A World Without Her
Three.
It was a strange place to leave something so private, and though his hungover mind, Matthew was finding it increasingly difficult to work out why Jane would have left it there. Perhaps she had simply been forgetful? After all, the diary was full, so perhaps she had forgotten about it or simply didn’t feel the need to take it with her. Perhaps it was a reminder of the very life she seemed to have recently fled from? However, to leave it in Matthew’s study, on his desk with no effort to hide it when before now Matthew had only ever seen fleeting glances of it seemed strange. It was almost as though she wanted him to notice it, wanted him to read it. Matthew had – not out of an invasion of privacy, as he hadn’t read it in detail. He had simply skipped through it, looking for clues as to where she might be. He had hoped she would perhaps write about a town or a city, maybe even another country, passionately enough for him to believe that she had run to that place, but to his horror the only place she seemed interested in running to was a place that Matthew couldn’t follow her to.
"Why didn’t she tell me?" he asked himself absent-mindedly, as he leant back in the chair behind his desk, the maroon bound diary with the yellowed pages sitting on the desk in front of him. He thought that she trusted him. Why hadn’t she told him about all of these thoughts? He could have put her mind at ease, he could have been there for her, he could have reassured her. What if it was too late now? He could have even saved her, and if he had missed such an opportunity he didn’t know how he would ever live with himself.
"I should have known," he muttered, tears stinging at his eyes again. "I should have noticed, I should have realized when she said all those things, when she said all those things about herself, as well. I should have damn known what was going through her mind. Didn’t she always tell me I knew her better than anyone else? What if that was a cry for help? What if all along she was begging me to ask the right questions?"
He couldn’t deal with the thought. He pulled the dainty little diary over to him again, holding it in the palm of one hand and letting the yellowed pages flutter past until they settled on the page to book always seemed to open at, thanks to the slightly worn spine. Words leapt out at Matthew but he was still having trouble believing that they had come from the girl he loved. This wasn’t Jane. This couldn’t be the Jane that he knew, that he had fallen in love with. Of course, he had seen the worse side of her, the side that reared its ugly head when her mental illness took her over completely, blinding her to all of the obvious truths of love and loyalty around her. He had seen her cry, seen her shout and throw things, but he’d also seen her laugh and smile, and hear her whisper sweet nothings into his ear as he fell asleep.
The woman in this diary was neither of the sides of Jane that Matthew had seen. The woman who had written these words was more troubled than Matthew had ever imagined, and they spilled from the page, leaping out at him and taunting him as though each word was a tiny dagger intent on harming him. The words spoke of death, of suicide and of people being better off without her, and Matthew looked at the pages where she had spilled her soul and began to cry. The tears came slowly at first, as he gradually lost his battle to keep them at bay, but before he knew it they were streaming down his face, hot and wet, cutting streaky tracks through his dry skin and dripping off the sides of his face and onto his lap. He didn’t make any effort to stop them, as he knew that by now it was simply no good. Instead, he just looked at the diary; the blue words on the yellowed paper become one as the tears blurred his vision and then quickly flashing back into focus as he blinked, only to become suddenly blurred again.
"You just don’t get it," he whispered to himself, his voice thick and breaking easily as the tears continued to control him completely. "I would rather be dead and with you than alive and going on without you. If I had to, I would follow you."
He knew he would, he knew that it was no word of a lie. But before he could even consider something like that, he had to find out for sure what Jane’s situation was. After all, he had absolutely no proof that she was dead, and he hoped that wherever she was, no matter how strong the urge to end her own life became, she would somehow remember Matthew and feel his arms around her, feel his breath on her neck and his love in her heart. He prayed, though he barely realized he was doing it, that Jane would find the strength to just hang on, to wait, to know and understand that Matthew was coming to find her and he wasn’t giving up on her this easily.
But if she was still convinced, like these cutting words told him she was, that he would be better off without her ... Matthew didn’t know what he was going to do. He should be looking for her already but something was stopping him. Perhaps it was an underlying fear of what he might find, or else a subconscious warning that he shouldn’t run into something like this without some idea or plan. He knew he could work out where she might be if he really out his mind down to it, but there was one major problem – his mind was racing, panicking, and he couldn’t settle enough to try and work something out.
"Come on, Matthew," he muttered. "You need to concentrate. You know Jane better than anyone else you’ve ever met."
The words couldn’t convince him, because after reading those words in her diary he didn’t know if he did know her anymore, or indeed if he ever had known Jane at all. Her diary was the real her, and he hadn’t found his place in it yet.
"But you still know her well," he told himself firmly. "If she was upset, if she was panicked and needed calming, where would she run to?"
Jane had never run to other people for comfort. She had always fled to someplace that meant something to her, and Matthew tried to concentrate on such places as his mind raced around him. He hadn’t realized that his eyes had been closed, and he opened them again, flicking through the diary as though touching the wrinkled pages would enable his touch to brush against Jane’s hand, or stroke her hair. His finger slowed as he ran it down the page, and when it stopped he found it over one of the passages that had felt like a brutal punch to the heart.
I always feel like I shouldn’t be here. I always feel that perhaps, my time here is no longer mine. As though, maybe, that someone had borrowed some of my time, and whoever they are I sincerely hope that they’re happy and that they used it well. God knows that I waste my time with all my pitiful sobbing and self-centred thoughts. But the thing is when I think about death, it feels right for me. It feels almost deserving, and I guess that deep down I know that it’s something I have to do. Of course, there’s nothing for me here. Matthew is the only person who crosses my mind when I think about things like this, but he would be so much better off without me. I ruin everything – he can’t even go out and enjoy himself because I hate being alone, I’ll have a breakdown and have to phone him to come home. If I were gone he would miss me, but I think that it wouldn’t be for too long. Who could really love me anyway? I’m just a little girl who’s a big mess.
"Yeah," Matthew whispered. "But you’re mine, Jane, whether you like it or not."
The idea came to him then. Matthew wouldn’t say that the idea had hit him, as such, because it wasn’t quick enough for that. Rather, it started as a niggling idea that had barely any form, right in the back of his head, and grew so slowly that by the time it came to the forefront of his mind, fully formed, it seemed as though it had been there all along. He sat quite still as he considered it, carefully trying to poke holes in it, trying to ensure its validity. But it all made so much sense to him that she would be there, or had at least been there or was going to be there. He was an idiot for never noticing it before. Jane had loved that place, she had gasped and for the first time in a while she had looked content as she had wandered around, her golden-brown hair bouncing along behind her and the wind played with loose strands of it.
Matthew was still thinking clearly and relatively calmly as he stood up, stretching slightly as his muscles cramped, and went back to their bedroom. He hadn’t been inside it since Jane had left, and the curtains were still pulled slightly apart, the wardrobe door open a little. He tried to ignore all of this as he went to his dresser and rummaged through the junk on the top of it, finding his car keys. He didn’t know if he was going to be correct, but right now it was the only idea that he had, and if he had an idea he had a cause. He had always been taught that when someone had a cause, they didn’t seem to lose hope as quickly.
He left through the front door, thinking of Jane doing the same thing who knew how many hours earlier, and then he headed to his car. The autumn air, quickly turning into winter’s bitter chill, swirled leaves around him as he walked to the vehicle, but his worry and his determination was keeping him warm. He would search until he was desperately crawling, until he went mad. He had to know. He couldn’t give up.
"Why didn’t she tell me?" he asked himself absent-mindedly, as he leant back in the chair behind his desk, the maroon bound diary with the yellowed pages sitting on the desk in front of him. He thought that she trusted him. Why hadn’t she told him about all of these thoughts? He could have put her mind at ease, he could have been there for her, he could have reassured her. What if it was too late now? He could have even saved her, and if he had missed such an opportunity he didn’t know how he would ever live with himself.
"I should have known," he muttered, tears stinging at his eyes again. "I should have noticed, I should have realized when she said all those things, when she said all those things about herself, as well. I should have damn known what was going through her mind. Didn’t she always tell me I knew her better than anyone else? What if that was a cry for help? What if all along she was begging me to ask the right questions?"
He couldn’t deal with the thought. He pulled the dainty little diary over to him again, holding it in the palm of one hand and letting the yellowed pages flutter past until they settled on the page to book always seemed to open at, thanks to the slightly worn spine. Words leapt out at Matthew but he was still having trouble believing that they had come from the girl he loved. This wasn’t Jane. This couldn’t be the Jane that he knew, that he had fallen in love with. Of course, he had seen the worse side of her, the side that reared its ugly head when her mental illness took her over completely, blinding her to all of the obvious truths of love and loyalty around her. He had seen her cry, seen her shout and throw things, but he’d also seen her laugh and smile, and hear her whisper sweet nothings into his ear as he fell asleep.
The woman in this diary was neither of the sides of Jane that Matthew had seen. The woman who had written these words was more troubled than Matthew had ever imagined, and they spilled from the page, leaping out at him and taunting him as though each word was a tiny dagger intent on harming him. The words spoke of death, of suicide and of people being better off without her, and Matthew looked at the pages where she had spilled her soul and began to cry. The tears came slowly at first, as he gradually lost his battle to keep them at bay, but before he knew it they were streaming down his face, hot and wet, cutting streaky tracks through his dry skin and dripping off the sides of his face and onto his lap. He didn’t make any effort to stop them, as he knew that by now it was simply no good. Instead, he just looked at the diary; the blue words on the yellowed paper become one as the tears blurred his vision and then quickly flashing back into focus as he blinked, only to become suddenly blurred again.
"You just don’t get it," he whispered to himself, his voice thick and breaking easily as the tears continued to control him completely. "I would rather be dead and with you than alive and going on without you. If I had to, I would follow you."
He knew he would, he knew that it was no word of a lie. But before he could even consider something like that, he had to find out for sure what Jane’s situation was. After all, he had absolutely no proof that she was dead, and he hoped that wherever she was, no matter how strong the urge to end her own life became, she would somehow remember Matthew and feel his arms around her, feel his breath on her neck and his love in her heart. He prayed, though he barely realized he was doing it, that Jane would find the strength to just hang on, to wait, to know and understand that Matthew was coming to find her and he wasn’t giving up on her this easily.
But if she was still convinced, like these cutting words told him she was, that he would be better off without her ... Matthew didn’t know what he was going to do. He should be looking for her already but something was stopping him. Perhaps it was an underlying fear of what he might find, or else a subconscious warning that he shouldn’t run into something like this without some idea or plan. He knew he could work out where she might be if he really out his mind down to it, but there was one major problem – his mind was racing, panicking, and he couldn’t settle enough to try and work something out.
"Come on, Matthew," he muttered. "You need to concentrate. You know Jane better than anyone else you’ve ever met."
The words couldn’t convince him, because after reading those words in her diary he didn’t know if he did know her anymore, or indeed if he ever had known Jane at all. Her diary was the real her, and he hadn’t found his place in it yet.
"But you still know her well," he told himself firmly. "If she was upset, if she was panicked and needed calming, where would she run to?"
Jane had never run to other people for comfort. She had always fled to someplace that meant something to her, and Matthew tried to concentrate on such places as his mind raced around him. He hadn’t realized that his eyes had been closed, and he opened them again, flicking through the diary as though touching the wrinkled pages would enable his touch to brush against Jane’s hand, or stroke her hair. His finger slowed as he ran it down the page, and when it stopped he found it over one of the passages that had felt like a brutal punch to the heart.
I always feel like I shouldn’t be here. I always feel that perhaps, my time here is no longer mine. As though, maybe, that someone had borrowed some of my time, and whoever they are I sincerely hope that they’re happy and that they used it well. God knows that I waste my time with all my pitiful sobbing and self-centred thoughts. But the thing is when I think about death, it feels right for me. It feels almost deserving, and I guess that deep down I know that it’s something I have to do. Of course, there’s nothing for me here. Matthew is the only person who crosses my mind when I think about things like this, but he would be so much better off without me. I ruin everything – he can’t even go out and enjoy himself because I hate being alone, I’ll have a breakdown and have to phone him to come home. If I were gone he would miss me, but I think that it wouldn’t be for too long. Who could really love me anyway? I’m just a little girl who’s a big mess.
"Yeah," Matthew whispered. "But you’re mine, Jane, whether you like it or not."
The idea came to him then. Matthew wouldn’t say that the idea had hit him, as such, because it wasn’t quick enough for that. Rather, it started as a niggling idea that had barely any form, right in the back of his head, and grew so slowly that by the time it came to the forefront of his mind, fully formed, it seemed as though it had been there all along. He sat quite still as he considered it, carefully trying to poke holes in it, trying to ensure its validity. But it all made so much sense to him that she would be there, or had at least been there or was going to be there. He was an idiot for never noticing it before. Jane had loved that place, she had gasped and for the first time in a while she had looked content as she had wandered around, her golden-brown hair bouncing along behind her and the wind played with loose strands of it.
Matthew was still thinking clearly and relatively calmly as he stood up, stretching slightly as his muscles cramped, and went back to their bedroom. He hadn’t been inside it since Jane had left, and the curtains were still pulled slightly apart, the wardrobe door open a little. He tried to ignore all of this as he went to his dresser and rummaged through the junk on the top of it, finding his car keys. He didn’t know if he was going to be correct, but right now it was the only idea that he had, and if he had an idea he had a cause. He had always been taught that when someone had a cause, they didn’t seem to lose hope as quickly.
He left through the front door, thinking of Jane doing the same thing who knew how many hours earlier, and then he headed to his car. The autumn air, quickly turning into winter’s bitter chill, swirled leaves around him as he walked to the vehicle, but his worry and his determination was keeping him warm. He would search until he was desperately crawling, until he went mad. He had to know. He couldn’t give up.
♠ ♠ ♠
Song: The Diary of Jane; Breaking Benjamin.