A Veil of Anguish

TW: Suicide

I was trapped, held hostage by walls that made up the living room of my apartment. University was now over, and this was my private space. The last place I would live in this forsaken city, and on this night, my heart was more broken than it had ever been. My mind, my thoughts, as dark as the world around me, steeped in overwhelming despair and anguish. The only light in this space came from the painful glow of the cell phone as it rested on the table, twinkling in my tear-soaked stare.

My breath stunk from the bottle of peppermint schnapps I had chugged before making the call. The liquid courage I needed to click the screen and dial the only one left. The only person who remained. My abuser. My world.

“Please, Madi—” I begged over the phone, my heart aching as though a knife had been plunged through it. “I need help. Don’t go.”

“Call your friends, or whatever, I don’t care.” She replied, her voice cold and distant.

Behind her words, the sounds of a house party occasionally bled in from the background. Music seeped through the speakers, revealing a faint song. A familiar one that cut in and out, tearing at me with its poetic timing.

“Your friends have left…been dismissed.” The second verse cut through the distant din of jovial voices.

That can’t be true. I thought, grasping at sanity. She picked up the phone after all. She must care. There must still be something.

Madi was all I had left. She was my world. My light. My love. Madi was my existence, and without her—

“I don’t have anyone, they all left because of the rumours you swore you wouldn't—”

“Well, you shouldn't have been such a disgusting manwhore to begin with. Maybe you would have had better friends. That’s not my problem. I’m hanging up now.”

“Madi, please,” I plead one final time, my eyes looking down into my lap. “I’m afraid to be alone with myself."

Tears dripped from my cheeks and splashed against my basketball shorts as the grim abyss of reality closed in. That light. The glow of the screen. The glimmer of hope I had left. Even I could see it dimming. Soon, there would only be darkness. Soon, I would have nothing left to live for.

"You’re all I have left. And the pain is—please, I’m afraid I’m going to do something drastic. I'm afraid I'm going to ki—”

I choked. I couldn't say those words. She didn't like them. And if I said them out loud, she would be angry. I needed to keep it inside of me. Bury the pain in my cemetery of torturous memories. Hide them for her so she would stay with me a little longer.

The air between us was quiet as the sounds of the party cut in and out. It was too late. Madi knew what I meant. After all, I had said it before. In fact, we had discussed my attempts to end my life when I was in high school. Discussed the pain I felt when my family forced me to leave Bryssa. A discussion in which she scolded me for emotionally cheating on her by thinking of my ex. It was then that she revealed the truth to me. That her last boyfriend had jumped from a bridge after their breakup. That he had plummeted to the icy waters below—to his death. And I can still remember the way she looked at me when she described the feeling she felt. The crocodile tears that were betrayed by the faintest smirk.

So, in silence, I watched the counter run up to the end of the call, waiting for a response, and wondering what sinister look she wore tonight. Wondering if she was smiling at someone new this very moment. If she was already looking at her next victim, thinking of what to say.

“Well,” She finally spoke, her voice cold and words calculated. “You’re not my responsibility. Do whatever you need to make your pain stop. Goodbye, Tahvin.”

With that, the phone disconnected, and the room descended into an oppressive darkness. 

I was alone. Everything I had set up for myself, my friends, my network, my passions—none of it mattered anymore. There was nothing left now, except myself, locked away in a dark room with the voices in my head.

Aww, so lonely. My inner critic taunted me. You shouldn’t have to live this way. You know what to do. Just end it. Or are you too weak for that? Too weak a man to have the strength to take your own life. Real men would rather die by the sword than live a lame life like yours.

Looking through the darkness from the living room to the kitchen, I stared at where I knew the knife block rested.

Cut the ties with all the lies that you’ve been living in. The voice spoke in my mind, low and grumbling, goading me. Do it. End it. Kill yourself. That will show them. Then they'd all know what they did to you. Do it. Weakling.

I stood and took determined steps towards my goal. They were quick, quicker than her words had been, quick enough that, before I knew it, my hand gripped the wooden handle of the heirloom chef's knife. A blade that my parents had gifted me when I got my first apartment. The very same from their wedding. A fitting way to close this chapter of my life—to end my story.

Had they known when they conceived me? I thought as the tears trailed down my cheeks, splashing against the blade. That they would raise a weak son? Was that why they gave me this knife? So when the time came, I could commit it to my flesh to restore honour to our family?

Frozen, I stared at the tool. My freedom. My salvation from this pain.

They would want this for me. Mom doesn’t want my weakness. She's told me as much. I have to be strong in these final moments. Show her that in the end, I was a good son. That I was a strong son. Death is better than emotions. Death is better than showing weakness.

I slid my finger along the blade, a thin slice breaking the skin. It stung, but not as much as the ache in my chest. Watching as a trickle of blood ran down into my palm, my mind was settled. So, gripping the blade firmly, I placed the tip over my heart and held it there. With the slightest bit of force, I felt the sharpened edge pierce my flesh.

Slowly, I began to push. A single centimetre at first, fighting the pain as the well-maintained blade split the skin. I stifled a cry as I waited. Hesitating and revealing nothing in this moment but my own weakness.  So I pushed further, exhaling a sob as I feared what came next. Another centimetre of muscle split under the knife. But I knew I wasn't there yet. I had studied this for my book after all. I knew that the next push would be enough. If only I had the strength.

Weak. I thought to myself, tears rolling down my cheeks. I'm weak. I'm too weak to do this. I-I-I don't want to do this.

But the blade remained fixed as I thought about my life. My world. My failures. There was nothing left for me. Not a family who cared, no friends at my side, no one to love me. Life was cruel and meaningless, and if the last few months with Madi had taught me anything, it was that there was no point to it.

Tahvin was broken. I was broken. There was nothing left for me in this world.

Gripping my hand over the blade forcefully, I raised a fist and prepared to slam it down on the handle. With a deep inhale, I prepared myself for the end. Prepared to meet whatever was on the other side. Whether it was fire and brimstone, paradise or nothingness, it would be better than the life I had lived on Earth.

“Goodbye,” I gasped through my sobs, my grip tight and trembling. “Goodbye...shitty world."

Vrt, vrt—

A glimmer of light appeared in the living room as my phone buzzed. I paused, looking over at the screen. My mind suddenly raced, wondering if I should check the text. Curious if it would change anything?

Probably not. I thought, centring myself once more as the darkness retook the room, finding the determination I had briefly lost. Goodbye—

Vrt, vrt—

Vrt, vrt—

“What’s a guy gotta do to get a peaceful suicide around here?” I shouted, throwing the knife into the sink and stomping over to the phone. "Fuggin' bullshit!"

Picking it up, I looked at the messages. They were from a game I was currently playing. One I had been looking forward to for years and just came out the week before.

‘League Wars 2 Notification: New friend request – Oleria’

‘League Wars 2 Notification: New message – Oleria: Hey, the Alliance Leader said I should contact you with questions, lol. He said you're an OG LW1 player and did all the LW2 betas.’

‘League Wars 2 Notification: New message – Oleria: I just joined the League o7, and I’m not sure where the best place to level up is.’

Vrt, vrt—

‘League wars 2 Notifcation: New message – Oleria: Sorry if this is weird, just got the game. :3’

I sighed, plopping onto the couch and drunkenly rubbing at my exhausted eyes. I had been crying for so long that I forgot that the League Wars 2 server had just hit its first weekly reset. I told Goram and Aertin that I’d be on to grind with them. And now this new person had questions.

Tomorrow. I thought to myself, typing my response into the chat. Tomorrow, I’ll do it.

“Hey, Oleria, welcome. Be right there—”

—ooo—

Something’s wrong. I thought to myself, struggling to move as I awoke. The memory's over, but…why am I not waking up? Where am I? Why's it dark?

The Kalish dream happened as it always had, but this time, when it ended, I didn’t wake up to the world. I didn't wake up to a campfire or my companions. Instead, there were muffled sounds through the darkness. I was frozen, my body pinned into an uncomfortable position with an unimaginable pain coursing through my leg.

“You can’t go in there, it's unstable.” A voice called out.

“I have to!" Another, more familiar voice called out. "He-he’s my friend!”

"Hey, get back!"

I thought of him, trying to put a face to the man's voice, but I couldn't. I couldn't remember why he was familiar. He said he was my friend. But I didn't have friends. Except—

“Tahvin!" He cried out again. "Tahvin! Oh my God, Tahvin! Someone call Nine-One-One, he’s still alive.”

I could hear the sound of stone and wood moving as light pierced the darkness, blinding me. The world spun as a hand reached for me. I felt myself being tugged, my body aching all the while. Something was wrong. Everything about the moment was wrong.

“Tahvin, oh my god, your leg!”  He spoke again, the friend, as he pulled me into his arms. 

I looked through the spinning world at a pale, plump face framed by a mop of curly black hair. His thick nose held up rectangular glasses, behind which a pair of brown eyes looked at me with panicked concern.

Alyx? I thought, as the voice and face became familiar.

My head pivoted enough to see the sky. A blue sky with some clouds poking through the broken ceiling. And around me, rubble and shattered fragments of my apartment. Not Ishara's, but Tahvin's.

“Tahvin, stay with me, dude. Stay here. Help is on the way. Jus-Just stay with me!”

“I don’t know what happened.” Another voice appeared. “I—I must have fallen asleep at the wheel, oh god, what did I do? Oh my God.”

The world began to fade.

“No, no, no. Tahvin, stay awake. Stay awake, man—STAY AWAKE! TAHVIN!”

In the distance, sirens approached, their echoing wails drawing nearer by the second. Voices began to join in, turning into a cacophony of discussion. And, through it, I heard a voice, a familiar voice. It spoke to me, called to me, “Cut ties. Lonely boy. You don’t belong.”