What Happened to Always
One
Suicide.
It’s a taboo word, a taboo subject, a taboo everything.
No one wants to think about it happening.
But when it does happen, it’s all anyone can think about.
For a long time, it was all I could think about.
Because Colie Matthews was my girlfriend.
And Colie killed herself.
And she didn’t leave a note.
She never said goodbye.
Colie and I had been dating for about three months when I noticed a couple of cuts on her wrist. They weren’t very deep, just tiny cuts really, but I was concerned.
“Colie, what is this?” I asked her. She stared up at me with innocent eyes and carefully removed her wrist from my grasp.
“It’s from my cat, Nate. You know how Odin scratches me sometimes,” she told me. She oozed sincerity, so I let it go.
Two months later, during the summer, Colie and I were at the pool. She was wearing shorts and one of my t-shirts over her bathing suit. There was a long, scabbed-over cut on her thigh. I asked her about it, and she told me that she cut herself shaving. Again, I let it go.
A month after that, I walked into Colie’s room one Saturday. She was on tumblr, her back to me. Before she hurriedly shut her laptop, I caught a glimpse of a picture of a scarily thin girl with cuts and scars all over her body. The girl had carved the words “ugly”, “stupid”, and “fat” onto her stomach. Her hips were sliced to pieces.
“Colie!” I choked. She looked panicked for a moment, but then her face turned stony, and her normally soft grey eyes looked like chips of ice.
“What, Nate?” she snapped, over-enunciating the t’s.
“What was that picture?” I demanded to know. She glared at me.
“Nothing, Nate. God. It showed up on the homepage thing,” she said coldly. “Why does it matter, anyways? Just leave me alone.”
I should have said something then. The cuts on her wrist, and on her thighs, and now this. But I didn’t say anything.
Sometimes Colie and I would be watching a movie, or studying, or listening to music, and suddenly she would just tense up. Her jaw would clench, and her eyes would squeeze shut, and she would curl into a ball and bury her face in her knees. I never knew what to do when that happened. If I touched her, she would cringe away from me. So I had to sit there, helplessly watching the girl I loved fall apart.
The night that she killed herself, Colie and I went to the park. Everything had been going well, although I caught her staring blankly into thin air several times throughout the evening, an achingly sad expression on her face.
We kissed a few times, and I told her I loved her. When I said that, her eyes filled with tears.
“Colie?” I said, worried and confused. “What’s wrong?” She closed her eyes and tears began to drip down her cheeks.
“I don’t deserve that,” she whispered. “I don’t deserve to hear you say that you love me.” I stared at her.
“Yes, you do,” I tried to tell her, but she interrupted me.
“No, Nate, I don’t.” Her face crumpled and she curled up into a tight ball.
“Colie, c’mon, tell me what’s wrong,” I said.
“I’m just…. so sad…. all the time,” she whimpered. I hesitated, then put my arms around her, and she nestled her head against my chest. She was so small and vulnerable, and at that moment I was overwhelmed. It broke my heart to see her cry. Her tears were soaking into the front of my shirt.
“Colie, what’s going on? You can tell me,” I murmured. She shook her head.
“No, I can’t,” she sobbed. “You wouldn’t understand.” That stung.
“Try me,” I told her. She shook her head and pushed away from me, then stood and walked out of the park. I didn’t go after her.
I should have, but I didn’t.
It’s a taboo word, a taboo subject, a taboo everything.
No one wants to think about it happening.
But when it does happen, it’s all anyone can think about.
For a long time, it was all I could think about.
Because Colie Matthews was my girlfriend.
And Colie killed herself.
And she didn’t leave a note.
She never said goodbye.
Colie and I had been dating for about three months when I noticed a couple of cuts on her wrist. They weren’t very deep, just tiny cuts really, but I was concerned.
“Colie, what is this?” I asked her. She stared up at me with innocent eyes and carefully removed her wrist from my grasp.
“It’s from my cat, Nate. You know how Odin scratches me sometimes,” she told me. She oozed sincerity, so I let it go.
Two months later, during the summer, Colie and I were at the pool. She was wearing shorts and one of my t-shirts over her bathing suit. There was a long, scabbed-over cut on her thigh. I asked her about it, and she told me that she cut herself shaving. Again, I let it go.
A month after that, I walked into Colie’s room one Saturday. She was on tumblr, her back to me. Before she hurriedly shut her laptop, I caught a glimpse of a picture of a scarily thin girl with cuts and scars all over her body. The girl had carved the words “ugly”, “stupid”, and “fat” onto her stomach. Her hips were sliced to pieces.
“Colie!” I choked. She looked panicked for a moment, but then her face turned stony, and her normally soft grey eyes looked like chips of ice.
“What, Nate?” she snapped, over-enunciating the t’s.
“What was that picture?” I demanded to know. She glared at me.
“Nothing, Nate. God. It showed up on the homepage thing,” she said coldly. “Why does it matter, anyways? Just leave me alone.”
I should have said something then. The cuts on her wrist, and on her thighs, and now this. But I didn’t say anything.
Sometimes Colie and I would be watching a movie, or studying, or listening to music, and suddenly she would just tense up. Her jaw would clench, and her eyes would squeeze shut, and she would curl into a ball and bury her face in her knees. I never knew what to do when that happened. If I touched her, she would cringe away from me. So I had to sit there, helplessly watching the girl I loved fall apart.
The night that she killed herself, Colie and I went to the park. Everything had been going well, although I caught her staring blankly into thin air several times throughout the evening, an achingly sad expression on her face.
We kissed a few times, and I told her I loved her. When I said that, her eyes filled with tears.
“Colie?” I said, worried and confused. “What’s wrong?” She closed her eyes and tears began to drip down her cheeks.
“I don’t deserve that,” she whispered. “I don’t deserve to hear you say that you love me.” I stared at her.
“Yes, you do,” I tried to tell her, but she interrupted me.
“No, Nate, I don’t.” Her face crumpled and she curled up into a tight ball.
“Colie, c’mon, tell me what’s wrong,” I said.
“I’m just…. so sad…. all the time,” she whimpered. I hesitated, then put my arms around her, and she nestled her head against my chest. She was so small and vulnerable, and at that moment I was overwhelmed. It broke my heart to see her cry. Her tears were soaking into the front of my shirt.
“Colie, what’s going on? You can tell me,” I murmured. She shook her head.
“No, I can’t,” she sobbed. “You wouldn’t understand.” That stung.
“Try me,” I told her. She shook her head and pushed away from me, then stood and walked out of the park. I didn’t go after her.
I should have, but I didn’t.