The Fall Of Edith

Chapter 17, present

We leave young Edith and moving forward through time, we walk six years into the future and meet -once again- the Edith we know from the beginning of this story. We're back at the tall building with plush, luxurious carpets, back in the apartment of Edith and her husband Michael.

I wake up late, the morning sunlight already fading away from the windows again. Under my knee I feel something hard, that must be my phone. 

And I remember last night, going up to the roof, almost jumping off the building, so close. While I was standing on the edge I thought about something my grandmother once told me. My grandma's words from when I was a small child, maybe ten or twelve years old. We were watching the news on TV and there was a high profile woman, I can't recall who it was, maybe the wife of a politician. She committed suicide because of her husband, who had driven her over the edge. And my grandma turned around to face me, dead serious, and told me: "Edith, never kill yourself over a stupid man. If you have to, kill the man" So I went back downstairs, curled up under all my blankets and cried until I fell asleep.  

I go to the kitchen and get some milk and bread for a very measly breakfast. It'll have to do for now. I have two missed calls from Michael, but I don't bother calling him back.

I stare out at the world and see a a woman in an expensive looking fur coat walking down the street. She suddenly turns right to enter into a shop, but she doesn't see the man on the bicycle who just wanted to overtake her. He bumps into her and she falls to the ground like a fat ladybug on its back. I can only imagine the tirade and profanities she must be shouting at the poor guy in this moment and I chuckle. Maybe I can give my life another try today. 

Michael will be joking around with one of his colleagues now, or maybe he's already sitting in a jacuzzi he booked for his date and him. Maybe he's in a strip club, throwing bills at naked dancers. 

I open up Facebook and search for a name I haven't let myself think about in years. Six years to be precise. Mauricio Feitoza. There he is, like nothing changed. The second profile in the result list. I click on his profile, and without thinking much, I send him a message "hi" and add "how r u" As short and unemotional as possible. He doesn't deserve question marks, doesn't deserve any consonants. 

His reply comes during the night, I see it the next morning.  "good to know ur still alive, you disappeared"

That's what it says there in its little blue chat bubble. It's mindboggling how easily you can throw a line and reconnect with someone online. And then just as quickly you can cut them off again. Click, click, click. So fast, your mind starts spinning. 

I don't know if I should laugh or cry. The message is so emotionless, so careless. It doesn't make sense that this should be the counterpart to my endless feelings, my struggles and anxiety, my whole life. But this is what I know, its always been like this. I honestly didn't expect anything else, and yet I'm happy that I got him to reply. Of course I am, I'm grateful and I'm always hoping, hoping for so much more, even after all this time, it's like I'm right back at the start. I know I have to savour this moment, because its most likely not going to last for very long. Making him stay was never my strong suit. And still, this time something has changed within me. This time I know he's not my lifeline. And this time I don't care. 

 I look at the message again and actually think about what he wrote. It doesn't make sense to me. It's almost comical how far away this is from my truth, from what I've seen. Not even one sentence into the conversation with him and I already feel like one of us hallucinating again.

There's another message, sent thirty minutes later, at 5am, it says "fell asleep? lol u used to be stronger"

It's dragging up so many memories from the trenches of my mind, so much pain, I want to rip the message right out of its chat bubble and stomp on it. That's definitely not what he would he would like to hear though. I want to keep getting messages from him, so many that I can fill up the bathtub and drown in them. I go to the bathroom, apply make up and lip liner and take some pictures of myself. Going through my gallery I pick the best one, then go to the messenger app and upload it. It doesn't look too bad at all, even though its just a selfie of me, but I'm smiling mysteriously and look happy. Or at least that's what I would hope he will think. Because of course he is the only reason I'm doing this. As a next step I think of a cool, nonchalant text to put as my profile bio. In the end I just settle on the title of one of my favourite songs by Biffy Clyro in a special goth font and a moon emoji. Not like anyone would notice any of these efforts anyways, but you never know.