Why? | John Green Competition.


1. Stupid, Stupid Girl.

Everything has effect on everyone. 

I'd told her this before. I'd tell her it again, if I could only ever have the chance. She's not here anymore. My beautiful girlfriend, gone. How many times had I kissed those scars, those bruises, those faded lips? Wiped away her tears as she cried into my chest? The chest that warmed and thumped gratefully as she cuddled into my arms each night, her gentle breath tickling my arm in a way that would never comfort me again. That very same chest started beating painfully the day she left me, the day she left everyone. It's empty, like my heart is no longer there. 

The moment I found out, my insides collapsed in on themselves, causing an implosion that could only match to that of a dying star. And that was exactly how I felt; my heart and soul were dying, fading, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. And that's the thing about pain. It demands to be felt, no matter how much you want to push it out of your cluttered, mourning mind. The resentment, the lack of hope and the sorrow built up inside me until  I couldn't take it anymore. I was so, so angry with her. She'd left me, a year and  ahlf into our relationship, a few months into planning to start a family, and she left. Nothing could stop me from being angry, just as no one could stop her from being so stupid.

That one time. The one time I didn't check up on her to make sure that she's okay, and that she's alive, and suddenly she's gone. Maybe she thought I didn't love her anymore, that I'd found someone else. I'd never find someone as beautiful, as amazing, as hilariously funny as her ever again. I'd just lost the perfect girl to the demons in her mind, and I somehow felt responsible. As her boyfriend, I should have been there to realise that something wasn't entirely right, something was missing. Obviously I didn't notice. I should have. I don't go a day without telling myself to look at other people now, and see what I could do to make them feel better, to get better. It's the least I can do to make up for this mess that we both caused. 

I drank and she cut, and we were the perfect match; dysfunctional in our own ways, and yet perfectly matched in every other one. Our senses of humour were identical; not too dry, but not immature. Her laugh bought butterflies to my stomach, and her kisses... Oh, her kisses just made me melt inside. The thought of those kisses now makes my stomach twist horribly, dropping as much as the beat on one of the heavy dance tracks we used to listen to as we kissed gently on the sofa of her flat.

However perfectly matched we seemed, we were chained from the very beginning; her getting pregnant and post-maternal depression and me wanting, no - needing - to stay with her and my still-born son. That was difficult enough without her dying. Suddenly I was alone in the world, with next to no one to rely on and no one to listen to me, especially when people have their own things to do. I didn't want to feel like I was bothering them. 

I had a counsellor for some time, but he was much worse than the voices in my head. I'd try to talk to him, but all I could focus on was the scent of sweat and smoke that clung feverishly to his stained clothes and greasy roots of his hair. The folds in his shirt matched the folds in his stomach; dirty, sleazy and ridiculously disgusting.

That was when I realised I needed to grow up and stop moping around. I couldn't spend my life whinging to an overweight, middle-aged man with hygiene issues; I needed to sort my own life out, in my own way.

No longer will we sleep together at night, clean up each others mess or kiss each other in a drunken bliss. I will never kiss those lips, her scars, her body again. She won't be there to talk to in a slurred haze, I won't be there for her to cry to when her mind gets too much for her. Those beautiful stretch marks and bruised legs. The chiming laughter that would echo in the stairway that led up to our flat. Now that stairway will be empty save for the footsteps of her family half-heartedly mourning the girl they knew would die anyway. Meaningless hugs, and they're gone forever. And she's gone forever. 

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