Even Stranger
'I never thought I'd see you again." He said almost in a state of shock, as he saw who was at his door.
"I never planned to let you." She said sardonically. A long silence filled the room. What could be said between these two more than a year after it happened? The triangle was broken, and by now the scattered pieces were very scattered. He wondered why she came back, and whether or not he wanted to know. He wondered what to say. After wrestling with the questions and unleashed emotions he broke into the silence.
"Come on in, sit down."
Sarcastically she asked, "Is it safe?"
"For whom?" He asked knowing no one would answer. She entered the apartment, found a seat, and made herself comfortable. In contrast, he nervously sat in a chair to her left. Fighting off his anxiety he managed to inquire.
"Why did you come back?"
Ignoring his question she asked, "Why did you hurt me?"
"Because I loved you," he said, visibly trying to manage the contradiction.
"You hurt me," she stammered.
"I didn't try to, I'd never tried to. If only you could know how much I love you."
"Do you know how much I loved her?"
"I have no right answering that. You knew her so long. I only knew her long enough to miss her, long enough to feel bad, "No?" she inquired knowingly.
"She said so," he boasted, then his jeer deflated and said, "In her note..."
The room was silent again, each contemplating what had happened. The longer the silence endured the more nervous he became.
"Why did you come back?"
"I need something from you."
"You need something from me?" he asked indignantly.
"I gave you all I could, all my time, and money and, and now you want something more from me? I would have given you anything and all you would give me is pain and sorrow and fear....such a shame." He drifted into self-pitied thoughts.
"Why?'
"Because I still love you enough to give you whatever you want, but how much did you ever love me?"
'I didn't, I could have, if I wanted to, but I had more fun watching you squirm. I was punishing you because she's dead, and it's your fault."
"That's a lie!"
"Then why didn't you save her?"
"How could I?"
"You should have never left her alone. You left her when she needed you."
"I never wanted that. I never wanted any of that," he stated. "I was never sure of what I was doing, and then you...If she died because I love you I can't feel bad. She's dead because she was jealous, not because of me alone. I didn't push her, she jumped. With all the pain I've gone through since then sometimes I wish it was me."
"So do I," she said distantly. "If it were you, I'd feel bad, but I'd still have my sister." Her voice sounded with desperation that was strangely controlled, instantaneously she regained composure, and said flatly, " Which is why I'm here..."
"Why. What would you possibly want from me? You don't want me," in despair he said, "I can't bring her back. I don't have anything you want..."
"That's where you're wrong. You have the only thing I want."
He tried to fit some edgewise words into the gap, but she continued not giving him time to get his thoughts started. "I want every trace of happiness and optimism drained from your soul. I want you to feel so guilty you'll be sick." After a brief moment of reflection "We could have been in love..."
"Like you said we were?" he interrupted, "How you said "don't change - I like you just the way you are." - How you said I could still talk to you even when things were over between us. How I said - I love you, please, don't go. - to which you replied: "I love you too, but...."
"Shut up!" Upon her interjection the apartment fell silent. He was scared, this was the last thing he needed. He lost his job, a large quantity of friends and her. Then, after his life came back together with a new job, new friends, but nothing to replace her, he stopped feeling guilty for her sister's suicide. Now it all came back. Pouring over him like hot tar. He felt pathetic, as if to change light of the subject he stated:
"I only wanted to love you." with a sort of a simper in his failing voice.
"Shut up!" she emphatically defended, "What right do you have to want that, or anything from me? If you didn't love me, I'd be free of guilt, and she'd still be alive."
"There's nothing I could do. You're blaming me for something we both did. You agreed to be with me, if you didn't we all would have gone our separate ways." Then an angry moment passed.
"But you agreed. Don't blame me, I shouldn't have to live with all the guilt. I took the guilt so long, so hard, no more." After a moment's thought, "You never told me why you left. Now I know: you're trying to forget the truth, the truth that you did love me. You got scared and if I didn't show you, you...."
"Maybe I could have loved you," she interrupted, "but forget it. I wasn't wrong. How could I be wrong?'
"You are so wrong." He said in disbelief. "You want me to feel all the pain that we both inflicted on her. I wasn't her only problem. I was her last problem, the last straw, what I did could not be avoided. It would have happened sooner or later. I did what I thought was right and I was, don't blame me anymore. What could you possibly want from me? How can you feel right asking anything from me?"
"I'm not asking. I'm taking."
He was dumfounded. he knew inside that she had been waiting all this time. She had spent this time scheming the most wretched, twisted justice imaginable. He knew he couldn't talk his way out of this. She had spent over a year convincing herself that he was to blame. He knew he would have to pay because she couldn't deal with it. He thought about running, but as his gaze into space returned to reality, he looked at her, and when he did he found more than an accusing finger point-blank between his eyes. Held in her hand, quite casually, as if it were a pen, or a cigarette, was a Saturday Night Special with an attached silencer. he looked at the gun, a tear rolled down his face. He cried out, "What do you want from me?!"
She stood up, and said with redundancy, "Your life."
"But that's murder!"
"No, no it's not, for you it's suicide."
"Why," he stammered, "Why are you making me go through this?"
"To show you how painful love really is. Why do you think I never fell in love and ran away when I felt it? Because it hurts, love can be used against you. Look what it did to her. Look what it did to you. I bet you can't even look at another girl without thinking about me. You would do anything for me, wouldn't you? I know you would and that's why I'm here: to prove to you what love does to people, what it did to her. What it has, and will do to you..."
"Please, don't hurt me anymore," he cried out, then he fell to his knees. "I'll only make you suffer as much as she did. That's fair." At that she flipped the gun over so that the handle faced him.
"Take it!" she commanded, and then waited for him to look up. He looked up with swimming eyes. To which she again said, "Take it!" with an authoritative voice.
"I can't ." he cried.
"Do you love me?" she asked him rhetorically. After a pause he nodded against his own will. "Then you'll do this for me." she told him self-assuredly. "Now take it." She thrusted the fire arm toward him. Endless moments passed before he responded. He reached up, and as his hands caressed the metal of the gun he touched her hand. Deep inside it made him aware of every cell in his body, every heartbeat, every breath. How soft her skin was- how warm. he chivalrously grasped her hand, drew it toward his lips, and gently kissed her hand. He held it close to his chest for another moment and then let it go. she was moved, but mostly in her hand. Rotating at the wrist so her palm faced up, she released the gun into his hand. His strength was weak, his arm sagged as he slowly, regretfully drew it near himself. "Point it at you head," she directed as if speaking to a child. Slowly, unwillingly, he started to respond, but his will was lacking and his arm sank, the gun balancing on his fingertips.
"What's the matter? Don't you love me enough? If you love me you'll do this-the only thing I ever asked of you. Go ahead prove how much you love me." Convicted by his past, his feelings and honor he knew he must but suddenly he realized an alternative.
'Go on," she coaxed him as she sat down like she was watching television. Momentarily he responded. Drawing the gun to his head he knew he must go through with it. There is no choice. He slowly cocked the hammer back. It clicked into place ready to pounce. He knew what must be done. He must end his pain. He could only get away from her pain the way she was getting away from his - through death. She leaned forward as if getting into an intense daytime soap. She became overwhelmed with compassion and love. She wanted to stop him. It was too late. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was too late. She didn't want him to die. She now saw how much he loved her, and she started to say "No-" The gun, oblivious to her voice, swiftly changed position. She spoke on slowly realizing, moments, too late, that he was not in jeopardy, but rather she was. The word "don't" barely left her mouth. All she saw was red, all she felt was warm, and painful. Perhaps the pain of love, too much, too little, too late. She sank to the carpet like a puddle of clothing. He ran up and held her in his arms. Looking down on her he kissed her cheek. In disbelief he leaned back, touched his own lips, and saw her blood on his fingers. He didn't know that she loved him or that this was a test or that he failed. All he knew was that he wanted to be dead. He reached and grasped the handle of the gun while wondering what she would have done if he had done it to himself. He calculated his alternatives and saw none. Slowly dragging the gun across the shag carpeting, he picked it up and drew it to his head. A tear fell, in panic he drew the trigger. His blood throbbing in his ears, adrenaline coursing through his veins, the hammer came down and went " click." Then there was silence. Again he pulled the trigger, another "click" responded. In fear he quickly asked the gun three more questions. Each time responding "click." He dropped the gun and watched it fade away through fathoms of tears. This is the pain love brings.
