Mark of Depression. But Who Cares?

Thoughts

This is a continuation of Wonder, from his perspective. 

 He closed the door behind him, careful not to make too much noise as he went. He knew she was jumpy, and hated all and any sound too loud.

He wasn't sure when she started acting this way. But one day she just... changed. 

From the carefree girl who partied until morning. To the quiet wallflower who stayed in every night. 

She wasn't happy anymore. She didn't like his company, and wanted to be on her own.

He thought about this as he made his way down the corridor. The apartment she lived in was ratty and cheap, but it was close to college and where he lived. He thought about what might have happened to change her. He climbed into the lift, and punched in the number for the bottom floor.

She was always so distant. Never smiling, never glad to see him. Was it any wonder he had started to see other girls?

She didn't know, but he had started to see Tracy Tanning behind her back. The brown-haired minx had always caught his attention, so who was he to turn her down? Especially since his current girlfriend wasn't going to give him any.

He had hidden it quite well, he assured himself as the lift took him down. She hadn't seen the lipstick marks, or the bruises. If she had, she would have said something. Right?

Guilt began to plague his thoughts, and he pushed them down. Who cares if she knows? What's she going to do about it?

The lift stopped, and the doors opened. He climbed out, still lost in thought. He made his way down the corridor, and out the front door into the winter air.

As he walked down the pavement, the constant plague of guilt attacked him again.

But what if she does know? He panicked. What if that's why she's been so down? He pulled the hood of his coat further down, and tugged at his bag.

Alright, he decided, I'll break it off with Tracy tonight. I'll tell her that I can't be with her, and that I love my girlfriend too much. Then I'll go back to said girlfriend, apologise, and i'll be forgiven. Right?

A uncomfortable feeling settled in his gut, and he felt sick. How could he cheat on her? How could he be so pig-headed? The feeling crawled up his stomach, and settled at the back of his throat. He felt sick, like he was going to puke.

Someone elbowed him as they walked past, and he realised he wasn't moving. He was still standing a few metres away from the front door.

He stared at it. Wondering if he should go in. He was so confused.

A gun shot.

A single gun shot rang out from the building. It took a moment to realise that it was real, and not from a TV or a prank or something.

Nobody in the street moved. All fixated on something. He followed their eyes and realised they were all staring at a window.

Her window.

His feet moved without his permission. Carrying him through the front door and into the corridor.

He had to make it before anyone else. He had to be sure.

He ditched the lift and sprinted up the stairs, two at a time. It didn't take long for him to make it to her door, and ripped the keys from his front pocket. Fumbling , he pushed them through the lock, and twisted. The door unlocked, and he pushed past it.

The door to the sitting room wasn't closed.

Making his way through, he saw her.

On the floor.

When someone dies, they're supposed to look peaceful. She didn't look peaceful. She looked dead. There was blood on the floor, splattered against the walls and floor. There was something beside her head, something pink, and veiny. He didn't want to think about what it was.

There was a gun lying beside her, inches away from her hand. He watched it, the hand not the gun. Half expecting her to jump up, and say it was all a prank. But she didn't move.

There were people around him now. Someone screamed. They all pushed and shoved to get to the front, then realised what they were looking at and backed away again. He didn't like it. He needed it to be him and her. Not all these strangers.

Someone had called an ambulance. They asked him some questions but he didn't say anything. They said it was the shock. They took her away, picking her up and placing her on a stretcher, carrying her downstairs. He followed them.

They asked if he wanted to come with her in the ambulance, and he said "yes."

He was travelling beside her. Staring down at the look of shock and lifelessness etched across her face. His phone buzzed.

He picked it up.

'Lol babz. U dtched the bitch yet? Letz get freeky! ;)'

He sent her back a reply.'It's over. She's dead. Killed herself with a gun. In the ambulance now.'

She didn't text back.