Killing Me Inside
I'm Scared
The air was still save for a slight autumn breeze that swept Anna’s dark hair out of her eyes as she stood in the field, looking down at a fresh plot of dirt. She was the only one there, and she didn’t anticipate anyone coming to interrupt her. After all, no one knew about this place besides herself and Max. And while they were both there, she was the only one that could be seen.
A bouquet of wilted red roses was lying on the dirt, the petals warped and dried from the desert sun that beat down. It had been a few days now since he had been buried. She remembered his mother placing the bouquet down on the ground, right before another relative had led her away. Anna felt a sting of pain when she recalled the look on Max’s mother’s face. She’d looked so heartbroken; so distraught.
“I’m still here, y’know.”
The voice was quiet; almost inaudible in its silence, and Anna tried to convince herself that it had just been the breeze in the air. Things like that could happen to someone in the desert, she knew.
She let out a shaky breath when she turned her head to see that no one was there trying to play tricks on her. She stood still for a few more moments before she carefully moved so that she was sitting cross-legged on the ground beside the plot of dirt.
She could think of a million things she wanted to say, but not one word slipped past her lips as she looked down at the fresh dirt. Max didn’t deserve to be here, she thought bitterly. He had been too good of a person; too warm and loving to be in a cold, lonely place like this.
“Anna, stop ignoring me. Look at me. I’m right here, baby.”
Her head shot up this time as Anna chose not to ignore the voice. She could have sworn she heard him; swore that he was sitting right next to her on the cold ground. But no one was there, just like she had known there wouldn’t be.
“Dammit, Max,” she whispered before she brought her hands to her mouth, stopping herself from letting out a sob as tears started to fill the corners of her eyes. No one had ever told her that this was going to be as hard as it was. No one had told her that loving Max could be so painful.
But would it have made any difference if she had known? Anna doubted it. From the very start of their relationship, she had known that Max was headed for dark places. She’d met him at the start of his addiction, when he’d only drank to have fun and when he’d done drugs at parties. Back then, she had thought it was a phase. They all had.
They had all been wrong.
It hadn’t taken long for Max’s casual drinking and party drugging to become full-fledged addiction. He had gone from being sweet and loving to vindictive and angry. She remembered how he would hole himself up in the basement, not coming out for days at a time. When he would finally emerge, Anna remembered how he’d almost always smell like heroin and how dark the circles under his eyes would be, like he hadn’t slept in weeks.
Most of all, she remembered the track marks. They’d looked so painful that even though she’d known he’d done it to himself, all she’d ever wanted to do was help him heal them. He had never let her. In fact, in the last year or so, Max hadn’t let her do anything for him. He’d become a stranger in their small, one bedroom apartment.
“Baby, please don’t cry. I hate it; you know I do.”
“Stop it!” She screamed upon hearing his voice for the third time. It wasn’t possible that he was talking to her, she reasoned. It wasn’t possible because he wasn’t here; not really. His physical self might be, buried six feet below in a brand new casket, but Max wasn’t here. He hadn’t been here for a long time. The Max she had known had died not last week, but a year ago.
The Max she had loved had died when the drugs had taken over.
The tears were falling more freely out of her eyes now than they had at his funeral. She’d tried to hold herself together then, not wanting to look weak in front of his old friends and his family. She’d wanted to look strong; to be strong, just like he’d always thought she was. But now? Anna wasn’t strong. She was broken. His love had done that to her, and she hated him for it just as much as she had loved him.
“Why’d you have to do it, Max?” She whispered in a cracked voice as she brushed some of the wilted rose petals that had fallen from the stem away from the dirt, almost like she was brushing his matted hair out of his eyes. She half-smiled when she recalled how much he’d always liked it when she’d touched his face in his comedown moments when he’d been barely awake, but still lucid. Those brief moments had shown her that the Max she had loved had still been there, even if just barely.
“Did you hate your life that much? What did the drugs give you that I couldn’t?” She asked his grave, reaching up halfheartedly to brush the tears out of her eyes.
She was half expecting to hear his voice respond, but nothing came. Of course it didn’t, she told herself. He couldn’t answer her because he was dead. He’d killed himself. Maybe not intentionally, of course, but it had been his hand that had injected that final shot of heroin to his veins, and it had been him who’d hastily scrawled out an almost illegible suicide note meant only for her.
“Max, I…” She whispered before a sob fell from her lips, cutting her sentence off before she stood up. She just couldn’t stay here anymore. This was killing her inside. Losing Max was going to be the death of her; emotionally, if not physically. She took off at a dead sprint, not stopping to finish what she’d wanted to say.
“Where are you going?” His voice called after her, stopping her dead in her tracks. How could it be possible that she was still hearing him? “Baby, don’t leave me. I’m scared. Anna!”
She realized that she was almost at her car now. If she just got in and left now, she wouldn’t have to think about this. She wouldn’t have to tell herself she was going crazy for hearing her dead boyfriend pleading for her not to leave his graveside. She placed her hand on the handle before turning to face his grave one last time. She knew that no one was standing there; knew that he wasn’t there, but as she got into her car, she felt almost like she was leaving him the way he’d left her.
A bouquet of wilted red roses was lying on the dirt, the petals warped and dried from the desert sun that beat down. It had been a few days now since he had been buried. She remembered his mother placing the bouquet down on the ground, right before another relative had led her away. Anna felt a sting of pain when she recalled the look on Max’s mother’s face. She’d looked so heartbroken; so distraught.
“I’m still here, y’know.”
The voice was quiet; almost inaudible in its silence, and Anna tried to convince herself that it had just been the breeze in the air. Things like that could happen to someone in the desert, she knew.
She let out a shaky breath when she turned her head to see that no one was there trying to play tricks on her. She stood still for a few more moments before she carefully moved so that she was sitting cross-legged on the ground beside the plot of dirt.
She could think of a million things she wanted to say, but not one word slipped past her lips as she looked down at the fresh dirt. Max didn’t deserve to be here, she thought bitterly. He had been too good of a person; too warm and loving to be in a cold, lonely place like this.
“Anna, stop ignoring me. Look at me. I’m right here, baby.”
Her head shot up this time as Anna chose not to ignore the voice. She could have sworn she heard him; swore that he was sitting right next to her on the cold ground. But no one was there, just like she had known there wouldn’t be.
“Dammit, Max,” she whispered before she brought her hands to her mouth, stopping herself from letting out a sob as tears started to fill the corners of her eyes. No one had ever told her that this was going to be as hard as it was. No one had told her that loving Max could be so painful.
But would it have made any difference if she had known? Anna doubted it. From the very start of their relationship, she had known that Max was headed for dark places. She’d met him at the start of his addiction, when he’d only drank to have fun and when he’d done drugs at parties. Back then, she had thought it was a phase. They all had.
They had all been wrong.
It hadn’t taken long for Max’s casual drinking and party drugging to become full-fledged addiction. He had gone from being sweet and loving to vindictive and angry. She remembered how he would hole himself up in the basement, not coming out for days at a time. When he would finally emerge, Anna remembered how he’d almost always smell like heroin and how dark the circles under his eyes would be, like he hadn’t slept in weeks.
Most of all, she remembered the track marks. They’d looked so painful that even though she’d known he’d done it to himself, all she’d ever wanted to do was help him heal them. He had never let her. In fact, in the last year or so, Max hadn’t let her do anything for him. He’d become a stranger in their small, one bedroom apartment.
“Baby, please don’t cry. I hate it; you know I do.”
“Stop it!” She screamed upon hearing his voice for the third time. It wasn’t possible that he was talking to her, she reasoned. It wasn’t possible because he wasn’t here; not really. His physical self might be, buried six feet below in a brand new casket, but Max wasn’t here. He hadn’t been here for a long time. The Max she had known had died not last week, but a year ago.
The Max she had loved had died when the drugs had taken over.
The tears were falling more freely out of her eyes now than they had at his funeral. She’d tried to hold herself together then, not wanting to look weak in front of his old friends and his family. She’d wanted to look strong; to be strong, just like he’d always thought she was. But now? Anna wasn’t strong. She was broken. His love had done that to her, and she hated him for it just as much as she had loved him.
“Why’d you have to do it, Max?” She whispered in a cracked voice as she brushed some of the wilted rose petals that had fallen from the stem away from the dirt, almost like she was brushing his matted hair out of his eyes. She half-smiled when she recalled how much he’d always liked it when she’d touched his face in his comedown moments when he’d been barely awake, but still lucid. Those brief moments had shown her that the Max she had loved had still been there, even if just barely.
“Did you hate your life that much? What did the drugs give you that I couldn’t?” She asked his grave, reaching up halfheartedly to brush the tears out of her eyes.
She was half expecting to hear his voice respond, but nothing came. Of course it didn’t, she told herself. He couldn’t answer her because he was dead. He’d killed himself. Maybe not intentionally, of course, but it had been his hand that had injected that final shot of heroin to his veins, and it had been him who’d hastily scrawled out an almost illegible suicide note meant only for her.
“Max, I…” She whispered before a sob fell from her lips, cutting her sentence off before she stood up. She just couldn’t stay here anymore. This was killing her inside. Losing Max was going to be the death of her; emotionally, if not physically. She took off at a dead sprint, not stopping to finish what she’d wanted to say.
“Where are you going?” His voice called after her, stopping her dead in her tracks. How could it be possible that she was still hearing him? “Baby, don’t leave me. I’m scared. Anna!”
She realized that she was almost at her car now. If she just got in and left now, she wouldn’t have to think about this. She wouldn’t have to tell herself she was going crazy for hearing her dead boyfriend pleading for her not to leave his graveside. She placed her hand on the handle before turning to face his grave one last time. She knew that no one was standing there; knew that he wasn’t there, but as she got into her car, she felt almost like she was leaving him the way he’d left her.