My Heart and Other Black Holes One-shot

3 Days Left - Roman's POV

I think of Aysel. I can see her dark eyes, her rather long nose, her almost non-existent mouth. I can see her fizzy unkempt hair contrasting with her light skin. I can see her smile, which has been featuring in her face more frequently and kind of getting more beautiful every time. It's getting kind of hard to think of Aysel without remembering her smile now and it's even harder not to think of her. What hurts is not the excessive overthinking; a year of that is enough to cope already. What hurts is that when she dies, her smile will also die with her.

I remember the first time I saw her. She looked almost equally beautiful, but I remember I also told her that she looked like she wanted to die. And she did. Her hair was as unkempt, her nose was as long, her skin was as white, everything was the same – except for her eyes. Her eyes were darker than they are now. Her eyes were holding dread and sadness and boredom.

Now I can see it crystal clear: her eyes hold hope as well.

I can't let someone with hope die just because they don't want to look flakey to me. I don't want Aysel to die. She's too beautiful for it.

Maybe – if there was a real parallel universe, and if we switched and lived there – I could've loved Aysel more than to leave her. Or I would've loved her existence in my life more than to end it. I would've loved to see her smile, or her sassy comebacks, which is true for this universe, too. I hate to see her smile because it means that she won't be able to do it, but there is a special grace to it, a parallel-universe grace. And she could be right, maybe in this universe too, she could be a scientist, one with hope and eagerness to live.

I can't let her die with me. I have to die alone.

I flip on my bed and sigh. I used to wish that sighs and tears would take some of my guilt away when Maddie died, so that if I cry enough and sigh enough, I won't feel any guilt eventually. Therapists said that about talking to them. They lied, though. They were only saying this to get the words out of me to build useless theories about guilt and pain and grief. And then never make anybody feel any better.

I remember I had a dream about Maddie once. She wasn't wearing white or dressed like an angel. And she wasn't beaten up and looking victimized either. Everybody lies about sadness. She was wearing a pink t-shirt and jeans, her hair as shining as always and tied up in ponytail. The only difference was the way she looked at me. Her look was accusing, despising, the way you would look at a thief. Or at a killer.

I can't die the same die Maddie died. A killer can't die the same day an angel did. She won't let me have it; I won't let myself have it. She was way better than I was, she looked at me superiorly. We are not equal, we can't have the same death.

Back then when I decided to find a suicide partner, it seemed fair to die the same way she died, on the same day and with the same tool. Now it only seems wrong. Maddie died because of someone else's mistake when she did not deserve it. I am dying because of my own mistake and because I don't deserve to live. And I can't either.

I get up, feel my whole body tingling and almost fall. You'll fall and never get up, now keep standing. I walk to Captain Nemo – he would live better without me, too. Mom would take care of him. The thought of Mom feels like someone from inside my body stabbed me and kept playing with my intestines with a spoon. She'd live a better life without me: nights with no tears, eyes with no fear, nothing to remind her of what an awful monster she brought to life.

I almost say goodbye to Captain Nemo, but it doesn't come out. This is not a teenage movie. So, I say an internal goodbye. Also eternal. Ironic.

I get out of the room and walk downstairs. My legs feel like they're made of biscuit – rather my whole body. Mom is in the living room, watching TV. She looks so peaceful, peaceful enough to have a life without a killer son and a dead daughter. Two dead children are better. She smiles brightly when she sees me. I swallow the sight away.