"Kassauni, there is more to life than continuous pain and suffering. I am sure you know that, and no one is asking you to go through it alone," She told me. I took a long drag from the blunt and held it in my lungs before releasing it.
"Whatever yah...
Corey sat on the cold floor, surrounded by darkness. The only sound was his ragged breathing. Before him, a bottle of pills laid open, its contents scattered. His eyes blurred as tears mixed with despair.
He thought of Jonathan, his former best friend, who had shattered his trust. The memories of that night still haunted him—– the party, the drinking, the forced intimacy. Corey's stomach churned in disgust.
His sexual assault was only the beginning. Carissa's anger and blame still felt like a knife twisting in his chest, and Corey couldn't blame her. He felt responsible, even though he'd been a victim too.
He didn't pull the trigger nor did he kill anyone, but the guilt was eating him alive.
The warning from Antonio's cold voice still lingered in his mind. No charges were filed, but the guilt remained. Jamari is alive and well, slowly recovering and getting better as the days go by.
And then, the gruesome scene unfolded—–Jonathan's gun jamming, only to be killed in front of him. Corey's mind replayed the image, fueling his nightmares.
Jonathan was his best friend growing up and he always trusted him. It was clear to him that Jonathan was never his friend because he was ready to send him to prison and ready to kill him.
He had sexually assaulted him just to shut him up and he felt everyone's control he had slipped away.
He was forced to go along with something that made him uncomfortable. No matter how unclean and violated he felt, all he could think about was Jonathan sending out the video. The video never saw the light of day but it was ruining him.
His sister's forgiveness seemed impossible as well. How could he face her, knowing what he knew? The thought of expressing and explaining didn't make any sense to him as she'd probably think he was victimizing himself.
He sighed, licking his lips as another tear dripped down his face. The pills beckoned, promising an escape from the agony. Corey's hand trembled as he reached for them.
"Dis must better than suffering," He said, shaking the bottle.
He picked up the suicide notes he had written for his mother and sister before pulling himself up. Heading into his mother's room, he placed it on her neatly made bed and his fingers lingered on the soft cotton sheets.
