I Love You to Death

by Natalie Ward

  I Love You to Death

  By Natalie Ward

  Published by Natalie Ward

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9874159-0-5

  This book is also available in print at selected online retailers.

  Copyright 2012 Natalie Ward

  Song lyrics to "Her song" and "I Need to Tell You" Copyright 2012 Natalie Ward

  All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage the piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

  All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect for this is appreciated.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are entirely fictitious.

  Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover photo Copyright iStockphoto.com.

  Cover created by Sarah Hansen at Okay Creations.

  For more information please come and visit me at http://www.natalieward.com.au

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  ∞

  Music speaks what cannot be expressed, soothes the mind and gives it rest, heals the heart and makes it whole, flows from heaven to the soul.

  Most people live and die with their music still unplayed, they never dare to try.

  but

  If music be the food of love, play on.

  ∞

  Unknown; MK Ash; W. Shakespeare

  Zero is neither positive nor negative only empty, absent, nothing.

  ∞

  Playlist:

  1. The Kill – 30 Seconds to Mars

  ∞

  I don’t want to be here anymore. I can’t do this. I just can’t keep going through this.

  The whole room is spinning. I am so drunk, but all I want to do is keep on drinking. I want to drown in it, want to block out this pain and this hurt. I want to feel nothing, I want to be empty.

  I really want to sleep but it’s too painful, too scary. Another drink, I need another drink. Passing out would be a much better option.

  Shit, the bottle is empty.

  I move along the shelf and grab the next one, it’s almost empty too. I’m swaying to the spinning room now. The whole world feels like it’s spinning, spinning to my pain. I wonder what that sounds like.

  "Oh god," I cry out loud. There’s nobody to hear me, nobody to see me as I pick up the plain white envelope with For Ash written across the front of it.

  Sam, oh Sam how did you know? How did you know Sam?

  I can’t read it, don’t want to read it, because then it will be real, and it can’t possibly be real. I don’t want it to be real.

  "Oh god Sam, please, please come back to me."

  The hardness of the wooden floor slams into me. I’m on my knees, the floor is wet with alcohol and my tears.

  I don’t want to be here. I can’t do this anymore.

  If zero is nothing, then by definition, one is the probability of an event that is certain to occur

  ∞

  Playlist:

  1. One – U2

  2. Cut – Plumb

  3. Running Up That Hill – Placebo

  ∞

  There’s only one certainty in life.

  Death.

  No matter what anyone says, it’s the one thing you can’t avoid, can’t put off, and can’t stop. It’s inevitable, and unfortunately it can happen when you least expect it.

  It’s been the story of my life.

  ∞

  I was only one minute old when it first started. I’m twenty-five now and it still keeps happening to me. People dying, all around me, people just keep on dying.

  I didn’t even realise it had anything to do with me at first, that I was the one doing this to all the people I loved. But it kept happening, and it got closer and closer until one day, it got so close there was simply no other explanation and that’s when I knew.

  Since then, especially since the last one, I’ve been alone. I’ve kept myself apart from all the people around me. I’ve avoided making any real friends, don’t spend too much time with any one person and I definitely can’t let myself fall in love again. Because now I’m afraid, afraid of killing them, but most of all, I’m afraid of becoming attached and then losing them. It literally destroys a part of me every time and I’m really not sure I can handle any more of it.

  Losing Sam broke my heart. I felt like it was literally ripped from my chest and I was left struggling to breathe, fighting just to survive. I don’t want to go through that again. I don’t want to suffer that loss, that pain, that crippling agony I can still feel even now, weeks after he died.

  He was the only person I told all of this to, the one person who I confided my deepest, darkest secrets in. I was only nineteen when I first met him and I’d already lost six people by then. By the time I eventually told Sam, we’d been together for almost a year. I should have told him earlier, I know that now. Had I known for sure, I never should have been with him in the first place, but I was young and I fell in love and I wanted him, simple as that. He came into my life at a time when I really needed him and that made it very hard to walk away.

  After I told him, he did take it all very seriously, even though I don’t think he ever really believed me.

  "Maybe it’s just dumb luck Ash?" he would say, trying to convince me. "You know, just the wrong place at the wrong time?"

  As the years went on, a small part of me wanted to believe that was the reason, although really, the evidence was stacking against me. But, he was still alive. After years of us together, Sam stayed alive. Whenever we talked about it, whenever I suggested we break up so he would be safe, or when I half-heartedly picked a fight with him out of fear, he laughed a little. But not in a demeaning way, more of a – you’re silly, but cute and I still love you kind of way, before he kissed me and said what he always said.

  "But I’m still here babe."

  God I really wish he was. I miss him so badly. Miss the easy conversation we had and the easy silences we could sit in. I miss just seeing his face every morning when I wake up or the press of his lips on the back of my neck every night when I go to sleep.

  In the end though, I never could convince him to leave and I couldn’t find the courage to walk away from him either. It was selfish of me I know that now, but like I said, I was in love with him and I needed him.

  But now he’s gone and I have no one. I’m lonely and I’m miserable. I wake up every morning hating my life and the way I have to live it. I want to have friends, I wish I still had my family and I really want someone to love, someone who loves me in return. I really just want Sam back.

  Mostly, I think it should be me who’s the one dying.

  ∞

  Since being born, I’ve been responsible for twelve deaths. I know most people experience some form of death throughout their life, but with me it’s very different. I just don’t think it’s normal for a twenty-five year old to lose that many people, and certainly not in the way I’ve lost them. I’m not saying I’ve directly killed anyone, but every death can be traced back to me, to something I did which ultimately resulted in their death.

  Every single one of them.

  The first person who died was my mother. I hadn’t been in this world for long, only o
ne minute, before I lost her. Of course my birth was the reason for her death. Unforseen complications they called it. I never expected to be an unforseen complication. Then again, I never really expected any of this. I grew up with that hanging over me, an unforseen complication who killed her mother. My Dad always said that was crap, that it wasn’t my fault. But if I hadn’t been born, she never would’ve died, would she?

  There never seemed to be any rhyme or reason to the deaths, why some lived longer than others, or even how frequently it happened. After the first one, I got a break for ten years. But then it came back. My Dad survived the first twenty-one years of my life, yet with Adam, it was only six months. With Sam I got five years, but it could’ve been forever and it still wouldn’t have been long enough.

  To look at me you’d probably never see this problem I have, and I certainly don’t go around advertising it. On the outside I try to lead what I think looks like a regular life, doing all the normal things people do – work, pay my bills and occasionally go to the movies or something. In reality though it’s nothing like that because I can’t form any attachments, can’t have any real friends, don’t have a family and I definitely can’t fall in love again.

  So in fact, my life is far from normal, it’s actually complete shit.

  These last few weeks since Sam died have been tough. I stopped working for the first couple because I just couldn’t drag myself out of bed in the morning. I lost loads of weight and probably became a borderline alcoholic. I would spend days looking at old photos of us, willing him to come back to me. Nights I would spend drinking and crying, trying not to fall asleep so I wouldn’t have to face the horrifying nightmare all over again. The same nightmare repeated every single night of that one fateful day. It’s hard to know what’s worse, having to go through it in the first place or reliving it every night since.

  Back then, after it first happened, I felt like I was drowning. Sinking into a pool of blackness that I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to crawl out of, or if I even wanted to. I didn’t think it would matter anyway, because who would miss me. All of the people I loved and cared about were already gone.

  When I found his letter, it was a very bad day. I wasn’t in a good place and I was really, really drunk, systematically working my way through our entire alcohol collection. I discovered the letter sitting under the last bottle we had. I guess he knew me well.

  Even in my drunken stupor, I stopped short to look at the plain white envelope that had For Ash written across the front in his writing. I must have eventually passed out because when the nightmare woke me the next morning, I was lying on the floor with a pounding headache, a puddle of scotch beside me and a crumpled envelope in my hands. I didn’t want to read it like that, just a pool of drunken depression on the floor of our apartment, so I dragged myself into a scolding hot shower and tried to wash away the disgust I had for myself. When I was clean, I pulled on one of Sam’s t-shirts, made a strong cup of coffee, curled up in the bed we shared, took a deep breath and read his words.

  I’m now back at work, although it took another week of reading that letter over and over again to convince me to get there. I still don’t want to be here, but I owe it to Sam. I owe it to him to try at least, although I know if he saw me, he would say I’m not trying at all.

  It’s funny, since I found the letter I’ve found other things he did around the place. Little things I’d never noticed before, because I guess I’d always been too busy looking at him. Now when I look in the bathroom mirror, I see the cheesy little heart with our initials in it that he drew in the corner with my eyeliner pencil. Now when I roll over in bed, I see the words goodnight Ash written on the side of the bedside table in black marker pen. The same words he whispered to me every night before pressing a kiss to the back of my neck.

  He did this for me.

  All of it he did for me, because he knew exactly how I would feel when he was gone and he wouldn’t be here to make it better. It makes me love him even more.

  ∞

  Work is different since I left. For one thing, there’s a new guy. They brought him in when I wasn’t at work, but evidently they’re keeping him. I think it’s an attempt by the owner to revamp the place. The new guy seems nice enough, although I’ve noticed he’s always looking at me. I’ve stopped asking him, "What?" every time I catch him, because most of the time he just shrugs, smiles and goes back to work. The others I work with are more removed now too. Not quite avoiding me, but just being more cautious. For their sake it’s probably better this way.

  I work in a book café on Newbury Street. It’s good, because when we’re quiet, Robert the owner doesn’t care if we read some of the books, as long as the work gets done. Most of the time, I’m behind the counter making coffees, selling books, or taking food and drinks out to customers. New guy is strictly food prep. I think he might actually be a qualified chef, so god knows what he’s doing in this place. I haven’t felt the need to ask him.

  There are four permanent staff working here, five if Robert stops by, which is rare. There are a bunch of casuals too, but they rotate often enough that I never bother getting to know them. But the permanent people are me, the new guy, Sarah who does ordering, stocks shelves and serves like me, and Liam, who washes dishes, cleans tables and does whatever else needs to be done. Sarah is fine, easy-going and I guess we’re friends in as much of a way as I’ll ever allow. Liam is a dickhead, who I try to ignore most of the time. I’ve never liked him and I don’t think that’s going to change anytime soon. He seems to talk to the new guy though. None of them know about me and my little problem, although Liam and Sarah obviously know about Sam. Sam used to come in most days to pick me up after work. He’d come in, browse the shelves if I was still working, maybe have a coffee, then when I walked out to go, he would stand up and kiss me, wrap his arm around my waist and whisper in my ear, "Let’s go home." God I miss that.

  So when I finally come back, Sarah and Liam are sympathetic but noticeably distant. I’m sure they wonder what happened, it was strange, the circumstances surrounding Sam’s death, but Sarah at least is nice enough not to ask any questions. I appreciate her for that. I guess they’ve probably told the new guy too, he doesn’t ask me any questions either, just gives me those strange looks.

  So now, here I am, back at work. Weeks after I lost Sam and still desperately trying to believe the words he left for me. Trying to live as he asked me to, but knowing really, I’m failing quite spectacularly.

  ∞

  Today is Friday and the rain that’s been falling all week has finally stopped. When I arrive at work it’s only me and the new guy, who by now is no longer new guy, but Luke. We are now also on speaking terms or at least terms that don’t involve him just looking at me and me asking, "What?" in response. Now when I walk in, it’s more like –

  "Hey Luke, want a coffee?"

  To which I get. "Yep, long black, thanks Ash."

  Then I make us both coffee, take his back to him and we get on with our day. We are usually the only ones in there for the first hour or so and we might chat some more, but it’s never anything heavy and it’s never anything personal. For that I’m extremely grateful.

  Only today for some reason, something changes. Today when I take Luke his coffee, something startles him as I walk into the kitchen and his knife slips. It feels the same as any other morning, except today the knife slips. When it happens, it’s like watching it all unfold in slow motion and no matter how much I want to, I’m unable to turn away or stop it. I see the blood pool in his hand and reflected back in the shiny metal of the knife. I see drops fall to the floor, dark red stains on white tile and instantly my body reacts. My hands let go of the coffee mugs which fall and shatter at my feet. At the same time Luke says, "Shit," loudly and I feel the heat of the coffee on my legs. I ignore the burn because it’s not important right now.

  This can’t be because of me, it’s too soon. This can’t be because of me.

  I want to say somethi
ng, anything, but it’s Luke who speaks first, turning and asking, "Ash, you okay?"

  I glance down at his hand again, there’s a lot of blood and it’s hard to see how much damage he’s done to himself. I force myself to take a deep breath. I step over the hot coffee that’s now all over the floor and walk towards him.

  "Ash?" he asks me again. "Are you okay?"

  I nod my head before grabbing a towel and pressing it to his hand. I don’t look at his face, but keep my eyes on the towel. The blood isn’t soaking through yet and I hope that it won’t. If it doesn’t, it won’t be that serious. If it’s not that serious then Luke will be alright.

  "I’m okay Ash, it’s okay," Luke says softly, closing his hand around the towel. "Just a hazard of the job," he continues, a small smile on his face as he bends down to look at me. "It’s not the first time I’ve done this."

  This is as close as I’ve ever been to him and it’s making me uncomfortable. I should step away, but for some stupid reason, I do the complete opposite.

  "You need to wash this cut," I say quietly as I pull him towards the sink.

  I turn on the water, trying to get the temperature right before I gently move his hand under. I hear him wince as the warm water washes over the cut but he doesn’t pull away. I keep my eyes away from his face but find myself watching our hands, my fingers as they gently wash away the blood. His blood is on my hands now and I can’t help but think how true that could be, how very likely.

  I have to move away, the sight of that cut and the blood is more than I can stomach right now. I rinse my hands quickly, I feel sick and I have to get away from him. The blood, I can’t stand it. His closeness, I can’t stand it. I need to get away from him but before I can, it happens. Suddenly I’m forced forward as I throw up into the sink. It happens before I can stop it. I taste the bile in my throat, feel my stomach as it clenches, forcing whatever’s in there out and I don’t even think about the fact Luke’s standing right next to me. It hits me before I can move and before I know what’s happening, I’m being sick in the sink.