Chapter 1: Suicide Girl

To be honest with you, at times I do wish that I was dead. Every inch and consummately dead. Dead like those two boys, Kyle and Zane, whose deaths I am responsible for. I didn't mean to do it. I just did it unwillingly and forcedly. That is what always happens when I break the rules. That is how things always end up whenever I become a little bit stupid and stubborn and yielding and careless. Awful and dire.

Kyle died on Valentine's Day two years ago. He died before my very own eyes and those of everyone around, helpless and remediless. His death was so galling and frightful.

Zane died in his car, having driven me home from the party that we had just attended. He gave up the ghost right in his seat, with I myself keeping a hand on his once-warm-but-now-suddenly-cold-cheek, and it was after we had kissed vehemently and intensely.

In all my life, it was these two boys whom I had dated and fell in love with. There were no other. And there would be other, it seemed. Kyle and Zane. I had loved them more than anything else. More than my own breath and existence itself.

I sighed to myself as I thought about all this, seated down on my enormous bed, my feet tucked and crossed over each other, my hands wielding a sharply knife which I would soon use to root out my life. It had been enough already. Eighteen years of living hell so far. Eighteen years of torture and torment and endless actual nightmares and agony and anguish. I would put an end to everything now—without delay.

I still remembered the day I came across Kyle Hudson. I was a self-conscious and shrinking sixteen year old back then. Guiltless and inoffensive and lawful. I ran into him while wandering about Blanco West- High School's extensive corridors, lost and gone out of track. Without foreseeing it, I hit into this tall and blond and overly enormous boy. He was well-built with the perfect muscles and a lovely male visage that any female would effortlessly fall for. Everything about his appearance was just plain damn ... sterling!

"I'm sorry," I grumbled an immediate apology, shame-faced and angry with myself.

"There is no need to; I am equally to blame as well; I wasn't minding where I was going."

Kyle had a lovely and sugary-like voice. One that you would like to be all ears to all day long; one that you would fall in love with just on the phone without ever bothering to find out the appearance of the individual it belonged to.

After helping me gather up my scattered books, I had paced away, leaving him standing there before the lockers on his own, and when I spun back to look at him he was still gazing and marveling at me. Little did I know that he was the guy whom I would share the microscope with in the laboratory during the Biology session. My God, he looked so graceful, spell- binding even! Even though his attire was modest and simple—blue jeans and a yellow shirt and a white coat—with that spiked up hair of his taken into account, he looked ... totally divine!

That was the moment I fell in love with him. Not on our first encounter. Though later on he did admit it to me that he fell in love with me the first time he unexpectedly laid eyes on me.

School was just awesome and mind-blowing with Kyle around. Every day I was in Biology, seated there next to him with him looking and making eyes at me throughout the whole span that we stayed in class, I felt like I was in seventh heaven. Many times the professor would notice him and pass comment on how absorbed some of his students were starting to fall in love—not mentioning out names, but speaking in a manner that made it obvious by peeking in Kyle's direction as he spoke—but still, Kyle did not ever quit making sheep's eyes at me.

It took him eight straight weeks to eventually ask me out. All this while, we were just friends that met and chatted and cracked jokes and laughed together during Biology. Whenever the two of us had a word or two and laughed and giggled what's more, everyone's attention

would move and abide on us until we were over with whatever affair it was that we were carrying out.

This was how it went the day Kyle expressed his feelings to me:

After Biology, he ran to catch up with me in the protracted corridor, yelping out, "Corinne! Corinne Kerr!"

I turned over to him, seizing my books, which I had planned to lay by and then lock them up in my locker. "Yes, Kyle."

He came to a final halt before me, breathing and sighing heavily. "What will you be doing tonight? My friend's brother—Claudio I mean—is having a party. Claudio himself would like you there. I let him know that we are best friends. What do you say?"

I mused about it for a little bit while. "Sure. They say never say never. I will attend that party."

"Thank you so much. One more thing. Look your very best. I beg you. I want to dance with you tonight."

Smiling joyously, I replied, "I probably will."

It was while we were dancing that very night when Kyle had began. "Corinne."

I looked up at him warmly. "Yes, Kyle."

"What would be your response if I told you that I love you?"

I giggled in absurd excitement. "My response? It would be that you are joking."

He looked hurt in some way. "Corinne, I love you."

"Is that a joke? Another one from you?"

"I am not joking, Corinne." We stopped dancing right that moment and looked at each other quietly and gravely.

"Kyle ... I ... I..."

"I do mean what I say, Corinne."

His eyes showed it. "I can tell," I observed.

"And what is your saying? I want to hear it straight from you. Do you love me or not?"

"I do, Kyle."

"You do?" He was suddenly happy and buoyant.

"Yes, I do!"

Squirming and yelling out in joy, he cuddled and squeezed me tightly to himself. I could hardly breath. In any case, he did not kill me. No, he did not.

Onward to the Valentine's he died. We were dancing, steadily and happily, just like on the day that he proposed to me and I in turn accepted his proposal. He was neatly and excellently dressed in an immaculate black suit, one that suited and harmonized with his disheveled blond hair, and his scent ... he smelled of cologne and some sort of mannish lush perfume that I had never come across until now.

I myself on the other hand—I put on a flowing and cleanly and well-designed black dress. Yes, to match and harmonize with his black suit.

"You look lovely and blameless," he nibbled into my ear as we swayed this way and that way, much to my delectation and enjoyment.

I smiled eventually and whispered back, "Thank you. I am as gorgeous as you happen to be as well."

He smiled back, staring down into my eyes while poking and ramming his nose gently over mine. We were breathing distance away from each other. And it was then that he kissed me, fervidly and intensely.

"Kyle," I whispered between the hurried and ungovernable kisses, trying to pull back from him, but he was strong and he towed me over to myself. "Kyle, let us stop, this is not right ... Kyle..."

"I am enjoying this, baby, ain't you?"

"Kyle..."

The next moment he was on the floor, salivating and throwing out blood. Mouthfuls and liters of blood to be precise. As he spat out the blood, he writhed in pain and twisted and turned and rolled and crawled on his belly, screaming and yelping out to no one in particular. Just when his eyes had began rolling white, I screamed out, shaky and affrighted. "Kyle!"

Zane Casals. I loved him. I cared about him. How many nights I have wept and mourned over his death and loss I cannot recount. To be truthful with you, I am so pained and grieved by his departure. This is a boy I loved more than I had come to love anyone, a boy who stood up for me whenever I needed him and who in the very end died right in my own arms before my very own reach and touch. Zane. I still do love you. Even if you are no more. Gone, forever.

Zane was both the bad boy and soccer leading man, or hero I should say, in our school. Cuevas High, Downtown D'Cruz—Louisiana. I came to learn about him after my friend, Paige Griffin, insisted every afternoon about how we had to go and watch the football matches that happened on a daily basis in our school's enormous playfield.

First, I would sit humbly and attentively with her and watch the boys play until Zane glanced about and happened to accidentally run into my eyes. Ever since then, he did not take his

eyes or watchfulness away from me. I was without fail what he looked at and dreamt about and adored as much as he cherished his own dearest life. I was that one and only true love in his life.

He was already friends with Paige. Not genuine and sincere friends per say. They did know each other and greeted and talked and laughed. And after my discovery, he went on to pay more attention and concern to her. All in the hopes of getting closer to me and then finally open out about how he was dying and very much willing to become my man and protector.

Yes, his plan did work though. Yupeee! It surely did. And why am I celebrating you may wonder? Because deep down my heart I prayed and dreamt and hoped that the boy would notice me and well ... make a move on me. I am glad that he did.

Our relationship did not last that much long. It wasn't destined to. It all ended badly with Zane losing his life and I myself being contested and warred for by his friends and cousins to be their next girlfriend. I hate to admit it. But as much as I hate it, I just have to acknowledge it. I feel like I am assuredly nice-looking. Beautiful even.

No, I am not stuck- up or self-seeking or self-praising. I am not. At times I do look this plain and terribly ugly in the mirrors and photos—I cringe away from giant mirrors that make me look rather irregular and foreign; and at other times, I am this lovely and adorable. I don't get. How does beauty behave? Do we have it in one moment and then in another second it slips away just like that? That is what it seems like.

****Flashback****

"Mommy, am I beautiful?"

"Yes, sweetheart, you are!"

"Then why don't you allow me to go out on dates with boys I like just like the other girls do?"

My mother, with a very disappointed and frightened face, disclosed, "The curse doesn't authorize us to date or fall in love, Corinne. You are aware of the consequences of doing so, aren't you?"

"To hell with those consequences."

"Tell me, have you been seeing any boy."

I did not reply anything.

"Corinne, did you sleep or have sex with some boy?"

"I'd never do that, mother. I respect myself and my future husband too."

"You are not going to have any future husband, sweetheart. You know it. You are not going to marry or even get married. That won't ever happen."

"Don't say that, mother. I want to marry one day; I really want to."

"You won't, Corinne; you know very well that that is an impossibility."

"No way!"

"Corinne!"

****Flashback cut out****

Mother was right. I won't marry; and I will never get married; and for that one reason, I'd rather be a dead man. Or a dead girl if you prefer.

That said and thought over, I knew what I had to do with the knife that I was clutching in my hands.

Suicide is no easy thing. We all want to live; we all want to live life to our very best; we all want to have those foremost and leading things that we can possibly have in this life; and if we cannot have them and instead we are unhappy and broken-hearted and hapless, what better alternative than to put an end to our being and existence itself?

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Romantic / Heterosexual / Fiction / Paranormal / Slow / School /