Bracing myself I push off the floor. It’s hard going, but eventually I manage. Stomach hurts like hell, blood is coming out of my mouth, but I’m driven by love. Nothing can stop me. Except the god damned phone not being plugged in. When the hell did that happen? I thought I was leaving it plugged in so people wouldn’t get suspicious? Fuck! Where is it? I look frantically around the apartment, but I can’t find it. Eventually I get dizzy and I have to sit down.
I start crying again. I don’t care. This is so frustrating. First trying to be okay and then accepting death and then trying to save myself. Why can’t I do any of those things? What the hell is wrong with me? Am I so weak-willed that I can’t go through with one thing? What’s the problem? I suppose I’m just going to sit in this chair, crying, until I die. Even though that’s not my favorite option it’s the one that I know is going to happen. Might as well just accept that now. It occurs to me that I never really thought about my death before. I hadn’t planned for shit. Tons of my friends talked about their funerals and such. Jokingly, but at least they had some semblance of plans. I’ve got sweet fuck all. Who’s going to tell my parents? How are they going to tell them? Christ. I can just imagine a gruff cop calling up, my mom answering the phone. His only words, “We need you to come pick up your son’s corpse.” That’ll be awful for her.
I should call them up. How could I have forgotten about them for this long? My dad will be pissed once they figure out how long I was dying and I never called them. First he loses his job and then his son. At least he’ll be able to get one of them back. Will everybody be pissed? I called no one. In fact, I lied to everyone that called me. I can imagine my funeral now. Overcast, maybe drizzling a bit, very few people in attendance. Kirsten avoids it out of disgust, maybe because of jail time. Brian is there, but stone faced. He thinks to himself that he should have just come over. He had a feeling something was wrong, but he didn’t act on it. Now he feels bad. My parents are there, my mom crying and having her mascara running down her face. They put my body in the ground and before they start burying me my dad spits on the coffin. His son, the disgrace.
I look around my apartment taking stock of my life in the final time I have left. Seeing what I am going to be leaving the living. On the couch in the puddle of blood is the phone. When the hell did I put that there? And why? I should put it back. Stumbling over I try to pick up the phone, but it slips out of my hand. I would like to say it’s the blood, but that’s tackier now. There also seems to be another fluid on the couch. Is…do I smell lilac? When the hell did I spray cleaner on this couch? Shit. What have I been doing? I decide to lie on the floor and just rest a bit.
I am so confused by this whole situation. It’s so bizarre and abstract that I can’t get a hold on it. I mean just this morning I was sitting around eating Lucky Charms and now I’ve got this horrible gut wound. And I’ve apparently been forgetting things. I’ve probably been forgetting that I’ve been forgetting. By this point I think I’ve remembered that I’ve forgotten about half a dozen times. This sucks. Why couldn’t I just have died easier? Maybe if Kirsten didn’t love me as much she would have stabbed me in a worse place. The heart would’ve been a good place. It would have been ironic, since that’s where she always causes me pain. But I think the ribs would’ve blocked that. The neck would’ve been unpleasant, but definitely better than the god damned stomach. This has been hurting and bleeding for hours and I’m still not dead. If I had gotten it in the neck than I probably would’ve been dead before I hit the ground. I wouldn’t have even had a chance to decide not to go to the hospital