Why?
That one word that everyone asks themselves some time in their life.
Why?
Always with a swali mark.
I ask myself this now. As I stumble out the bed, yesterday's horrors were sinking in like the Titanic.
My head hurt, my eyes hurt, my legs hurt. But mos of all my moyo hurt. I wanted to rip it out my chest, tear it apart and keep it from hurting me again. Why did he do this?
That word again.
Why?
I trip and fall flat on my face in the dark bathroom. To a lot of people this is just a normal Saturday morning. To me, it was like a nightmare wewe couldn't wake up from.
It hurt. Everything hurt.
I kept hoping that he would walk through the door of my apartment and say sorry and that he was wrong, that he shouldn't have left, but I knew it was a pipe dream.
Just like everything else.
I groaned as I stood up. I groped around for the light switch and looked in the mirror as the bright light hurt my eyes, but I didn't squint.
I had to get this over with.
I stared at my ragged self, my silvery-blonde hair was everywhere, there was a deep gash across my cheek, and I was bruised on my arms and face and there was a bump wewe could easily see on the side of my head. One of my blue innocent eyes was bruised black.
Looking at it made it hurt even more, and I hadn't bothered to clean up the blood on my face.
I looked the perfect ikoni of Halloween.
Just look at yourself, Gillian. Look at what he did to you. Do wewe really want that back in your life?
The sensable answer to that was no.
My answer to that was yes.
I sighed.
I didn't do anything. I didn't cheat on him. And I knew that!
It was just like the Shakespear play, Othello which me and Michael when to see.
No! Don't think his name! i screamed at myself.
I looked down at myself in the blue fleece dressing-gown. I knew I was never going to be able to get over this, and it would haunt me for the rest of my life.
The rest of my life the words rolled around my head like a siren. The rest of my life... My life could be as short as I want it to be.
Suffering didn't have to be long. Did it?
Michael was a bully! wewe don't need him! I screamed at myself.
But I do.
Oh, I so need him, I need him as much as a samaki needs water.
I didn't have to need him much longer.
I ran through my apartment, fished around cupboards and draws, thinking about which way to go.
Then I spotted the light, which reflected off the sharp, steel knife.
I gulped.
And reached out, and grabbed the hilt of the knife. I turned it around so the tip faced my chest, just above my frantic heart. I felt the tip cut through the dressing kanzu, gown easily.
When I brought the Global knife, I didn't think I would be using it for something like this.
I felt the cold blade against my skin, and hesitated. I wanted to make it quick and non-suffering.
But did I really?
Did I want to kill myself over something like this?
The answer to that was yes.
Quick and lethal, I pressed hard, and screamed out as the agonizing pain swept over me. My knees buckled, and my breathing was shallow. My moyo was shuddering, and blood pounded frantically in my ears, I leaned over the kisu as it killed me.
The door of my apartment burst open, but I barely registered this. I heard a gasp.
My dressing-gown was wet and sticky and my lifeblood pooled on the cold, tile floor.
Someone had grabbed me, but I took no notice. My eyes were closed my hands still gripped onto the handle of the knife.
Why?
That word.
That one, simple word.
Was Gillian Hexter's last thought.