The Boy
He opened the door to his room, I gazed at him adoringly for a second or two.
"Hi Suzie, What can I . . . "
He stopped as he saw the pistol I'd raised to his head . . . .
It had been the worst three months of my life. I'd come to college with the hope of starting afresh. I mean, no-one knew me, save my best friend Fiona. I was hoping that I'd be able to put my pitiful record with boys behind me. At my High School I'd become some sort of legend in my own time; I'm not sure to this day why; but it scared off all the boys. My love-life simply didn't exist. I'd liked guys, sure. But nothing ever came of it. So I arrived at CSU with the hope of having a meaningful relationship.
It was at the introductory session for the Performance Studies course that I first saw him. I glimpsed that tall, intelligent looking figure and my heart skipped a beat. From that moment, every spare minute I spent thinking about him, and, I know it sounds cliched, but it's true that I just kept dreaming about him.
I was in love, there was no doubt about it. I was in love with James Timothy Richardson.
. . . . . . . . . I cocked the trigger of the gun . . . . . . . . .
I had to tell someone. I would have burst if I hadn't. I told Fiona, and I also told Kerry, a girl who lived in the room next door to me in halls, and who seemed to have a knack of being able to talk to boys.
Kerry talked to James. He told her that he liked me . . . . . as a friend, but not as anything more. I should have known, it's been the story of my life. I told one other person, and that was my mistake. Jason Britton had never stopped insulting me since the first day. There'd been breaks, like when he was going out with Katherine, a girl in the second year I'd become friends with in the first week who had Irish roots and who came from Texas. One night in the bar, he was insulting me as usual. Then the others drifted off and we got talking. I was depressed and he asked me what was wrong. So I told him about my record with guys. He asked me if I liked anyone, and I told him. I wished I hadn't, virtually everyone knew then. He embarrassed me at every chance.
I remember Hallowe'en. We all went to this girl Karen's house the night before. I was dressed up as a vampiress, and just as a joke, I lunged for James' neck. He pretended to mind, but I could tell he knew I was just messing. Hallowe'en itself we went to a party at a house where a group of second years lived. I got talking to James, it felt good. Then Jason butted in. I could have killed him. I tried to talk to James again, but it didn't work. Then he asked Kerry to ask me to back off, I couldn't take it. I went into the bathroom, locked the door and cried. I was still crying when I came out of the bathroom. Jason comforted me, he was drunk at the time which probably explained his unusually civil behaviour towards me, but it didn't help. I went back to my room that night and cried myself to sleep.
. . . . . James looked at me with terrified eyes as I slowly tightened my grip on the trigger . . . . .
I tried to forget him after that night, but I couldn't. I tried to pretend that I was over him, but everyone knew I wasn't. Then came the week where we had to perform group pieces. He was on the first night. He was brilliant. We were also having to choose our duologue partner that week. So I asked him if he'd consider working with me. He turned me down flat.
. . . . . . I slowly started to pull the trigger. . . . . .
The next day me and Fiona were talking in the canteen. We were both in a mood with the entire male sex. Me for obvious reasons, and Fi because her boyfriend had just split with her. One of our friends, Anna, was with us, and she said something about if she couldn't have a guy, no-one could have him. We laughed it off, we knew she was joking. But an idea started to form in my mind.
. . . . . I paused a second, savouring the moment . . . . .
I had the gun with me. It had been my grandma's, from Texas. A Smith and Weston 38. it was. It fitted into my hand as if it had been made for me. As I loaded the revolver. I suddenly considered what I was doing, was it worth ruining my whole life for? Then I thought of Rosalia, the Puerto Rican beauty who had caught James' eye, and I knew.
. . . . . . then I disarmed the gun, lowered my arm, and sank to my knee's, sobbing.
I just couldn't do it. I'd planned it so well, kill him, then myself, so that even if he wouldn't allow us to be together in life, we could be together in death. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't bring myself to take the life of the man I loved.
I had to get out of there. I ran out of the halls and off campus, across the road to the deserted beach.
"Suzie!" I heard James calling my name, I turned to see him dashing across the road, I saw the car, speeding out of no-where.
"James!" I yelled, but it was too late, the car hit him and sped off into the night.
He died in hospital later that night. The car had been going so fast, he didn't stand a chance. I'd been cradling his head when the medics arrived. They got him to hospital, but it was no use, He'd had a huge cerebral haemmorage.
I cried for days. I've still not got over it. I don't think I'll ever fall in love again, it causes too much pain. I've been trying to get on with my life. But if it's true that time heals all wounds, then why do I still feel this terrible hurt when I think of James?