Do You Love Me Enough?
What does 'best friends' mean to you?
“Remind me again why I’m doing this?” she hissed under her breath, through clenched teeth. He didn’t say anything. Just sat there facing forward. Trademark black hair falling just above the line of his t-shirt. “Oh right, yeah, ‘cos I promised.”
________________________________________* * *
“I’ve gotta say something… I’ve gotta ask you something. Like a secret,” he’d said, on one of those dark nights. Right close to her ear, making shivers run up and down her spine.
“Yeah, I’m listening.”
“Look at me.” She had, she had turned her head and looked right into those pools of milky brown. He’d creased his nose and changed his mind, “No, don’t.” She’d looked in front of her again. She understood. He’d pulled her hair back from her face and tucked it behind her ear. More shivers. “It’s just… I want to die.”
“Oh.”
“I mean, really.”
“Right then.”
Silence.
“You haven’t said anything.”
“I know.”
“Smart arse.”
“Yeah. Pretty much.”
Silence. He’d began stroked her hair with those long, delicate fingers of his.
“You aren’t looking at me.”
“You said not to.”
“Well, you can now.”
“Yeah.” She still hadn’t though, just kept looking in front of her, with him stroking her hair.
“I love you, you know that?”
“Shut up.”
“You’re mad?”
“No.”
“Yeah, you are. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you. I just…” He’d trailed off and started stroking her cheek.
“I’m not mad.” He’d stopped stroking her face. She’d felt his eyes boring into her cheekbone.
“‘Course you are. You still aren’t looking at me.”
“Maybe there’s something else I wanna look at more.”
“You still haven’t said anything.”
“I said I wasn’t mad.”
“You know what I mean.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know… something.”
“Something.”
“You’re making fun of me!”
“So what?”
“I just… I just told you… and you can still crack jokes.”
“Jokes are funny. I’m not laughing… and neither are you. It’s just obligatory sarcasm.”
Silence.
“Look at me.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” So she had. She’d taken in every detail. The way his black hair fell across his right eye. The way his nose turned up slightly at the end. His porcelain skin and black rimmed, beautiful eyes. The way he was every inch a stereotype. “What?” He'd asked eventually.
“You gonna spoil that face?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t think you should.”
“Why not?”
“We’ve been through this. It’s too pretty.” He hadn’t replied to that. Just looked at her in the way he had, as if he was looking right through her, but concentrating on every inch. She'd had the urge to make a stupid face, raspberry mouth crushed together and eyes rolled back, like she always did to take awkwardness away. But maybe not now. Her face had stayed calm.
“I’m glad you haven’t tried to stop me,” he'd said finally.
“What good would that do. I love you too much.”
“How much?”
“Too much. Far too much.”
“Enough to…?” His eyes had became pleading.
“What?”
“My dad’s got a gun, y’see.”
“Oh.” He had looked away from her face, towards the stars. She'd looked from his face up into the sky as well. Up to heaven. Wherever that might be.
“Would you do it for me, Kay?” She’d looked back at him, “Would you pull the fucking trigger for me? Do you love me that much?” He’d looked at her, and she’d known she did love him that much. She’d have wanted him to do it for her.
“Yeah.” He’d leant in closer, inches from her face, his hand on her cheek.
“Promise me.” A demand, not a request.
“I promise.” He’d sighed, leaning back again.
“Thank you.”
“Yeah.”
________________________________________* * *
And now, here she was, the cold metal in her hand in the same room. Only now it was bare and empty, all his possessions sold and gone except for that one chair in the centre and a mirror opposite. She walked up to him slowly, stopping just behind him.
“I’m scared, Al.”
“Don’t be,” morbid determination in his voice.
“Don’t you care anymore?”
“What d’ya mean?” He started to get frustrated. It was all taking too long.
“I’m just asking… don’t you care anymore?”
“What about?”
“Anything.”
“I don’t know.”
“…Me?” She asked hesitantly, knowing how self-indulgent it sounded.
“I do care about you.”
“Oh, OK.” She cocked the gun, like he’d showed her. It made her feel sick. He turned in his seat to face her.
“Why are you doing this?”
“What?”
“Asking. Asking as if you didn’t know.”
“I’m scared.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
“I don’t see why not. I’m gonna have to see you sprawled with your brains on the ceiling.”
“It’ll be the wall.”
“Same difference.”
“Today’s the day I die.”
“Me too.”
“Oh?”
“You always said I kept you here. Maybe you kept me here too.”
“Oh.” He turned back in his seat, facing the mirror. She smoothed his hair, wanting to touch him one last time.
“I love you.”
“I love you.” She placed the muzzle of the gun against his head, right were he’d shown her. The hard metal felt awkward in her hand. She closed her eyes and placed her finger on the trigger.
“You know I’m not gonna do this, don’t you?” She clicked the safety back on. “You’re too pretty to die.” She took the gun away from his head and threw it onto the floor at the far side of the room. He breathed out and stood up to look into her eyes.
“Good.”
________________________________________* * *
“I’ve gotta say something… I’ve gotta ask you something. Like a secret,” he’d said, on one of those dark nights. Right close to her ear, making shivers run up and down her spine.
“Yeah, I’m listening.”
“Look at me.” She had, she had turned her head and looked right into those pools of milky brown. He’d creased his nose and changed his mind, “No, don’t.” She’d looked in front of her again. She understood. He’d pulled her hair back from her face and tucked it behind her ear. More shivers. “It’s just… I want to die.”
“Oh.”
“I mean, really.”
“Right then.”
Silence.
“You haven’t said anything.”
“I know.”
“Smart arse.”
“Yeah. Pretty much.”
Silence. He’d began stroked her hair with those long, delicate fingers of his.
“You aren’t looking at me.”
“You said not to.”
“Well, you can now.”
“Yeah.” She still hadn’t though, just kept looking in front of her, with him stroking her hair.
“I love you, you know that?”
“Shut up.”
“You’re mad?”
“No.”
“Yeah, you are. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you. I just…” He’d trailed off and started stroking her cheek.
“I’m not mad.” He’d stopped stroking her face. She’d felt his eyes boring into her cheekbone.
“‘Course you are. You still aren’t looking at me.”
“Maybe there’s something else I wanna look at more.”
“You still haven’t said anything.”
“I said I wasn’t mad.”
“You know what I mean.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know… something.”
“Something.”
“You’re making fun of me!”
“So what?”
“I just… I just told you… and you can still crack jokes.”
“Jokes are funny. I’m not laughing… and neither are you. It’s just obligatory sarcasm.”
Silence.
“Look at me.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” So she had. She’d taken in every detail. The way his black hair fell across his right eye. The way his nose turned up slightly at the end. His porcelain skin and black rimmed, beautiful eyes. The way he was every inch a stereotype. “What?” He'd asked eventually.
“You gonna spoil that face?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t think you should.”
“Why not?”
“We’ve been through this. It’s too pretty.” He hadn’t replied to that. Just looked at her in the way he had, as if he was looking right through her, but concentrating on every inch. She'd had the urge to make a stupid face, raspberry mouth crushed together and eyes rolled back, like she always did to take awkwardness away. But maybe not now. Her face had stayed calm.
“I’m glad you haven’t tried to stop me,” he'd said finally.
“What good would that do. I love you too much.”
“How much?”
“Too much. Far too much.”
“Enough to…?” His eyes had became pleading.
“What?”
“My dad’s got a gun, y’see.”
“Oh.” He had looked away from her face, towards the stars. She'd looked from his face up into the sky as well. Up to heaven. Wherever that might be.
“Would you do it for me, Kay?” She’d looked back at him, “Would you pull the fucking trigger for me? Do you love me that much?” He’d looked at her, and she’d known she did love him that much. She’d have wanted him to do it for her.
“Yeah.” He’d leant in closer, inches from her face, his hand on her cheek.
“Promise me.” A demand, not a request.
“I promise.” He’d sighed, leaning back again.
“Thank you.”
“Yeah.”
________________________________________* * *
And now, here she was, the cold metal in her hand in the same room. Only now it was bare and empty, all his possessions sold and gone except for that one chair in the centre and a mirror opposite. She walked up to him slowly, stopping just behind him.
“I’m scared, Al.”
“Don’t be,” morbid determination in his voice.
“Don’t you care anymore?”
“What d’ya mean?” He started to get frustrated. It was all taking too long.
“I’m just asking… don’t you care anymore?”
“What about?”
“Anything.”
“I don’t know.”
“…Me?” She asked hesitantly, knowing how self-indulgent it sounded.
“I do care about you.”
“Oh, OK.” She cocked the gun, like he’d showed her. It made her feel sick. He turned in his seat to face her.
“Why are you doing this?”
“What?”
“Asking. Asking as if you didn’t know.”
“I’m scared.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
“I don’t see why not. I’m gonna have to see you sprawled with your brains on the ceiling.”
“It’ll be the wall.”
“Same difference.”
“Today’s the day I die.”
“Me too.”
“Oh?”
“You always said I kept you here. Maybe you kept me here too.”
“Oh.” He turned back in his seat, facing the mirror. She smoothed his hair, wanting to touch him one last time.
“I love you.”
“I love you.” She placed the muzzle of the gun against his head, right were he’d shown her. The hard metal felt awkward in her hand. She closed her eyes and placed her finger on the trigger.
“You know I’m not gonna do this, don’t you?” She clicked the safety back on. “You’re too pretty to die.” She took the gun away from his head and threw it onto the floor at the far side of the room. He breathed out and stood up to look into her eyes.
“Good.”