The Answer that Never Came

   It was a Saturday night. I had sent you a song like many other times before. Some of those times you answered or asked something; most, you didn't.

   This time wasn't any different. I sent it around 7 pm, you saw it more than an hour later. By midnight you still hadn't answered. I wasn't surprised, just disappointed.

   What did I expect? I didn't know, honestly. It was a sad song, one of the saddest I ever heard. Solitude by Black Sabbath; its lyrics always made me cry. One of the few songs I really felt identified with.

   More importantly, that was an indirect message; one which said that you were making me feel that way, even when you hadn't realized it. 

   I already knew you wouldn't pick up on it, why would you? Why would you ever think that you were hurting me? That you were the reason behind my tears instead of the cause of my smiles...

   I still dreamed of you, but those nightly fantasies became nothing more than nightmares. I hated you a little more every time I woke up from them, but I hated myself the most. Because I couldn't get rid of those feelings, no matter what I tried to do.

   I was so tired of living the same situation over and over again. And even when I put myself through it, sending those songs right after I said a thousand times that I wouldn't do it again, the worst part was the torture of not knowing if you didn't answer because you were busy...or just because you didn't want to. 

   Because you didn't want to talk to ME, amongst all the people that texted you no matter what hour it was. Because I wasn't worthy of your time or interest.

   It was hell for me; the constant uncertainty, the lack of answers. Was it me and the way I was? Was I being too annoying and persistent? Were you just tired in general, or tired of me in particular? Was it because you knew how I felt; or just because, even when you ignored that information?

   I couldn't ask you about that, any of that. I was a coward, too scared of what you might have answered. I was afraid, terrified of being right about my worst assumptions. 

   I knew I just couldn't have handled it if you said it straight to my face...That you just wanted me to back off; to go away. To leave you alone and disappear.

   And it all fed it, that feeling that sometimes lay dormant, and then, on times like that, it surfaced, suggesting the worst. And it always seemed so tempting; to just let go, to just give in. 

   I wanted you to save me; to just at least answer that text, to tell me that you liked the song and then ask me how I was doing. And I would've told you I was fine, even when I was barely stopping myself from falling apart. 

   All it would have taken was a message. To bring me peace for a little longer; to keep the demons at bay. But it never came, and I was left thinking about death.

   I didn't want to think that I was the problem or the reason behind the lack of response. But I was doing so anyway because all my life had lead to that. To the constant feeling of not being good enough; for you or for anybody.

   And could you have guessed what was the biggest irony of it all? At some point, during our "friendship", you made me believe that I belonged; that I was being accepted. That I was desired. That I deserved someone's attention after all.

   But who could have known that you would fuck me up this much? Hell, you just added more shit to the pile on top of me. And you shouldn't have been surprised if I told you that I couldn't breathe through it anymore.

   My fate was sealed that first day when Destiny sat you right by my side the first day of school. I wanted a savior, but all I got was another person nailing my coffin shut. Another guy shoveling dirt into the hole that was my grave.

   I didn't know what made me believe it would've been different that time. After everything I went through, I still couldn't learn my lesson. I still carried hope in my heart that maybe one day I would find the right man.

   Well, I wasn't sure I would even make it to that special, awaited date. I didn't think I was strong enough anyway...or that I was worth it; that I deserved it.

The Awaited Message

   As I was sick and tired of everything in my life, condemned to suffer every day, I decided I had enough of it.

   I had to put an end to the pain, and there was no other way in my twisted mind; only the sweet release of death could bring me the peace I craved for.

   So I thought it through and wrote a short letter, not the typical suicidal one. I detailed what I wanted to happen with my stories and everything that I've ever written.

   I went to the kitchen to grab a knife, a big one. I didn't have much else, and even when I could've used pills I was afraid they wouldn't get the job done.

   As I sat on the cold floor of my bedroom I looked at my reflection on the steel blade, trying to not have second thoughts. I had to do it, there was no other way.

   I put the blade over the terse skin of my wrist, taking a deep breath before slicing vertically across it. It would be messy, but I wouldn't really care once the deed had been carried through.

   Just when I was lightly digging the tip into my soft flesh, I heard it. That goddamned whistle that I hated with a fervor.

   The famous whistle from Kill Bill, the one I chose as his notification ringtone, started chiming almost inaudible. I stopped completely and looked up towards my bed where my cell phone laid forgotten.

   Of all the times he could've texted me it had to be right fucking then when I was about to finally get rid of all the pain that he had caused me...

   More curious than anything, and resigned to find another reason yet to kill myself, I got up to fetch the offending device.

   I looked at the black screen, a bit scared of what I could find. He didn't text me first anymore, haven't been doing it for months, and I hadn't sent anything to him before. So what on Earth could it be?

   I clicked the home button and saw the block screen appear, with the notification of his message popping up alone. I read what little I could and saw a general greeting. I laughed sarcastically on the inside because I knew he had no idea what he was interrupting.

   With my interest mildly peaked, I unblocked my phone by clicking the notification twice, which took me directly to the message in question.

   What it said made me drop the knife dangerously close to my bare feet. If it indeed had sliced me, I hadn't noticed at all. I was too busy trying to comprehend what I was seeing.

   He said he had read it; the story I wrote about us, the one where I basically confessed my feelings for him.

   The message was short and straight to the point. He said he wanted to talk with me about it, soon and privately –I guessed from his invitation to go to his house the very next day, a Sunday.

   I was speechless and didn't know what to do. I must have contemplated the message for at least five whole minutes, trying to make sense of everything. 

   A million thoughts crossed my mind, the same I always had when I imagined what would happen when he finally read it. And all of a sudden it was happening for real.

   Did he like it or not? Did he like ME or not? Would he push me away or keep me as a friend? Would I have the ultimate reason to die or one to continue to live? I was so scared I started to tremble.

   The message didn't answer any of those questions, but I needed to know so badly that I ended up sending a text back saying that I would meet him the next day, not giving away my nervous breakdown.

   My death had to wait a day more and after that... I could only wait and see what I would do with myself; if it was worth staying in this world or not.