. I then took my top off like I imagine a spastic would and let the cold vinyl of the floor fuse with my skin.

  Through the door my father told me not to fall asleep as I might choke on my vomit but my fringe, damp with sweat, was caressing my face and his words meant nothing.

  I didn’t really fall asleep. Rather, I drifted in and out of oblivion. My existence was made up of fractured bouts of sweaty subconsciousness and hyper-reality. I was physically, mentally and emotionally fucked. Everything was gone. My family hated me, my old life had disintegrated into a void of hatred, the girl I loved not only didn’t love me back, but had taken pleasure in humiliating me, and I could see no way that I could ever be happy again.

  At around two in the morning I finally got up to my bedroom. The house was cold, quiet and dark. I looked at my mobile and had received ten missed calls, all from Matthew and Freddy. I threw the phone into the wall and it smashed apart, but not as satisfyingly as I would have liked. I lay on my covers and fell asleep, covered in my own vomit.

  Somebody was banging at my door.

  ‘Go away,’ I croaked, my throat raw from vomiting and drinking no water.

  But the banging continued. I eventually realized that it was Toby and that he wasn’t going to go away so I rolled over and opened the door.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘Are we going into the city today like you promised?’

  My eyes were closed so I could just hear his voice. I sighed.

  ‘What’s the time?’

&n
bsp; ‘Nine o’clock,’ I heard him say.

  I shook my head, which hurt like hell to do.

  ‘I thought I said ten thirty.’

  ‘I thought I should get you up so that you won’t be late.’

  ‘Christ, Tobe, what difference does it make if we’re late?’

  ‘I’ve got it written in my book,’ he answered.

  That was just too much so I shut the door and went back to bed.

  ‘Wake me at ten,’ I called.

  ‘OK, I’m going to Tesco to help Dad clean the car,’ his voice said. I heard his feet walking away and down the stairs.

  I suddenly remembered the events of the previous night. For about a minute, I had completely forgotten what had happened. But now it all came back to me. It was so hideous that I just smiled and shook my head, but that hurt so I buried my face in my pillow instead.

  There was a layer of sweat over the surface of my mattress. My hangover was the worst yet. I must have drunk more than I thought. My stomach was tender and my throat stung. My head was pulsating. Before I knew it, my door was being banged against again.

  ‘What?’ I shouted into my pillow.

  More banging. For five minutes. I struggled off my wet mattress and opened the door, reaching for the door handle from my bed. It was Toby again.

  ‘What now?’ I growled.

  ‘It’s ten o’clock,’ came his voice through the crack in the door.

  I looked at the clock next to my bed. I had lost an hour to fever and torment. My head felt even worse now and I tried to slam the door.

  ‘Call me at eleven,’ I said.

  But Toby stuck out his foot before it shut. He came into my room.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ I slurred.

  I felt his hand grab my ankle and his feeble body try to pull me off my bed.

  ‘Get up,’ he moaned.

  It was like a fly was on my leg, not a human being. I kicked out, mildly amused.

  ‘You promised me, Rich.’

  When he said that I suddenly felt bad. I was such a bastard I couldn’t stand it. How could I do this to him? I opened my eyes and looked down the end of my bed to where he stood. And you’ll never guess the sight which greeted me. Not only was Toby not wearing a tie, but had clearly had my mother buy him his first pair of jeans and a yellow hoody, which had a picture of a smiling dinosaur on it. His hair was gelled ridiculously into a Mohican and his feet filled a pair of skater shoes. The country-gent clothes were gone. All this and he was still probably less than three feet tall. The effort the poor kid had put in was insane. All he wanted was for me to be his friend. But here I was hungover to hell with the worst broken heart in human history and a humiliation from which I would never fully recover.