Remember When

[15]

leaving

But I remember mostly when you left me and how you left me. I hate how vividly I remember it and I hate that I can't make myself forget. It's unfair. It's so unfair that you left me in the end after the countless times that we fought. I thought that we would never leave each other. But I guess I  understand.

I called you around seven and told you that I would be late coming home from work, maybe an hour at the latest. I kept trying to leave, but the meeting kept going and going and no one actually wanted to even attempt to wrap it up. I tried to text you frequently under the table, but you eventually stopped answering around nine. I figured you had just already gone to bed since you weren't feeling very well when I left that morning, but I called you anyways, just to see if you would answer. You didn't.

I tried calling once more when I left which was going on about ten o'clock. Your phone actually rang this time instead of going straight to voicemail which confused me more than the former. I started getting worried on my way home, and I edged over the speed limit. Your truck was still in the parking lot, and the door was locked. 

As soon as I opened the door, I could hear music playing loudly. I threw my jacket on the hook next to my keys and called out to you, "Hey, babe? You okay?" There was no response and I rushed towards the bedroom where I found your phone on the bed, the sheets ruffled around it. I could now hear the shower running in the bathroom. The door was locked, and I knocked on it, hoping that you just hadn't heard me when I came in. But it was also still weird that you locked the door.

I shouted your name and you should've heard me. There's no way you couldn't hear me. This was the only time that I was thankful for everything being poorly made in our apartment because I was able to push the door open fairly easily, but I wish that I had had more time to spend on getting the door open because I wasn't ready. Though I know that I would never be ready for that.

You were sitting in the bathtub with the shower running over you. You were slewed towards the wall, your head uncomfortably bent. I called out to you again, but I knew you wouldn't answer. I knew. I knew what had happened and I hated myself for it because I blame myself. I fumbled for my phone to call 911 as I fell against the tub. I didn't want to look over the edge. It would only make it more real. I knew your arms would be bloody and so would your clothes.

I remember crying on the phone, dry heaving on the phone. I had to repeat myself often because the lady across the line couldn't always understand me. I held your shoulders against my chest and rocked slightly as if it would help me keep my sanity.

Lonely, but not when you hold me.
Your beauty weighs on me.
This feeling's too good.

I got blood on my hand from touching the side of the bathtub. I hated the feeling of it, but I was too distressed to do anything about it. "Why?" I cried loudly. "Why you?" I grabbed at your chest with false hope, wishing and praying that I could feel your heart beating. I remember how strange it felt because just that morning I woke up hearing it from where I lay on your chest.

Lovely, I can't believe you love me.
Your warm chest beats under me.
This feeling's too good.

In the next ten minutes while I waited for the emergency services, I turned the shower off and sat on the edge of the tub. Your head lay limply in my lap as I pushed my fingers through your hair over and over again as if it could calm myself. "It's okay. It's okay. You're okay." I found myself mumbling over and over again. I kissed your pale forehead as I continued to cry.

Honestly, your lips would never lie to me.
I can taste your love approaching me.
This feeling's too good.

I think one of the hardest parts of that night was the waiting. The EMTs pulled me away carefully, trying to reassure me that it would somehow be okay. They gave me the option to sit in the living room or outside to wait while they moved you. I decided to go all the way out of the apartment because I hated the sounds of everyone moving and shuffling things around in our apartment. I grabbed both of our phones and headed outside. I turned the music off on your phone, hating that I recognized the songs as ones you used to sing to me.

Lovely, I can't believe you love me.
On a warm spring night you stunned me.
This feeling's too good.

The rest of the night was a blur. I don't remember much of it or the funeral that followed a few days later. I didn't want to try to retain any of it after finding you. That was already too much for me to take. Losing you was enough, but losing you like that was so much worse than I could've ever imagined.

It took me almost two weeks before I opened up your suicide note. I don't exactly know what I was expecting to be inside, definitely not a long lament or message about why you did it. All I got was one single sentence, and somehow I was actually okay with that in some weird way because it was the best goodbye I could've wished for.

I will always love you, too.