Page 3 of Nemesync
7minutes. It only took 7 minutes for a life to be taken and for dozens of others to change forever.
Shame, guilt, fatigue, rage, sadness.
Emptiness.
That’s all that’s left of me.
What’s ironic, perhaps grim as well, is that I never would have believed that the first person to go would be her; I almost would have bet it would be me. But she was the one who made me believe in life again, made me believe that with someone else, pain is divided, or at least, that you can share a part of it with that person.
Maybe I gave her too much? Maybe it was too much for her, and I have a share of responsibility in all of this. The most sorrowful part of the story is that I’ll never have answers to these questions. And for someone who constantly reflects, replaying the suicide of their best friend is the worst torture imaginable.
For me, mourning has always manifested in the same way; I don’t cry, I don’t smile, I don’t feel anything anymore. I just think about it, wondering what more I could have done to fully enjoy her presence when she was still here.
Once again, I’ll never know.
I feel dead inside, a hollow shell, no warmth, no ounce of life, only this guilt so heavy that it’s suffocating me, making it harder to breathe, harder to fill up my lungs without feeling too much air, without drowning.
Breathe, Z, breathe.
Maybe I should tell myself that she wouldn’t want me to stop living after her death. But why would I give her that satisfaction when she didn’t care about the pain it would cause me to lose her?
Is it wrong to hold it against her?
Does that make me a selfish person?
I abandoned everything I loved—stopped my studies, my passions, my life. I abandoned it all.
All these thoughts swirl in my head when someone interrupts me by removing my headphones.
“You know you shouldn’t give up on university. You’re brilliant, and you’re at the finish line,” the person says.
“I don’t want to. I prefer coming here every evening, having my coffee as usual, and seeing you and your little one.” I extend my arms to hug the little boy running towards me.
“Be careful, he’s tired; he’s been a bit grumpy since this morning.”
Miranda was this beautiful, gentle, and incredible woman serving at this small fast-food place in the city center. She had a promising life when she was a lot younger but getting pregnant against her will and choosing to raise this lovely little boy, June, on her own, changed everything.
This child comes closest to being a little brother to me. His mother is only a few years older than me, representing everything bad but strong in the world I lived in—a woman who suffered and was a victim of what every girl associated with the underground world feared at that time. A ray of sunshinewho managed to raise, on her own, a child who was the most extraordinary boy in the world while keeping a smile on her face. She was a role model for many, surviving, coming back, and evolving.
She sits next to me while I hold her son in my arms and starts trying to convince me to go back to university. I have a year left but to be frank, I don’t even care a bit.
“You know, she would have wanted you to continue. It’s been months, Zee, you need to start thinking about your life because you’re still here.”
“I can’t think of anything else, and what if I leave you? I physically can’t.”
“You’re only gone for a few years, and you’ll always be here, but maybe not as often.”
“I think it’s too late for that.”
“It’s never too late, Zee, never,” she insists.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes, “But I’m scared.”
She crosses her arms and looks at me with so much compassion and pity. Fuck, I hate this look on people when they see how vulnerable I can be. “Of what, tell me Zee?”
“Of life.”
She takes my hand in hers and squeezes it to reassure me. “Zanae, listen, you have to rebuild yourself, and you must do it because life doesn’t forgive, believe me. Don’t let your fear of facing a new life ruin the only one you have.”
