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.