Short-ish Stories

If I Talk, You'd Better Listen

WARNING: mental disorders, suicide

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You and Korra are hanging out at a restaurant with a few of your friends. You told Korra she could bring a few friends but she did not bring anyone. You ask her why. She sighs and chuckles slightly. "You're sure you want to know...? Well, here it goes....."

"7 years ago, when I was 16 in human years and recently moved from Rășinari in Romania to List auf Sylt in Germany, I was alone. The people of my former home had forced me out because of my race, so I may have kinda set fire to the town..... it happens.... as I was saying, I had no friends. No one to live with, nowhere to go. I was alone. I heard that there was a high school nearby with a decent robotics program so I enrolled there and managed to get into the program. I was a top student in robotics, not to brag. I got all A's and eventually started doing small repairs for a low fee, saving up to get a home that wasn't child care. I eventually saved up enough to get a shop with an apartment on top. There, I set up a small business and started making money whenever I could."
"Fast forward a few years later and I'm in a college for robotics and engineering. I have a stable income, helping fix things, making prosthetic parts, etc, etc, just enough to pay rent and get the essentials. That was when I met her, my best friend at the time, my only friend at the time. Sen MkKena. Sweet kid, a human year or two younger than me, sandy blonde, pale skin, and the brightest, sweetest, happiest blue eyes you can possibly imagine. She entered my shop one day asking for, not a prosthetic, not help with the red Lamborghini that made a strained chugging noise as she drove up, not what I did for a living, but for help with her engineering homework. It was hilariously shocking yet adorable the way she did it, walking into my shop and saying something along the lines of "I'm failing my engineering class and I heard you're good at it, please help!" I laughed at first but seeing the fear and nerves in her eyes I obliged and helped her."
"We exchanged names and numbers and I tutored her for the rest of her school year. Our relationship grew from teacher and student to true friends. She started coming over on the weekends to hang out and (try to) help with my business. By help I mean that she organized, dusted, and tried and failed not to break anything, but she was too sweet for me to get mad at her. There one one slight problem. About twice a week or so she would visit in a state of depression and not want to do much but vent. I later found out that she was bipolar, and the maniac lows were a result of her condition. I was always there for her and she eventually moved in with me, promising to help pay rent as soon as she started her job at a cafe nearby."
"My life followed a similar daily formula for the next few years. On work days I wake up, eat breakfast, head to the shop, work, go on a lunch break with Sen, work with Sen's help, have dinner with Sen, hang out downtown or at home with Sen, and sleep. On Sundays Sen and I just hang out the whole day and get up to all kinds of misadventures. I prominently remember one Sunday Halloween where we went downtown and scared people all day to celebrate my birthday. She still had her lows though, and on those days I would close up shop early and just let her vent and cry for the rest of the day. I wish I had known that wouldn't last, I could have done so much more for her then...."
She pauses then, hesitant as to what to say next. "Go on" you urge. She lowers her head, the memories clearly painful, and continues.
"One weekend she went to visit her parents. She told me on Thursday that she would be back Tuesday and she left the next day. I went about my normal duties of the days but was anxious for her return. It just didn't feel right without her."
"Tuesday came. As soon as I stepped into the shop after dinner, I knew something was wrong. I could feel it in the air. It felt, to put it bluntly, like death. I walked around the shelves and the counter in my shop and headed upstairs. The door was locked shut. I unlocked it and entered. All the lights were off and something smelled horrible. I noticed a strange shadow in the corner and tried turning on lights but the lightbulbs had been removed. Using the light from my phone, I traversed the dark room and made my way to the shadow, shining my light at it. What I saw.... I will never forget."
She starts to choke up, her voice breaking on the word "forget." "And?" You ask. "What did you see?" After a brief period of silence, she finishes up her story.
"It was Sen, my best friend, my only friend, in a makeshift noose made out of wire hanging from a plank of wood sticking out of the wall, a chair lying on the floor beside her. She had a steak knife protruding from her chest, pinning a note to her body, and the wire had start to cut into her neck. Both were dripping with blood, her blood, which accounted for the smell. I stumbled back in shock and dialed 911. The paramedics came minutes later and rushed her to the hospital. It didn't take long to pronounce her dead and her funeral was held the next day.... that same day I packed up, and drove away, far away, in that old red Lamborghini she had left me in her messily written will that was the note pinned to her chest with the steak knife."
Korra's eyes are watering, she is clearly brought to tears by this recollection. "That's why I am here, in New York...."
"And that's why I have vowed never to trust anyone with anything again... I never know what they might do....."