I want to say more, to tell him he changed me more than Wes ever could. That I hated him as much as I loved him for so long that giving in to just the love freaks me out.
But he has different plans.
He splits my thighs and resides between them, rubbing against me slow and torturously. Fighting him with my sweater wasn’t supposed to end with him winning. My scars are still fresh and scabbed over. They’re ugly and treacherous, reminding me of my weakest moments.
They always paint suicidal people as the bad guy.
Committing suicide is selfish.
I’ve heard those words on so many occasions that they’re painted in my mind like a memoir of what not to say to someone who debates living on a daily basis.
Not debating death, nor debating whether to live another day.
Suicide isn’t selfish.
At the time, when the pain is too much, where it overrides every single fiber of your being to where nothing else matters, it’s freedom.
It’s spreading your wings and shedding the weight of what the world has toppled upon you. It’s escaping that constant pain that burrows into your flesh whether you want it to or not. It’s feeling nothing when life has only given you everything in heavy doses.
So no, it’s not selfish. Living is selfish.
Living with a burden of pain that refuses to ebb or ease, that’s not fair. We can only live for others for so long before even that becomes too much.
Staying, now, that’s also selfless. Not to ourselves, the ones experiencing endless torture, but to the ones who surround us. We’re only breathing because you wish it. We’re only staying because you’d be empty without us. We’re only here because letting go would leave us with guilt as our final thought.
Suicide isn’t simple.
It’s not.
It’s hard and full of never-ending pain.
It’s not something someone who has never experienced its thrall can explain or allude to. Because until you’re at the end of your story, the last chapter, last page, and last sentence, you couldn’t understand.
Yeah, you may have an idea of what it means and that a person must be hurting, but you couldn’t possibly feel what a person at the cusp of ending their lives is feeling.
Me wanting death wasn’t Toby’s fault. It wasn’t mine. It wasn’t one thing here or there. It was a build-up, something that started young and carried itself on my back through life. It was a burdensome weight that suffocated me if I got too comfortable, one that drowned me when I floated too close to the sun, and one that would bleed me dry if I thought for even a second that life was a little too much.
And as Toby kisses my throat and shoulders, trailing his lips across my arms, I want nothing more than to hide that truth.
“Not there,” I whimper as his face hovers over my forearms. His eyes peer directly into mine, digging deep, making sure I see what he’s seeing.
“Yes, here,” he murmurs, placing his lips on the tender flesh. “And here.” He kisses the juncture of my elbow. “Right here, too.” His mouth touches my largest scar. The jagged one that’s the most tender. “Because these scars, Joey,” he reiterates, hovering his face over mine. “They’re fucking breathtaking. A reminder of what you’ve been through, how much I’ve hurt you, and that I’ll do every fucking thing in life to make sure no new ones join these.”
Through the tears, I see and feel him kissing the same path on my other arm.
“You’re sexy, Josephine. So fucking sexy, scars and all.” He finishes at my wrist and then starts all over again, kissing, caressing, touching. When all my tears are gone, he’s moving up my body to take my mouth, silencing my demons once and for all.
“Now spread your thighs and let me kiss the wet cunt that belongs to me.”
I push my legs apart and his mouth hovers over my pussy. He stares at me with intent, and as he lowers, my eyes shut of their own accord. Before he even touches my clit, he stops.
Opening my eyes to see him smirking devilishly, I realize my mistake. He wants me to watch. Forcing myself not to become consumed with pleasure is a feat in itself, but he always wants to be seen.
“That’s a good little chef. Keep those pretty amber eyes on me.” Watching him lick my pussy is so much hotter than closing my eyes to feel each