The full horror of this story is that I saw the darkness in my soul. I sat there with the power of life and death and debated whether I wanted to save her.

I distinctly remember the scene. I'm sitting on the tiled floor of the bathroom her arm is hanging over the side of the tub. I can see my engagement ring on her finger, and a single red rose is lying on the floor. She liked roses, but I have no idea where this one came from. White or pink was more my style. I could hear the music from her room, "Hang the D.J." — she always said Morrissey was music to slit your wrists to. The album, 'The World Won't Listen', was on repeat. A pointer to her mind maybe.

I got into this mess because the first time I didn't debate. I saved her from herself, or maybe for myself. There are those who believe if you save someone's life you are now responsible for them. For me that went double as I'd saved her against her own wishes, against her own hand, and I was the main beneficiary of my action.

That first time was a few years before. Me and Jo were still in college, we were still engaged. She wore that ring on the conventional finger on her left hand. I was probably just realizing she was manic depressive — what they now call bipolar. Life with Jo was certainly not boring. She'd have incredible energy and I couldn't keep up. Then she'd hit the other extreme and crash. Being a man, I'd try to talk her out of it. Men think they can fix anything, even broken women.

That morning, we were in her room. (We stayed in either of our rooms, staying in hers was slightly more challenging.) Her dorm was women only, so it was obvious that I, or any of the other men you saw there, didn't belong. It was also theoretically against the rules. Over the past weeks, our conversation had become steadily more alarming. I was convinced she was going to try and kill herself.

I didn't know what to do; I didn't know who could help, so I gave her the space to do it. I ostensibly had to leave to get to class, but twenty minutes later I was back to catch her in the act. I let myself in the front door of her dorm. (Duplicate keys are easy to make.) Her room door was locked, and she didn't answer my knock. So I found Jean, the cleaner, she had a key. That was something I knew as we'd take precautions against her walking in on us — after the first time. I told her I was worried about Jo, so Jean went to check on her.

On opening the door, Jo denied there was any problem, but I could see the plate of pills mixed with sugar she was taking. Jean didn't see the pills — I don't know how she didn't see that — so I made it more obvious. I walked over, picked up the plate and showed it to Jean. That got the reaction I needed. Now others knew, they took action and it wasn't my problem anymore, at least for a while.

The paramedics arrived. They carted Jo off to hospital. That maybe the only time I've ridden in an ambulance. The hospital's medical staff did their thing: Jo's stomach was pumped, I gave my side of the story, "I was worried about her, so I came back to check on her." Jo was groggy, she had flecks of vomit in her hair, but was going to survive. I never knew what a “stomach pump” involved; now I knew more than I ever wanted. “Gastric Lavage” is what they call it. They stick a tube into your stomach and pour in some water, then siphon it out again. Repeat as necessary.

Jo fought the tube, then vomited because if it. She was not thrilled by the process, she was not thrilled by my part in all this. They kept her in the hospital for a day or so, but when they decided she was not going to immediately kill herself again, they let her go.

Then we were back to where we started, more or less. I missed handing in an essay, but try, "I'm sorry I didn't do the essay, but my girlfriend tried to kill herself," on your professor and see the reaction. Save that one for when you really need to get out of an essay. Jo saw some people, councilors or whatever. I even spoke to some, but nothing changed, except now I felt responsible.

—

I'd first met Jo at the end of the first week of our first quarter. We'd both arrived that week and we ran into each other in the SF book club of all places. At first it was just "Hi" and the usual questions: home town, major, etc. We continued to see each other at the book club and other places. Soon we were friends.

That sounds really unlikely because we were really different people. She was a wild one, let off the leash for the first time. She partied hard, she'd be disappointed if she weren't at a party or a disco on a weekend evening, and sleeping with someone new that night. (Sleep not being the prime concern there.) I was more the bookish nerd. I belonged to academic societies, my preference was to go to science lectures at the weekend. A party or a disco was a stressful idea, maybe once or twice a quarter for a change.

She was smart, and she liked Sci-Fi, so we had somethings in common. We talked. We talked a lot. Often late into the night, as friends do at college. There's a song "Will You?" by Hazel O'Connor. Not many people know it, my brother had brought the album back from Germany, when he was stationed there. I sometimes felt like I was trapped in that song.

You drink your coffee and I sip my tea
And we're sitting here
Playing so cool
Thinking what will be, will be

But it's getting kind of late now
I wonder if you'll stay now
Stay now, stay now, stay now
Or will you just politely say goodnight?

I made us cocoa, not coffee, but that was us. As much as I wanted to take the relationship further, one of us always ended up politely saying good night. We talked about everything you do at that age, including her boyfriend troubles. She graduated through "friend who is a girl" to "best friend, even if she is a girl". She did feature heavily in my fantasies.

Somewhere around the start of the spring quarter, on a Friday evening, I was at a loose end. I didn't want to do the usual things, I felt like doing something but I didn't know what. So I went to see Jo and invited myself along to whatever she was doing. Some student society or other was having a disco. She told me later that she was annoyed at me, I was cramping her style, she wouldn't be staying in someone else's bed that night.

I don't remember the disco. Jo told me that they played "Will You?" She'd introduced some of the local DJs to the song. She said when that song came on, she thought, "Yes, I will." What I do remember is us walking back to my place that evening. Even I worked out that something was going to happen.

We were talking about taking the relationship to the next level. As much as I wanted that, there was something I couldn't lose. Given the wreckage of her relationships, I stopped, I put my hands on her shoulders, looked her in the eye and she promised me no matter what happened, we'd still be friends when it ended. I wasn't confident in her ability to sustain a relationship. I was ready to forgo anything else if I couldn't get that promise. That image is also burnt into my mind. We were on a bridge, my dorm was on the other side of the river. She put her arm around my waist and I felt an enormous shock of pleasure shoot through me. I've never felt anything like that again.

That night, I made cocoa again and we talked late into the night. This time no one politely said goodnight. We did eventually go to bed together, naked. That was more of a drama than expected. She had this big birthmark on her thigh she was self conscious about, she didn't want to show me. I don't know how that played out with other men she'd been with, but it took me forever just to talk her out of her jeans. She always wore jeans, never skirts. This was after getting her topless, topless with me wasn't a problem for her. Once she was naked, we hugged — just hugged, nothing else happened, and then we went to sleep together. It's true, but I wouldn't believe that either. That was my thought the next day, no one would believe that. I was definitely in love the next morning. It was weird, I lost my appetite.

The next day, Saturday, we hung out. In the evening, there was another disco (they were popular as fund raisers for the various student societies). This time, we knew what was going to happen when we got to my place that night. Looking back, I'm wondering why we waited until the night and didn't go at it in the afternoon, or the morning. At the disco, we couldn't keep our hands off each other. I remember sitting on a bench outside, her leaning back against me and my hand under her blouse, feeling her boobs. That night when we got back to my place, I lost my virginity. I was thinking, ‘Thank god, at least one of us knows what we're doing.’ Weird, but I don't remember much about it. The previous night was much more memorable, when nothing happened.

For the next week, we hung out together. I didn't eat much — no appetite, but I was walking on air. On Friday and Saturday there were more discos. Coming back on Saturday, I took us on a detour to the rose garden. It was a peaceful spot, sometimes I'd sit there to contemplate matters. I'd thought about Jo often, while sitting there. It was a bit creepy at that time of night, but it was the best place I could think of.

I proposed. I had been thinking that I shouldn't rush into it, but I just couldn't wait anymore. We did agree that we'd keep quiet about it for a while. Jo accepted.

I regained my appetite after another week, but I was still walking six feet off the ground at least for the rest of the quarter. Also for the rest of the quarter, we worked out how to live together. We were still different people. I couldn't manage two discos/parties a week, so we compromised. She'd go out on her own on Friday and I'd come along on Saturday. I could live with that. I found that she also wrote fiction, I was the only person she ever showed the stories too. Maybe I should have taken it as a warning, when I got to the rape and death scenes.

I bought her the ring.

It took effort to keep up with her in her manic phases. Also in her manic phases, the sex was amazing. We were nineteen. We had the appetites of nineteen year olds. We had sex just about each night, and often during the day as well. We had our separate schedules, but would meet up for lunch. Sometimes for a quickie. If we found ourselves with nothing else to do that day or afternoon, we could just take off to fuck. Sometimes we'd just play hooky and go fuck.

Officially, we had an open relationship. Neither of us wanted to restrict the other. In reality, neither of us ever did anything with anyone else, not physically anyway. At least not then.

We had a lot of sex, pretty basic sex, mainly just fucking. Not a lot stands out, not that I remember now. She did buy us a copy of "The Joy of Sex". We read it, and mainly found it unilluminating. There were a couple of things which caught our eye. "Bondage" and "Slow Masturbation". The bondage was pretty basic, it was an amusing diversion, but it alone didn't captivate us. Once you'd restrained the person, you could then play with them, and they couldn't interfere. That was the slow masturbation. You tried to drive the other slowly out of their mind as you worked on them with your hand. It was only a small diversion to the main event, fucking.

Then the quarter was over. We went back to our respective homes. "Home home" was what I called it to distinguish it from "home" at college. She lived about an hour away, so I commuted there about twice a week. I'd have been happy if we'd stayed together at one of our homes, but she was back on the leash now. Her dad was a weird one. His disapproval of the color of my skin was just the start. I got to expect weirdness from him. I wouldn't be welcome in their home, so I'd drive the hour to her place, in my eight year old Fiesta, she'd come out to the car and we'd drive off and bum around town. Some days I'd drive straight back to my place so we could use a bed for once, while my folks were out at work.

Most of the time we just bummed around. I tried to work out where we could find some privacy, for the obvious reasons. We didn't think of a motel and probably couldn't have afforded it if we had. In the car was traditional, it's possible even in a small car like the Fiesta. I remember one such occasion.

We'd parked in a parking structure in the center of town. We'd used that parking lot before. We were in the back this time. Previously we'd tried it with Jo laying across the front seats. It was cramped back there. She popped the button on her jeans, then wiggled them down her legs. Her panties came with them. She wasn't showing any self consciousness about the birthmark by now. The jeans and panties ended up around her ankles. She lay back as much as she could and moved her knees apart.

I tried to find a position between her legs where I could do the deed. Somewhere between kneeling on the floor, and half on the seat. I unzipped my fly and took out my stiff dick, then found a condom. Both of us reckoned that she was fertile about then — we both tracked that — she was regular. The condom was a necessity, otherwise we'd risk it without. I held the tip of the condom and rolled the rest of it down my dick. When I got to the base of my dick, I somehow managed to put a finger nail through the base of it. There was now a small hole near the base. I'm not sure I noticed, if I had I should have found a new one, but it seemed otherwise whole. It wasn't like I had much spare brain power, I was just about to fuck Jo.

I carried on with the plan. I slipped inside of her without difficulty. I managed to find a good position so I could thrust inside of her. It felt good. Of course it felt good — I was fucking. More to the point I was fucking the girl I loved — always a plus point. Jo moaned in passion, I'm sure I must have too. It had been a week or two since we'd managed to have a fuck, so I didn't last long; I shot my load inside of her.

I held my softening dick around the base to keep the condom in place, as I sank to my knees. I looked down with a view to removing the condom, and saw that while the base of the condom was still around my dick, the rest of it was totally ripped. It was just shreds of latex. It hadn't caught any of my come. That all ended up in Jo's pussy. Oops! But there was nothing we could do about it now.

An other time there was the wheat-field outside of town. It was a beautiful summer day. We'd gone for a walk along the bank of the river. The path led to a wheat-field. There was a strip of bare earth along the hedgerow, probably there so the farm machinery could turn around. We walked up that a bit so we were out of sight of the path. I took my jacket, which I'd had slung over my shoulder and spread it on the ground. We lay there, hugged and kissed for a while. Then buttons were undone, and hands roamed over naked flesh. Eventually, I got around to fucking her slowly. I did it bareback, we were pretty sure she wasn't fertile. Finally I finished her off with my fingers. Then we lay basking in the afterglow and the sun. Our activity did leave a suspicious stain on my jacket that I really didn't want to explain. It took a lot of effort to get that stain out.

One other thing, I bought a camera, so I could have pictures of Jo. She didn't think she was worthy of taking pictures of, I disagreed.

Then it was back to school for the autumn quarter. That was when the darkness really took hold of Jo. It was baffling, I felt truly helpless in the face of such adversity. Then a few weeks into the quarter, she made her first attempt to kill herself. This was no cliched cry for help, she really did intend to kill herself. If it weren't for me, she’d be dead. She explained that when you got to that point, living was just too hard, death was the easy option.

There was one unintended consequence of that. The week after the attempt, she spontaneously aborted the baby we didn't know had started. That broken condom in the Fiesta. At first she thought it was just a heavy period, but it soon became obvious that something else came out as well. We gave the remains as dignified a burial as we could in the rose garden. It had become a favorite spot for us.

Life settled down, we got on with our academic careers. We still fucked a lot. In the next two years of college, a few are more memorable than the rest. One thing I found out was that she could get mighty randy just before her period started.

One time I was in my room studying when there was a knock on the door. It was Jo. She pushed her way into the room and closed the door behind her. She kissed me, I kissed her back. Her hand slid down the front of my pants and squeezed my dick. It was starting to harden. She made to undo the button on my pants, I joined in undoing the buttons on her blouse. We managed to coordinate ourselves so all our clothes got discarded in a trail across the floor by the time we reached the bed.

We fell onto the bed naked and fucked. Once we were both satisfied, she explained. She'd been in her departmental library and just started feeling horny. That got so she couldn't concentrate on her work, so she left and came over to my place. I certainly wasn't complaining. The next morning her period had started.

I joined the photography society so I could develop my own pictures. In those days, photography was difficult, involving chemicals and paper. The photo-soc had all the equipment necessary. I wanted to take photos of Jo that I didn’t want a photo lab to see. We had used Jo’s Polaroid, but those pictures were unsatisfying.

Sometimes we'd toast teacakes, little fruity buns, on the gas fire in my room. They went well with more cocoa. Some of those times, we did that naked. I'd make the cocoa, we'd spread the bedspread on the floor in front of the fire and we stripped off. We sat there toasting and sipping cocoa. Once the cakes were toasted, they were spread with butter and consumed. Really decadent. Once the cakes were gone, we'd usually turn our attention to each other. There's plenty you can do when lying naked in front of the fire like that. The fire keeps you warm, so there's no need for blankets or clothes.

One memorable occasion in front of the fire, was when I'd gotten on top of Jo, I was inside of her. We were having a nice slow lazy fuck. Then there was a knock on the door. We froze. Another knock. "You in there?" The query was from my lab partner. I was supposed to be meeting him that afternoon to go over some results. Me and Jo looked at each other. I made an expression, trying to mean "oops!" We both wanted to crack up, we stifled the laughter as best we could. We did manage it and he went away, leaving an annoyed note on my door asking where I was. By that time I'd thoroughly deflated though.

Then there was the most erotic episode of all, "Fuck me so it hurts". I like to think I'm a gentle lover. The last thing I ever wanted to do was to hurt Jo, but if I weren't careful, I could do exactly that. She was tight, that made the sex great, but she was also prone to tightening up at times of stress, and that made the sex stop. Sometimes I just couldn't fit inside her. We'd find some other way to satisfy ourselves, I didn't make a big deal of it. We had plenty of sex.

One day she was in one of her moods. The darkness had taken her again, and nothing could shake it out of her. I tried, of course I tried. A man can fix anything, can't he?. But the evening wore on and for once we were going to spend it apart. I can't remember why. However, there had been reports of women being attacked in the neighborhood. That had put people on edge, so I walked her home. She didn't appreciate my chivalry and was a right bitch to me all the way there. I left her at her front door, went home and went to bed.

I was roused by a knock at the door. It was Jo, she meekly tried to apologize for her earlier behavior. I waved it off and we went to bed. We discussed things, she was feeling guilty about her earlier bitchiness. She wanted me to, "Fuck me so it hurts." She wanted that penance. I refused, that was the last thing I wanted. I wanted to just snuggle up to her and make her better. To keep her safe from the bad world outside, and from the darkness within her.

She had other ideas. She's pretty good at manipulating men when she wants to. She also knew me, she knew all my triggers. She deliberately tried to make me mad. At first I resisted, I just tried to be Mr Nice Guy as usual. But she persisted. Eventually I snapped. I jumped on top of her and slapped her hard across the cheek. I was going to give her what she wanted. I roughly forced her legs apart and positioned myself against her pussy. She was wet, but with all the stress, she was tight. Usually, I'd have given up trying to penetrate her after she yelped at my first attempt.

In my current mood, the yelp turned me on more. I was giving the bitch what she wanted. I forced my way in, I've never had someone that tight before or since. It was heaven for me. I didn't much notice her reaction, I didn’t care, if I had noticed, it would have turned me on more. I thrust as hard and as fast as I could manage. I was trying to cause the maximum pain, then I came. Then I was rational again, she burst into tears. I hugged her and burst into tears myself. We carried on crying for a while before we calmed down and got off to sleep.

The memory of that stayed with me for years, the most erotic memory I had. Not one of our finer moments. That sounds weird now, it's something you had to live through to appreciate. We both showed the darkness in our souls. It was amazing. We never did that again though.

Then there was the incident with the knife. I can't remember what caused it. All I remember is lying in bed and she's annoyed. She's so annoyed she grabbed a knife. We had a few utensils around. The knife was a general purpose kitchen knife, about 12" long, pretty sharp and is serrated on one edge. It's hacked through chickens before then, I'm sure I wouldn't pose any difficulty for it.

She's waving it around and threatening me with it, I should have been frightened. A manic depressive psycho is waving a knife in my direction. But I'm not frightened. I'm more turned on than anything. If I let her kill me, that would prove I love her more than anything. I wasn't smoking anything, I was perfectly sober. After all these years, I can no longer follow my own logic there. She settled down, and we lay down for the night. Still I didn't know if I'd be alive in the morning. Obviously I was. That dark cloud passed by her soul, she was back to her usual self the next morning.

She tried to kill herself again. It was pretty much a repeat of the first attempt. This time, I went back sooner, the doctor was called, he didn't think she'd taken enough to be worth worrying about so we went to bed as normal that night.

By Christmas of our Junior year, things had deteriorated between her and her dad, so she came to my place for once. She was most excited after mom took her aside and asked what sleeping arrangements we wanted. It was decided she'd have her own room, but wasn't expected to sleep in it. She usually slept in my room. I have the coolest parents ever.

At the end of our junior year, we moved in together. We rented an apartment in town. We lived there through the summer and into the autumn quarter. It wasn't long into the quarter when she picked up the open option on our relationship. She came home one Friday evening after exercising it, she decided we were no longer engaged. She did honor the promise she'd made, we remained friends. I moved into the spare room and we carried on living together. With less sex now. That was when she moved her engagement ring to her other hand. She tried to give it back, now we were disengaged. I refused saying I'd given it to her freely, it was hers. It was now just jewelry, I guess it carried some sentiment for her, she wore it most of the time.

I say less sex, while we no longer were having regular sex, sometimes something happened. There was the curious incidents around Christmas where she came into the living room naked and invited me to look, but not touch while she displayed herself. I never knew what that was about. She does have a good line in enigmatic.

Then there was the time she had a dream about anal sex. The dream turned her on, so she wanted to try it. It was never something we'd done, the idea is disgusting to me. However, she wanted it, so I got one of the otherwise redundant condoms and some lube and fucked her in the ass. Some of the experience was unpleasant, but I got off. I never discussed it with her and nothing was ever said about it again.

After we'd graduated, we went our separate ways for a while. She went off to a college in another state for a professional qualification. I got a job elsewhere and was sharing a house with a couple of guys from work. She was still not on speaking terms with her dad, so she didn't want to go home during the breaks. She came to stay with me. I only had the one bed, so we slept in it together, naked.

I'm not sure if anything was supposed to happen, but I'd try rubbing her back. She didn't complain. After a while, I moved down to fondle her ass. She still didn't complain. In fact, after a while, she rolled over, and I started fingering her pussy. She definitely didn't complain about that, she came. Then we went back to trying to get to sleep, which was slightly more difficult for me.

She got her qualification, and found a job near to where I was. I’m not sure if that was deliberate, or just happenstance. We rented together, sometimes just the two of us, sometimes with other roommates. During all that time, we were still friends, we still talked, still about boyfriend troubles among other things. She managed to get herself pregnant (not by me). That was silly. It may have been one of her self destructive urges. I helped her get an abortion. I didn't mention the reservations I have about that, I left that decision up to her. I put up half the cash.

Then we decided it'd make most sense to buy a place together, so we did. We moved in and lived our separate lives from the same apartment. We still talked. Some of the talk was quite morbid, like the best method for slashing your wrists. She hadn't tried to kill herself for a while, not seriously anyway. She'd cut her wrists while I was out once, but the cuts were no where near enough to kill her. It looked more like self harm than serious suicide. Maybe I should have been more worried that I hadn't seen any warning signs this time.

She was fascinated by suicide, she had a personal interest of course, as well as for her writing. I was still privileged to read the stories. They were even more depressing now, but she'd matured in her writing. She'd attracted an agent who sent them to publishers who rejected them. So we talked about suicide. If you want to slash a wrist, the stereotypical way of doing it, across the wrist is not efficient. The best way is to find the big artery in the wrist and cut along the blood vessel. That way you'll bleed quicker, and it's more difficult to patch you up.

Also for some reason I never understood back then, in a warm bath was the best way to do it. I got the impression from Jo it would hurt less. There are several reasons for the warm bath: it’s comforting; the warmth opens up the blood vessels, making them easier to find and cut; you’ll bleed out quicker, so maybe, less painful. There’s also the idea that it's tidier. You’ll leave less cleaning up to do, if you confine the mess to the bath. That one doesn’t ring true for Jo. That one doesn’t ring true at all. In a suicide, the ones you leave behind are the last people you worry about. It's all me, me, me.

I could talk about this with Jo. I'm pretty sure I still loved her. But if anyone else in my life ever mentioned suicide, it'd put me on my guard. If I'd have felt that someone I knew was serious about suicide, I'd have cut them off from my life and run the other way. I’d have to, to protect myself. Suicide is the easy way out for the person involved. For everyone around them, it's the most violent, abusive act you can imagine. I just couldn't have anyone else do that to me again. Luckily, no one ever did threaten it. I think I headed one girlfriend off just by mentioning the reaction it'd get if she did threaten to do it.

Then I came home one day, music was playing and I walked into the bathroom. There in the tub was Jo. The water was obviously bloody. I didn't need to examine her right wrist to know what had happened. She wasn't naked, that would be quite unusual for a suicide. Only about 8 percent of suicides are naked, even in the bath. She was dressed in her favorite casual outfit. She had a short sleeved white blouse, a knit vest over it, and of course, jeans.

I felt weak. I sat down on the tiled floor. I contemplated my options. I could walk back out again, and pretend I never saw that. I could simply wait, then say, "Damn, I got there too late," when I finally acted. With either of those options, I'd never have to deal with any of this ever again. Or I could grab a towel, wrap it around her wrist to try to stop the bleeding, then call the emergency services. Once I'd made the call, someone could take over worrying for me for, for a while at least.

I find that the most horrific thing about this was it exposed the darkness in my soul, I had to make that decision, I didn't automatically try to save her. I didn't love her enough to suffer anymore, my love for her was dying. After that the actual decision I made is just insignificant.

 

Whoa, heavy.

He's a pussy. The lack of emotion he shows is quite chilling, works with the theme and photo well. Interesting to start with the suicide and show the hopelessness felt. Kind of a shock. If it'd started with the love story it would have been a shock to suddenly get the suicide. A good love story for two thousand words, then it just got weird. Kinda disconnected and disjointed. Really weird after the break up.

Maybe trying too hard to fit into the darkness theme. There's a lot of hopelessness and despair without rubbing it in. Really hit the picture theme.

 

Thanks for the comments.

Shock and awe was what I was going for, launching straight into the suicide, so it looked like that worked. Weird and disconnected is a valid criticism, if you think a long way back, how much detail do you remember, just bits and pieces. As for weird, some of the events in this are based on reality, some aren't. (I'm not saying which is which.) Weird things happen in real life, fiction is usually more focussed.

 

Well, I am majorly impressed!

You rose to the occasion @stex.

Story was excellent. Enjoyed immensely. And I can relate to most of what you wrote.

Round of applause from me.

Good luck.

 

Thanks Sybil, I said you'd like it.

There are some things in there I'd be worried if anyone related to.

 

I totally can relate both as the protagonist in the story and the victim. It's dark for sure I been threw both sides in my short life but I know the struggle who's to say we can be greedy and prolong a person's suffering who's to say we can't break the pain and troubles that seem to affect everyone in different ways can leave us so desperate and alone we are already gone from those we love.

-Insert slow clap-

Well done.

 

Sorry to hear that Reed. It's not something anyone should ever have to go through.

I find myself in a strange position, I'm striking chords in people, And stirring emotions I'd never want anyone to feel. I've done my job as writer and I feel terrible because if it.

To your comment, I count the protagonist as the victim. This's one side of this I don't think I've ever seen addressed.

 

hmmm unfortunately I can almost identify with her, though how I have crawled from the abyss of self destruction and mutilation I have little knowledge of unless it is the strong sense that I have too much to do to ever finish the job. I applaude you Stex and one day hope to rise to the standard of writing that you do.

 

Thanks pars.

 

Wow, what a powerful story. I almost hate to say I liked it ! Only because it is dealing with the subject it is , and the very real emotions portrayed between two of the participants.

You described things in a very matter of fact way, no frills if you like , but very well and fluently . I am glad you explained about the ring, as I was thinking about the ring being on her right hand in the picture , and it should have been on the left hand if it was an engagement ring , nice tie in !

I loved some of the sexual parts, I too had a fiesta , i will say that they arent that small inside and leave it at that , . I also laughed at the sex in the field , and had that very problem with grass and other stains , hehe ! I also liked the rawness or the (partly ) forced sex, that and much of the sex , was arousing , some of it was merely sstated as a passing fact , but it did the job.

So thanks it brought back some very happy memories, it gave me a giggle which is a testament to your writing , that it didnt feel weird to laugh and feel in love with the romance .

There were a coup.e of lines that stood out , made it poigniant for me , the lines were -
" Maybe I should have taken it as a warning when I came to the rape and death scenes . I bought her the ring" in such close proximity it felt that you reading that about rape and death made you buy her the ring , I know it wasnt written that way, but it was the way I read it and it really hit me .

I do agree that it became a little disjointed near the end , but not too much . I loved the dilemma , and I dont think it shows an awful dark side to "him" , it shows maybe a the real rub of it and maybe a little compassion .

iI did feel she wanted to do it , and who are you to take it from her , though you didnt say if she apportioned any blame for you stopping her in the past,. For me including that would have added more understanding as to your quandry as whether to save her or not. That is the only thing that could have been addressed .

And I loved the ending , the last sentence, it was simple and dramatic , an annoying place to leave it as I want to know what happened ! , but also a nothing else was needed so why bother , I thought it was a perfect place end .

I too have had experience with close family being bipolar , and sadly with suicide , and your descriptions are bang on , the writing seems to come from experience , and for that I'm sorry. All players in that type of scenario are victims though the "victim" does have it the easiest , once its done then eveyone else becomes the victim . Then the family are left to berrate themselves for not doing more.


Thanks Stex for writing , a very honest forthright, sentimental love story that contained fun , sex and real despair . I hope the other stories are equally as well written , Good luck in the competition , very nice story that fitted excellently with the assignment . poigniant and moving

 

Thanks @luvsalik, it's always nice to have at least one reader who thoroughly enjoys(ish) and understands the story.

The matter of factness is supposed to be him having the emotions rung out of him.

Interesting about the juxtaposition of the ring and the rape. That wasn't consciously deliberate, but I see what you mean.

As for dark side, he's horrified by it. Others may judge differently. As mentioned I may have been trying to force the theme a bit.

Apportioning blame was sort of covered by "not thrilled by my part in this". But largely it wasn't mentioned. That could maybe have improved things.

As for the ending, I really didn't want to say what happened. As the writing progressed I thought it'd be more dramatic not to say, so left it there. An actual conclusion would have defused that ending.

Sorry to hear you too are familiar with this. The one thing I will say are real are the hero's feelings about suicide.

 

A couple of minor points. My real experience isn't in a Fiesta, but that came when I was translating the story into American. Very few cars of that size were sold in the US, the Fiesta between 79 and 83 was the anomaly.

As for the juxtaposition of ring and rape, the bit about her being a writer was a late addition, I thought it'd go down well with the audience here, and show some (non sexual) intimacy. It just happened to land in that position in the story. I'm giving away trade secrets here.

 

Thoroughly enjoyed your story, thought it fit in well with the theme. Alought not one I'm comfortable with (suicide). Found it easy to follow and understand which is a plus for me. Not being a writer or critic just a fan of stories, again really like this thanks for your time and efforts. Good luck, I'm sure I will be reading more of your storys.

T

 

I liked the way this text was written, as if someone was sitting right next to me and spilling their heart out. That's really good writing. Stories written from experience have this authentic impact to them, and when it's a story that deals with this particular issue of depression and tragic romance, it really hits hard. This story did that. It also fits the image it is based on. It is dark in an emotional, personal sense. Darkness pretty much pervades everything here, even in the lighter patches, you sense the dark clouds nearby, ready to take over in the next. A true KAW 4 story. Well done, Stex.

 

Thanks Norton and mlc.

And suicide is not something to be comfortable with.

 

Actually, thinking more on this, he's not thinking on that, which is the point.

She's in so much pain from living that killing herself is the easy way out. All she's thinking about is herself. He's in so much pain from her trying that letting her do it is the easy way out. All he's thinking about is himself. He's not considering her, of her attitude, which is what's freaking him out.

 

The curtain falls and the darkness becomes total. I became one with the feelings of the writer and felt his pain. This story was extremely moving and the darkness grew as it progressed. Well done.

 

Thanks Redbeard.

 

Great, I just reread it, now I see the word used incorrectly, the sentence which would have been better somewhere else and the missed opportunity for another. (No one else has found anything to criticize, so I will.)

 

Love Bump