Project Pen (first draft)

Chapter Six (tw: suicide)

I groaned as I slid out of my desk chair, Project Pen's document open, but untouched, and inched towards the bathroom. I hadn't moved since Tiffany left. I was scared that she would come back while I was gone and I wouldn't get to talk to her, but it had been several days, and I probably smelled atrocious. I needed a shower.

I'd started to dread the shower. The porcelain prison of isolation was the last place I wanted to be. Once you were inside, there was nothing stopping your thoughts. You had no choice but to truly reflect on everything. The same reason had caused me to hit another wall in my writing. No matter what I did, my conversation with Tiffany wouldn't leave my brain.

My cruel words about Daniel flashed in my mind as I shampooed. Tiffany's tirade echoed in my ears as I got dressed. As I looked back at my desk, and the humiliation of my untouched manuscript, my stomach gurgled.

Packing my laptop, I went down to the quad, hoping the bustle of the cafe would drown out my thoughts enough for me to get work done.

As I pushed open the wooden doors, I was met with complete silence. The usually packed cafe was now barren. With a single bored looking employee, and three other students scattered around.

Two of them were sitting next to each other, and talking quietly. I sat at the table opposite them, and started to type. Though I could actually manage to put words to paper this time, I couldn't get into the flow of things. Usually when I write, the world around me starts to disappear, and the scene plays. I can actually feel myself in my main character's shoes, I can hear the dialogue and smell my surroundings. Right now, all I smell is the espresso I ordered, and all I can hear is the whispering of the pair sitting across from me.

I can't quite make out what they're saying, but occasionally, the one in blue will glance at me. She didn't realize I noticed. Eventually, I slammed my laptop shut. I wasn't going to get anything done like this.

The rain that was pouring so diligently all week was finally starting to clear, but left fog in its wake. As I navigated through the stone path, I couldn't help but feel as if I was being watched. People would emerge from the fog as I got closer, but as time went on, they felt less and less like people. As I got closer to my dorm, all I could see were the eyes of looming figures

I sped up as my heart beat rapidly, searching for the comfort of my dorm. I can feel the eyes of everyone around me and it's suffocating. They're looking at me like they know...

I slammed the door behind me, my bangs soaked in sweat clinging to my forehead. I took a while to catch my breath before finally opening my eyes.

When I did, I saw heaven itself. Lit behind the shining gold through the window stood Tiffany, gathering clothes.

"Tiffany!" I said excitedly, pushing off the door. She hardly even looked in my direction when responding.

"Hi Edith," She said flatly, grabbing her phone charger and toothbrush, "I'm gonna stay with one of my friends tonight, we have a project we're working on."

"Wait! Tiffany, why have you been avoiding me? Can we talk about this?" I started towards her, but tried my hardest to be completely non threatening.

"I'm not avoiding you Edith... I just have other friends." She wrapped her arms around herself and looked down uncomfortably.

"That's a lie! That's a lie and you know it. We used to hang out like every day, you hardly talk to me anymore. Please talk to me Tiffany, I cannot lose you. I lost everything so I can keep you..." I practically begged. My emotions began to flood my body, and as my tears flooded my eyes I could feel myself losing my control. I began to clutch my fist so tight I feared I'd draw blood from my palms.

I began this project for Tiffany, everything I did was so that I could stay with her. When my parents gave me the ultimatum, when they made me choose between my love, or their love, I chose Tiffany. I abandoned their care so I wouldn't have to lose hers.

"Edith... You have to let me go... Please." Tiffany couldn't meet my eyes, and I went into a panic. I felt an almost primal survival mode as I thought of how I could beg her to stay. What could I have possibly done to keep her, to make her trust me again?

My panic quickly turned to rage and hurt. How could she just walk away from me? Tiffany was everything to me. She was the light of my life, and I was what? A pastime? An obligatory college experience? How could she just walk away from me? This isn't right. I walked towards her.

"You can't go." I said determined, using my body as a physical barrier between her and the door. "At least listen to me!"

"Edith please," Tiffany's voice remained calm, but her eyes were darting from wall to wall, as if she was looking for a way out, like she was looking for a way to get away from me, it only made the hurt worse.

"Look at me!" I shouted in a way that honestly startled myself. I could feel the remnants of my mother exuding from my body as I spoke. I knew how I was making Tiffany feel, I recognized her face. She looked like a doe in headlights. Like she was scared to make a move because any movement might set me off. It hurt me to know that I made her feel like that, but at this point, I'd lost control of myself, so I continued. "I need you Tiffany... I don't know how to do it without you." This was my last desperate attempt to get her to stay.

Tiffany took a full breath, then replied with a level of solemnity in her voice I'd never heard from her before, "You need to learn to live without me."

With the final confirmation that nothing I could say could change her mind, I lost mine. I froze and expected my tears to consume me, but instead, they stopped. I stared blankly at her, unable to think of a single clear sentence, unable to make out what my brain was telling me to do, so I was forced to rely on instinct.

Tiffany began to step backwards, as if she could sense what I was about to do. Without any warning I lunged for a knife that was in our sink and before Tiffany really had the time to react, I was upon her.

I practically tackled her, and we fell to the ground. I climbed on top of her, straddling her, and plunged the knife into her stomach, craving the relief from her rejection, the way I was given relief from the people before her. I dragged it from her sternum to her pelvis, making as deep a cut as I possibly could. Tiffany tried futally to kick, scream or fight in any capacity, but she was failing. She was losing her strength, and couldn't really manage to do anything but look at me with fear in her eyes.

I leaned down, so I'd be near her face, and whispered in her ear.

"It's okay Tiffany... It's Sparagmos. It's honorable, you'll be okay." Her eyes faded as my sentence ended... I hope she heard what I had to say. I couldn't dwell on it though, I had to get to work. I continued the Sparagmos, working on her arms first. I've come to believe that Tiffany didn't really love people, she loved being loved by people. The Sparagmos was probably what she would've wanted. To be a religious sacrifice is to be eternally worshiped, forever important.

The day quickly turned to night as I worked on the body, occasionally stopping for water or to use the bathroom, before diligently getting back to work. I hardly broke a sweat as I disemboweled her, it's like it's what I was meant to do. Tiffany's small soft limbs made her resemble a broken porcelain doll, sprawled across the floor like she was the result of an unfortunate accident that ruined a child's happiness. Her long curled eyelashes and vacant irises contributed to her doll-like appearance. She didn't look real anymore.

This will be it, it's thematically perfect! The one who started my journey would be the one who ended it. I channeled all of my rage, all my fear, all of my hurt, and I opened my laptop. My body was almost vibrating with the words that were practically begging to leave my body, the story that was begging to be told. I wrote of my main character, how she finished off the last student, the artist, and was awarded her scholarship. She deserved a happy ending. I wouldn't be getting one.

As I did my final review of my manuscript, I contemplated what to do next. I wouldn't be getting away with this... It's impossible, and I wouldn't want it anyway. There's no real point. Why should I even go on if every love I experience ends in this way? With my curse infecting and draining them until I do this? It's the end for me. I'll follow the influence of some of my greatest literary heroes, Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolfe, or Dorothy Parker. I will choose my end. I will be in complete control.