It Could Be Worse

“Monica, do you think anyone would miss me if I died?”

Monica immediately turned to stare at me from across the table, looking almost comical with an unlit cigarette hanging from her lip and a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t be fucking stupid, Konstantine.”

“I’m not being stupid, I’m serious: do you think anyone would miss me? Aside from the early post-death shit, because anyone who knew me would pretend to be all broken up about it so they could get some attention, I mean: would anyone even care in the long run? Months later, wouldn’t I just be another statistic?”

“Why are you always so fucking depressing, kid? Fuck. Yeah, Konstantine, people would still miss you; I’d still miss you, Aeneas would still miss you, and I’m sure your family would be fuckin’ traumatized.”

“Really? I don’t think so… You’re strong, you’d move on quickly. Aeneas would just miss having a last resort fuck-buddy. And my family, well they don’t even know if I’m still alive, so I don’t it’d shock them too much.”

“Oh fuck you, don’t say shit like that. Of course your family would care, anyone would care that their own flesh and blood, their own kin or whatever, died. It’s not something you just shrug off, especially if you left on bad terms and there was never a chance to apologize.”

“Wow, thanks Dr. Phil,”

I dogged Monica’s glass just in time, cringing as it instead collided with the wall behind me and sent shards across the kitchen floor. Speaking of Dr. Phil, maybe I can sign Monica in and see if he can tell me why she’s so violent all the time, it would save me a fair amount of money on glassware.

“Okay, so I try and give you a serious answer and you blow me off? Fuck you, I’m done with your little ‘my life sucks because the boy I love doesn’t want me’ bullshit; go out and get drunk, go and get arrested, I don’t give a shit what you do, as long as you aren’t moping around this goddamn apartment or killing yourself.”

“I just don’t see the point.”

She only laughed, walking across the kitchen to fetch another glass of wine. “Do you seriously think anyone does? We’re all just going through the motions until we have some divine revelation or something: we don’t know if there’s something greater, or if this is all a waste of time, so we make the most of it. Or at least some of us do; you, on the other hand, just bitch and moan instead of actually doing something. If you got a problem, fix it, ‘cause whining and being sad won’t fix it for you: that’s what my Ma always told me.”

“How am I supposed to fix it though?”

“Heaven knows, kid. But it’s your problem, not mine: as long as you aren’t killing yourself or addicted to meth, then I honestly just don’t care anymore.” With that she waltzed out of the room, taking the bottle of wine with her.

“Thanks,” I called out, hoping that maybe she’d return if I started playing nice. My only response was the slamming of her bedroom door, soon followed by the sound of her stereo turning on.

-

I’ve found myself on the fire-escape once again, chain smoking for almost an hour now. It’s two am, yet the city lights are still shining bright as ever. All I can think of is how inspiring I found those lights when I first got here: always shining, even as I would stumble home at four am. Now, I don’t know what to think, they almost seem mocking now.

I’m so burnt out, burnt out from this city and from unrequited love, but those lights are still burning just as bright as they were four years ago.

It’s two am and I’m crying, crying with a cigarette butt hanging from my chapped lips. It’s two am and I’m crying because I’m lonely once again, I’m thinking about jumping from this damned fire escape and ending it all. This godforsaken piece of metal started it all; this could end it all now too.

“Konstantine?” I spun fast, almost colliding with Aeneas in the processes. He looked worried, honestly worried as he took in my appearance, and it only made the tears fall harder. How fucking cliché and pathetic am I? Crying like a teenage girl over some stupid fucking boy.

“Yeah?” My voice cracked pathetically, making me wince slightly. Aeneas sighed, climbing out of the window to sit besides me. Before saying anything he pulled out a cigarette, lighting it and taking a long drag: the memories of how this all started raced through my head like a swarm. He hadn’t changed, he was still beautiful as ever and the light still hit him just right: I could only sob pitifully.

“Konstantine, I’m so sorry. I never wanted things to end this way, you have to understand.”

“Fuck you,”

“You have every right to be angry, and every right to be sad, I know. But you have to understand, as much as I liked you, loved you even, you pushed me away time after time: I had to move on.”

I could only laugh, laugh and laugh at how fucking stupid and cliché this all is. I feel like this is the kind of thing I’d see in a shitty romance movie, and I’m the devastated heroine.

“Okay, it’s good to know you’re sorry: you can leave now. I think I’m going to throw myself off this, so unless you want a show, then you might as well leave.”

“Konstantine, that’s not funny.”

“Oh, I’m sorry: have I offended you?”

“Konstantine, you’re being childish.”

“Am I? Oh, I’m so sorry, am I not taking this seriously enough for you? Is this the part where I’m supposed to beg you to take me back? Or is it the part where I cry pitifully into your arms until you hush with me a kiss? Fuck you.

“You don’t want me, and I wish, oh I fucking wish so badly, that I didn’t want you either: but I do. God you’re everything that I want but can’t have, and it’s killing me. You got me wrapped around your little finger, but I’m only a pest to you, a pest that you just can’t kill as much as you try, so instead I’m just hurt and hurt and fucking hurt in the process.

“So since you won’t just put me out of my misery, I’ll do it myself: so how about you just run along and get fucked real nicely by little ol’ Chad, and I’ll just end it all here, that way we both have a happy ending.”

Aeneas was crying, crying pitifully but it didn’t make me sad this time, this time I just wanted to shake him until his eyes rolled back.

“Konstantine, please-“

“Don’t. Just, don’t. I don’t want to hear it anymore, I can’t take anymore: you’re the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

He started sobbing, his hands pitifully reaching out to grab onto my arm. “

“Please Konstantine, don’t do this. Everything will get better, maybe not fast, but eventually, it will all be okay.”

“Aeneas, what’s going on?” Monica was at the window, any trace of annoyance fading as she took in the scene in front of her.

“Call someone, do something, I think he’s serious, he’s losing it.”

“I’m not fucking ‘losing it’; it’s already fucking gone, there’s nothing left to lose. Fuck you, let go of me.”

He only shook his head, gripping on tighter as Monica ran back inside. “

“Fucking let go of me.”

“No! I’m not letting you do this; you have so much potential, you can’t just waste it all because some idiot broke your heart!”

“It’s my life, not yours; let go.”

He could only shake his head, his grip ever tightening as I tried to pull away. We were crying, sobbing, but desperate to reach an end to all this, this mess that I’d started.

“I never got the chance to write a note: will you tell my family I’m sorry? Tell them that I didn’t mean to disappoint them?”

“Shut up, just shut the fuck up! I’m not delivering your message because you’re not going to die, just shut the fuck up and come back inside! We can fix things, we can work all this out; we’ll get you help.”

“I don’t want help, I just want to die.”

“Shut up!” The neighbors were angry now, screaming from their window, unaware of what was going on next door: I couldn’t help but laugh despite it all. Aeneas was looking at me as if I had three heads.

“I’m sorry, it’s just funny to me.”

He leaned forward to kiss me then, taking me by surprise. His face was wet against mine, and his lips were chapped. It was nice though, nice but not right, and I couldn’t help but push him away.

“Don’t kiss me out of pity; don’t this to me again.”

“I’m kissing you because I want to kiss you; I don’t know why, I just do. It’s just something about you laughing, I don’t know, but I want to kiss you: just let me.”

“Okay.”

But now the sirens were approaching, and Aeneas starting crying again. His tears were hot on my cheeks; they felt scalding on my sore skin.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He was crying harder as the ambulance pulled up, and I knew it was for me. My mind wanted to let go and jump, my body stayed put, my lips still moving with his. This is all so incredibly fucked.

He kissed me until the EMTs arrived, only until they were at the window did he finally release me, shoving me toward their waiting hands and blocking any means of turning back. So this is how it ends, with an awkward ambulance ride to the psych ward instead of to the morgue in a body bag: I know which I want right now, but who knows how I’ll look back on this in a few hours; sober and lonely in my assigned room.

“It’s not that bad, it could be worse.
It’s not that bad, it could be worse.
It’s not that bad, it could be worse.
It’s not that bad, it could be worse.
It’s not that bad, it could be worse.”

I chanted it to myself until the hospital doors can into view.