~Behind this Heart~

Springtime. To many, it means new life, a new beginning. But for me…this was the end.

-
Here I am, a worthless soul named Cynthia. Once again, I’ve managed to disrupt the peace within my home. It’s just my father and me here in this little house. Not that you can really call my father a real father.
“What do you mean you’re busy?! Look at this! You have time to fiddle around on your stupid noise-maker, but you can’t pick up all this trash in the living room?” Father is referring to my violin. I practice when I can; It’s always been a dream of mine to gain respect from others as a musician.
“Why should I pick up your mess?” I mumbled defiantly.
Father grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled me up against the wall.
“Watch it, brat, one of these times I’m gonna snap, and you won’t live to see the next day.” His piercing glare stabbed through my skull, sending shivers through my entire body.
Father turned, grabbed his jacket off of the couch, and swung open the door.
“If this ain’t cleaned up by the time I’m back, there’ll be hell to pay.”
He slammed the door shut and strode towards his motorcycle. It’s evening, the sun is beginning to set. I know Father is going to the casino, and won’t be back until after midnight. Even then, he’d probably be too tired, and too drunk to care if I cleaned up the living room or not.
I ambled into my room where I was greeted by a crowd of stuffed animals given to me by my boyfriend. They sit all in one corner, huddled together, on my bed. Standing at the edge of my bed, I let myself fall forward onto the soft blue blankets. Without looking up, I reach for the nearest doll, an adorable little golden-furred puppy with a white-spotted red ribbon around its neck and a heart dangling from its mouth. I held it to my chest and kissed the top of its head. My heart beating fast, I whispered, “At least you’re still with me, James. Oh, James, if I ever lost you, I don’t know what I’d do. You are my universe, my sanity, my everything! You’re the only person to have been so kind to me. I love you, don’t you leave me, ever.”
Tears started to form and I turned on my right side to look at the nightstand. A picture of my deceased mother stares me in the face.
Mother.
Her smile was so warm, and she was such a happy, kind person. We used to be a very happy family, and Father was always good to us. That is, until Mother died in a car accident. After that, Father got colder, meaner, and abusive towards me. He used to tell me how much I looked like Mother, but now he just can’t stand to look at me. He leaves to go out drinking and gambling every three days. He’ll spend hours and hours away from home, finally stumbling through the front door reeking of alcohol and cigarette smoke in the late, late hours of the night.
My vision is blurred by tears silently and uncontrollably crawling down my face and falling onto my pillow.  
Suddenly, the phone rings, and I dash to the kitchen to answer it. It must be James calling! I picked up the phone and the caller ID confirms my thoughts. I hit the ‘talk’ button and put the phone up to my ear.

“Hello,” my voice broke.
“Cynthia…” James voice always calms me. Just hearing him say my name is so soothing, I can forget about everything bad that has happened, and wrap myself in his warm words.
“Hey, James, how are you?” no good. My voice is still shaky, and there’s a lump still stuck in my throat from my tears.
“Cynthia, you’re crying again, for like, what, the up-zillionth time?” He caught me off guard. Usually he is so caring and seldom caries such a sarcastic tone in his voice. Frankly, he sounds annoyed, and for some reason, I felt frightened and nervous.
“J-Just thinking about some things. James? Is everything alright with you? You seem a little, I dunno…off”
James paused for a brief moment, and there was an awkward silence. He then continued.
“Cynthia, I really don’t think I can take being your boyfriend anymore. I, I want to break up.”     
It took everything I had to keep the phone up to my ear. I was shaking, crumbling, withering away.
“Why!? What’s wrong? I—you—you can’t do this, I need you! You don’t love me anymore? Why—you’re being so selfish!” I was hyperventilating, James interrupted me. “Cynthia, I’m sorry, I can’t be the person that you need. Cynthia, you’re depressed, it’s hurting me, and even though I try, there’s nothing I can do for you. And besides, my mother--”
“You’re mother!” I always guessed she never liked me much, “You’re going to break up with me because your mother dislikes me only having only seen me twice in our seven months of dating. Really?”
“This goes beyond that, but yes, this includes my mother.”
“James! You’re leaving me!? All those promises you made me, all the times you said you loved me! Was it just nothing?”
James paused.
“They were true at the time. I’m sorry Cynthia, but I can’t talk to you anymore.”
“You’re breaking away from me completely!?”
“That’s how it has to be.” Click.
The phone went dead, but the tears would not come; I was too much in shock, and hoping he would call in the next minute to comfort me by telling me it was all just a cruel joke. Anything was better than this. Being beaten by my father was better than this; what did I have left in this life? Was I needed for anything; what is my purpose? I could see none.

The weeks past and there were no more word from James. I never saw him outside of our one class together at school, never spoke to him, he never glanced my way and there was never any opening for me to confront him. It was too much. Nothing was the same anymore; I was an empty corpse, a puppet, simply ruled by reaction of the world surrounding me. I had no will of my own, I was so helpless and weak. The hallways were crowded with people--people I despised--but people I wished would help me, talk to me, help me understand the hell I was enduring. I watched them as they watched me, my dark cloud dampening their cheery environment; I stood out like the Easter Bunny giving away plastic eggs filled with jelly beans in the torturous chambers of the deepest pit in hell. I know they saw me deteriorating before their eyes; dead agony gleamed behind my dull eyes. I was black and blue both physically and emotionally.
The winter weeks melted into spring, a new year has started. Time was moving forward, and I wanted nothing but for time to stop my heart. My beating heart was the only thing that held any life in it whatsoever—the loudest part of my existence. The only things I felt were my heartbeats, tearing my chest in half with every pulse; the aching pains in my back and neck which would never cease no matter how I attempted to soothe them; the tears that would never come, and my automatic hatred towards any one person who openly displayed their gaiety.    

I opened my eyes when my alarm clock went off. I stared off in front of me, up at the ceiling, letting the alarm continue to sound. The thought of another day ahead of me made me sick. Why didn’t it end? Suddenly I smiled, the first time in what seemed like years; did it have to continue? I could end this myself. This revelation brought to me a sudden energy, a sort of morbid euphoria. I got up and shut my alarm off, got ready for school, and walked out the door.
I walked through the entrance of Westwood Junior High into the throngs of people waiting for the first bell to ring. It wasn’t until some of my peers were staring at me that I realized that I was still smiling. It was embarrassing and I couldn’t help but blush; this was the first emotion I had displayed in over three months. This feeling was reiterated further when I began to think how awkward it was that I was the only person who stood by themselves. My smile twisted into some strained grimace and my face became hot and pained. This is my last day alive. And I couldn’t help but smile and chuckle softly to myself.
I almost laughed aloud at myself during lunch when I got my tray of slop after waiting in line for fifteen minutes. Purely routine; I thought of the phrase, “Old habits die hard.”  I barely picked at my food. I didn’t even open my milk, nor did I even touch my silverware. I sat by myself as usual at an empty table in the corner of the cafeteria. Daydreams of what waited for me flooded my thoughts. I was going to break away from this insanity—of life. My reverie was broken when I noticed a few pairs of eyes set on me. Curious faces that never paid any attention to me before now fell upon me. A boy just one class below me, a seventh grader, approached me at my table.
“You haven’t touched your food; aren’t you going to eat?” I thought I almost saw genuine concern on his face. “Impossible,” thought I, “How could he be concerned for any stranger like me?”
“No,” I smiled my morbidly sweet smile up at him, “I won’t be needing it, I guess I got it out of habit. But I should just toss it now, shouldn’t I?” Taking my tray, I began to rise from my seat but was stopped by the boy.
“’Won’t be needing it?’” He inquired as he took the seat across from me. He gestured for me to sit again. I sat, and glared at him.
“Yeah. I have…plans later that make eating this now pointless.” I hoped my harsh unfriendly voice would make him leave but instead I learned that his name was Kory. I also discovered that he didn’t like to beat around the bush.
“You know there’s meaning in everyone’s life. I’ve seen you around and I really am concerned about what you might be planning to do.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not taking the school down with me in a rain of bullets,” I thought to myself. I only rolled my eyes and proceeded to take my tray again. Kory took the tray from my weak fingers, setting it gently down, forcing me to sit again.
“I really do believe that I’ve been told to sit here for a reason.”
“Told? And who the hell told you to sit here? No school administrator or teacher can--” Kory cut me off by sliding a small object the size of half his palm towards me. A silver cross stared me in the face. There was a card beneath it with information about his church on it. Incredulous, I stared at him.
“Grandfather, Father, oldest brother all are pastors,” he shrugged but then looked me straight in the eyes. His voice was grave but full of compassion and trepidation, “Just know that there is more than one choice, and there is always hope if you look in the right places.” Kory pushed my tray of food towards me, “And eat. It’s not good to starve yourself. Even if the cafeteria food isn’t the best.” He smiled softly and stood to leave.
“Feel free to talk to me any time. If it’s a friend you need, I’ll be here. So, uh, could I sit with you tomorrow?” I only looked away.
“You’re timing sucks. If this had been months ago, I could accept happily. Now I don’t know how to answer and to me, you are more of a pest than any help at all.” I thought.
“Look forward to it, alright? Oh, and you can keep that cross. Think of it as a ‘newfound friend present’ from me,” Kory turned and waved as he walked towards his table where his books and binders were. I popped a few tater tots in my mouth before tossing my tray of untouched food into the waste bin, pocketing the silver cross and card, as the dismissal bell rang.
Rage filled every fiber of my being.
How dare he act so superior to me!
You are inferior.
I know that already, he didn’t need to make such a show out of it!
You’re so stupid; he was only trying to help you.
I don’t need help! I don’t want it! Just let this day—my life—be over!
This isn’t right, nor is it healthy.
Right? Isn’t right!? Injustice! Why would he drag me towards a God who has abandoned me. I’ve tried before, I’ve begged, wished, prayed! We know that better than everyone. Hours on my knees, crying prayers from my tortured soul. What did I get? Absolutely nothing! God has made no life for me, so why keep it? Obviously, he’s forgotten I’m alive—so perhaps my time is meant to be up.
Maybe there’s something you’ve missed.
Missed? A God who would let me suffer as I have is no God of mine.
This is selfishness! Insanity!
What! You would lecture me? For now: the poor orphans of China? Disease-ridden villages in Africa? Completely isolated in a padded white room, forgotten and dying? Speak! Is it not true that I suffer? Speak!
You are losing yourself and what was once important to you.
What was important no longer matters to me! Dreams don’t matter! My future means nothing.
True: you’re future is nothing because you have chosen it to be nothing. The outcome is as you choose it. A noble gift you possess if you would use it wisely.
Away! Away! I’ve made my choice! This day means nothing if I do not follow through!
Must you? Everyone is clueless. Yes, who will care if you die by your own hand? Who will hear; who will listen? This madness is all for attention. Attention you will receive none of! Pointless!
I must! I must! If I become ghost—
A ghost! A ghost! Damned for eternity to wander… what? This school? To haunt your classmates? You expect that by killing yourself you are there and forever more the main topic of conversation? They will move on and forget. You know not what to expect—what lays beyond! There will be no turning back.
Either way I’ll be happy! A ghost, I will haunt as I please! If everything simply turns dark—simply ceasing to be—happy there will I be too! Away from the suffering I’ve endured this last decade.
To hell and eternal suffering?
I am not alone. Is hell so certain? I won’t give this up.
You’re willing to gamble an eternity in hell to rid yourself of an uncertain future?
I have nothing. I am nothing.
Then you have everything to gain from here onward. Look! Haven’t you just been handed a lifeline? Pull yourself ashore! You control every emotion within your body; you’re sad because you want to be. You can be happy. Happiness is a right—a gift—only received when it’s pursued. Your future is uncertain because you’ve given up looking for it.
This fool’s logic is nothing to stop me.
This argument is as true to you as it is to me. Stop this mad contradiction!
You contradict yourself! Stop fighting your will so you can follow your will! Which of us two is insane?
This is done. I beg you! There is all reasons to continue to live, no forgivable reason to end it so quickly. You’ve realized long ago that I am right. Why would you stubbornly disagree with pure logic? You’re only fighting yourself; is it worth it? Give up: live.
Didn’t you say yourself, Selfishness, that no one will care? Then isn’t that more reason to rid the world of one as unnecessary as myself? Take leave now!

The bell rang, dismissing us to the last class of the day. English, my one class with James and the last place my school mates will ever see me alive. In the back of my mind, I was aware of my insanity as a wicked smile swept over my face. I looked right at James, fearless and enraged. Kory may have dampened this victory, but this revenge will be no less sweet. James made eye-contact with me for the first time in two and a half months. At first confusion played across his face, but then quickly switched to horror.
If only you, my James, could know.
Sitting in my seat, I decided there was no point in doing the assigned work. Instead, I would write my suicide note addressed to James. I would tell him exactly how I would die—revenge sweet as life’s nectar pulsing through my veins—lasting far beyond my death.
I signed my detailed note with ten minutes to spare before the end of class.
…You will find no solace, no comfort, no escape from your regret in having taken my sanity and my life. All the love I’ve ever had, and will ever have had ---Cynthia Elizabeth Kerring.
As the bell rang, I rushed out of my seat to get the note to James. I set it on his desk but before I could take off, James grabbed my arm.
“Cynthia! Look, maybe that wasn’t the best way to end things. I mean, I should’ve told you more. I care about you! I do! I wanted you to be happy, but I couldn’t make you happy! Listen, please. You’re a great person with a future. You can do better than me--” James was rambling, almost pleading. I turned to him, tears forming in my eyes, “It’s too late.” I shook him off and ran out through the halls, worming my way through the masses. That sweet taste of freedom tasted like blood filling my mouth, a knot twisting in my stomach with the knowledge of what I was setting out to do.
No one stop me! Don’t anyone touch me! Don’t anyone dare try to block my way!
I heard an anguished cry from someone behind me. Someone was shoving people out of the way, a wave of yelling and frantic pleas mixed together.
“Watch out James,” I heard.
“Quit shoving!”
“Please stop that girl! Cynthia! Cynthia!”
YOU CANNOT STOP ME.
I burst through the doors of Westwood Junior High for the last time and kept running until I got on my street. I tried to catch my breath as I approached my front door. I was surprised to find it already unlocked, but more surprised by what I found inside. No, the thick smog of cigarette smoke in the air wasn’t it.
“Oh YOU must be your father’s daughter Cynthia! Good to meet--” The stupidest person in the world could’ve seen that this half-naked woman on our living room couch was drunk. Hearing father stumble out of the bathroom, she fluffed her obviously dyed black hair.
“G-get dressed Jessica; we’re going for a ride!” Father’s speech was slurred also.
The woman giggled, “My name was Mallory!”
I stomped off into my room to wait until they left, sitting on the floor just behind my closed door with my eyes shut. This was no life. This was too ridiculous to be life. It was always the same with nothing to look forward to.
At last they were gone and I was alone.
I stood. Taking up my hair brush from my dresser, I faced the mirror. I peered into my ugly face. Dark circles under my eyes, dull death already ruled my expressions, no soul shone through my eyes. My fist held tightly to the handle of my brush, knuckles turning white. I felt rage take over me, replacing every bit of sanity I had left. Blackness and bloodlust consumed me.
-
Cynthia struck the mirror, shards of glass falling everywhere, blood running down her arms. She dropped the brush, walking across the sharp edges, cutting her feet. Dropping on her knees, she picked up the largest shards reverently. Sharp cold caressed her body where the glass touched as she ran the pieces across her arms, legs, and face. Blood spotted her carpet. She lay on her back over the broken pieces, moving her arms and legs like she was creating a snow angel—just as she did that last night she saw her mother alive.
Suddenly, a torrent of pain crashed through her. An excruciating cry broke past her lips as her senses came back to her. She heard a yell come from farther down the street, calling her name. James. James would try to stop her? These thought did not compute as panic struck Cynthia.

James! James! I see it now! I see light! Come! Come! Help me!
End it.
He will save me!
You could not save yourself. Kill yourself! Coward! Shards of glass! To kill yourself so slowly by bleeding to death! End it quickly!
I’m afraid to die! I’m not brave enough to end this! I cannot do this to James!
It is too late. Isn’t this what you wanted? What you so stubbornly fought for? What life lay before you? You are a mockery. You will be laughed at. James had not wanted you before, why the change of heart on both your parts?
Everything is all right.
A coward will continue to live.
Those with true courage find a reason to fight! I will face any danger I have to; I will win and continue living.
He cannot help you now. QUICKLY! END IT.  

All was quiet as Cynthia looked down into her bloody hands. Something hard and cold touched the surface of her burning hands: her father’s gun. Cynthia could not remember when she had gotten it. Her body no longer moved by her will. No thought passed through her mind. She stood emotionless as she watched herself hold the gun up to the roof of her mouth. The world was silent. Nothing could be done. Just one instant before the trigger was pulled only one thing had broken the absolute silence. James voice desperately screeched Cynthia’s name. Cynthia barely felt the smallest pinch as she was instantly left in nothingness.