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Melancholy Tastes Like Honey
“I’m telling you, Jack, I can’t take it anymore,” Honey murmured, pacing around outside. “My life is h*ll; I don’t have you by my side to make things better when my life seems like it’s been put into a blender, my parents continue to fight, I don’t get daily calming hugs anymore, and private school just helps to add to my miserable state. I want my life back; I hate San Antonio.” Honey’s voice broke, and the back of her eyeballs burned from holding the tears in. The palm of her hand was sweaty from gripping the phone tight even though it was dead winter.
“Honey, I know how you feel, but there’s no need for you to say that, so please, please, don’t say that again,” Jack begged, concerned and torn over Honey’s abysmal situation.
“I miss you like crazy and my anxiety gets worse every painful, slow, passing day. It kills me that I can’t wait for you to come in through the cafeteria doors so I can try to get the first hug from you before anyone else does. It rips my heart to pieces knowing I’m not able to hold you in my arms,” Jack paused, “even if it’s a mere minute,” he added, trying to let her know she’s not alone, and make her realize that he feels the exact same way she does.
“You don’t get it, Jack. My life has always been horrible, but I had you and all of our other friends to support me, and they were like a heavy dose of anti-depressant pills. But with me by myself here, rarely able to communicate with you, isn’t it as if I didn’t exist? Like I was already dead?” She choked out the last couple of words as tears began to stream down her cheeks, betraying her commands and carelessly flowing down her cheeks, already pink from the cold, bitter wind that blew at her face.
“N-No, No! It’s not as if you were dead,” Jack’s voice cracked, “I’d be dead too. I always mourn your absence, but you’re not dead to me, don’t say something like that!” he exclaimed, but made himself calm down, making his voice normal again and concealing his agony.
Honey frowned, “Then—then I won’t let you find out when—when I--” she paused; she couldn’t even say the word, and he began to speak again:
“Don’t say that! Why are you being like this?! You shouldn’t even think like that, ok? What will make you stop thinking like this?!” he demanded, desperate and angry.
“I want to be with you, but that will never happen, so forget it. I don’t have a reason left to live, Jack. You can’t stop me.” Her voice, her words, they were numb, cold, and emotionless; it struck Jack hard.
Honey remained quiet until she heard the sound of Jack stifling a haggard sigh, almost as if he was crying.
“Jack?” she called, her numbness slowly fading as his sad, anxious voice hit her, making her cry too.
“Honey, tell me you won’t,” he whispered, unable to speak clearly.
Honey felt as if a giant gaping hole was just blown through her chest, making pain spread quickly and unevenly though her whole body, like wildfire, as if acid was slowly trickling though her veins and lungs, into her heart.
“I, I won’t,” she responded, with nothing else to say to try to make him feel better.
“I, I--” she thought about it, “I can’t—promise.”
He said nothing, and after a while, Honey heard the click of the phone when he hung up.
Jack knew what she was going to say, so he’d gotten in his car long before telling her not to do it. He was well on his way from Austin to San Antonio, and judging by the time, there was a chance of no traffic. He prayed he’d get there on time, hoping she would distract herself for the two hours it would take him to get there. He wiped tears from his face with his jacket sleeve, concentrating on getting to Honey before she got to herself.
“Please let her be in one piece when I get there,” he said to himself, gripping the steering wheel tight to the point his knuckles were pale white.
Honey kept the phone to her ear for a long moment until she let it slip out of her hand, making it hit the concrete floor, luckily not breaking it. She scramble on the floor to make sure it was ok, and then dialed Jack, which was pointless, since she knew he wouldn’t answer.
She let the phone ring twenty-two times before finally gave up and went inside her house, wishing the blasting heat inside would melt the ice she felt inside the way she felt it warm up her skin.
She went to the kitchen and crippled herself into a ball in a corner with her knees to her chin so she wouldn’t fall apart. She tried not to cry but the tears came anyway. She didn’t worry about how long she had spent her time crying; her time would end soon anyways.
She stayed there for a long while until she was able to pull herself together and walked over to the knife cabinet. She opened the drawer and took out the sharpest, thinnest knife, scrutinizing it.
Too slow of a death, she thought, looking at the old scars on her arms. She threw the knife back into its place and decided to have a look around her father’s shed. Chainsaw? No. Machete? Same as knife. Nail gun? What if I don’t totally die? Honey continued to come up with different suicidal scenarios:
“I could always go turn the car on in the garage,” she said to herself, but then rethought it. I need something quick and bloodless. She began to get frustrated, and wanted to rid herself of all the pain right now, with no one and nothing to stop her or change her mind.
She must have thought of hundreds of complications, but every single idea had at least one flaw. She even though of shooting herself in the head, but knowing karma so well, she decided best to not do that to prevent blowing a chunk of her brain out and still being alive.
Honey continued to look for some simple way, and finally came across ten yards of thick rope on a high shelf in the shed. It made her think about how the lynch people in western movies, and the only very unlikely chance she might survive is if the rope breaks.
She smiled, “Perfect.”
Jack was only about five minutes away now from getting to Honey, and was extremely anxious to get there, praying to death Honey wasn’t hurt. He was so distracted he didn’t realize he was going up to eighty miles an hour, so he slowed down, just now turning on the street Honey lived on.
Honey had already securely tied the rope to the tallest tree in her front yard that stood more than 25 feet high. She was on a tall ladder, and already had the loop of rope around her neck. Her eyes were red from crying, and now her cheeks were pink from the wind that nipped at her face.
She looked up into the grey sky that seemed like it would burst in rain, or since it was dead winter, hail.
She became startled by the sound of a beeping car parked in her driveway she didn’t recognize. She looked down at the unfamiliar car, and moved her feet closer to the edge of the ladder without noticing.
Jack struggled with the seatbelt until he managed to get free of the cursed thing, rushing out of the car. He was standing a long distance from the tree, looking up at Honey in worry and dread. His blood pumped hard though his veins, heart, and head, causing him unbearable pain.
“Honey!” he shouted desperately, running inside the gates of her house, trying to get to her as fast as he could.
Honey stared blankly, not knowing if what she was seeing was really real, if the voice she was hearing wasn’t a hallucination, but that sweet melodic sound she’d missed so much.
“Jack! It’s really you!” she shouted in joy, tears gushing from her eyes.
She was just taking off the rope, but out of excitement, her foot slipped, and the ladder fell with a loud heart-stopping ‘crash’ on the floor.
Jack’s mouth was agape. “Honey!” he shrieked in horror as gravity pulled her down with the rope still around her neck and Jack’s beloved Honey hung there, without a breath to spare. His tears formed freely, and he didn’t hold them back. He didn’t care about anything anymore: the world, his life; it didn’t matter to him, his sunshine was gone.