"Maya!" Christy screamed, looking for her best friend. She flipped her hair back as she looked in various places around the two bedroom Boston apartment. TNA was finally doing a show in their home town and they were stoked to be home. Everyone had plans to go out to a popular club. Chris, Alex, AJ, and Christian were waiting on them, but Christy couldn't find her anywhere.
Maya had been acting weird lately, sleeping in cramped spaces, such as under the sink and the bathtub of the hotels, strange marks showing up all over her body, and her extreme obsession with the dead. Of course, she'd always liked zombies, but never gore and... suffering.
"MJ? Where are you kid?!" Christy yelled again. She opened the door of her bedroom door. She let out an earth shattering scream.
"What's wrong Chri-" AJ's words were cut short by the scene set in front of them. He couldn't speak. He ran to the bathroom and started throwing up. Christian stared in shock while Chris fell to the floor, repeating the word "No," over and over again.
"Somebody call the fucking cops!" Christy yelled, running to find her phone. Her arms shook as she dialed the number, and Alex had to push past them to get into the room.
He stood dead still, taking in the scene in front of him. He didn't hesitate to start crying as he saw the word SOR shakily written across the wall in his girlfriends blood. She was loosely wrapped in the blood soaked blankets, her head buried in them while her hair covered her face. Her brown skin had gone pallid, apparently from blood loss... and damn it, there was just so much.
He walked into the room, one last strain of hope left in his body as he pushed her hair from her face and pulled it out of the pillow. Her eyes were shut, the rest of her face showing no expression at all. I should have paid more attention.
He pulled the bloody covers away from her and held her limp body and sobbed, rocking back and forth on the bed. His whole body shook with anger, despair, confusion. You fucking selfish cunt! You didn't have to do this. You could have talked to me! Shit Maya, we could have worked this out! But you had to take the easy way out, you retarded bitch!
"Why?" he asked Christy when she came back in, sobbing. She looked at him, then at Maya's face, then fell to the floor in hysterics next to Chris. He pulled her close and they cried on each other while Alex squeezed Maya's dead body.
How did you do it? He asked inspecting her body. He found numerous cuts on her arms, older, weathered ones and fresh ones, still brimming with her blood that dipped onto his clothes and skin. None were deep enough to kill anyone.
Of course you had to make this shit difficult. He looked around, expecting to find pills or a gun, or something to indicate her preferred method of suicide. He saw the gun laying on the dresser, but couldn't find a bullet hole. He eyed the knife lying on the bed, which was pushed up against the wall that had the bloody writing.
He flipped her back and forth, trying to find the opening. He found it on her neck. Wow. You cut your external jugular vein. I guess you got more ball than I thought. He slapped himself in the face for these hateful thoughts. He still couldn't believe she'd done this.
He shifted her in his arms again and pulled her into a hugging position. He held her tight, sobbing into her, unable to handle the situation he'd just been put in.
He saw the note laying on the dresser next to the bed. He reached over and picked it up, reading the hastily written words.
I'm sorry. I really am. I didn't mean for it to end this way, and I know how cliché and fucked up that sounds, but it's true. I didn't think something as little as having Alex yell at me would push me over the deep end, but I guess it was just the straw that broke the camel's back, or however that quote goes. DON'T BLAME ALEX! It's partially his fault, but I'll get to that.
First of all, Christy. I love you, chick. You were always there for me, when you weren't busy with your guys. And that's okay, because I know I wasn't as important as them. I'm not saying that to be a bitch. It's true, because if it wasn't, you wouldn't have to be reading this note right now. I really love you. Salt and Peppa for life!
Coworkers, family, and whatnot. Fuck you. You can all kiss my ass. Except for Chris and Christian. You two are pretty cool.
Alex. I don't know why I was never enough, but apparently I was. I'm sorry. I really tried. I went on that diet when you called me a fat bitch who you wished looked more like Kristen. Or were you too drunk that night to remember? Don't worry, I forgive you. And I forgive you for beating the hell out of me and raping me when you were too high to hear me saying no.
I still love you Alex, and wherever the hell I am (there, maybe), I'm still loving you. I will never not love you, and I will constantly miss you. I thought maybe we could get together, start a family, live happily ever after, but that shit never happens for me, and I know it never will. I hope you have a good life honey, and I hope you don't let this hold you back. I love you.
He was still clutching the note and crying as the paramedics struggled to get her body from his vice grip. They watched them put her body on a stretcher and wheel her out. They were taking her. He'd never see her again. Only have pictures of them together, videos of the good times, the bad times, and the horrible times. She'd be six feet underground, and he'd never get to hear her voice or listen to her terrible singing, or feel her hands on his cheek.
The stretcher turned down the hall and he stood. A cop was asking them some questions, Chris and Christy were sitting right there, explaining the situation. Alex grabbed the loaded gun from the dresser and pushed it to his temple and pulled the trigger.
Here I come baby.