He'd made me breakfast before he'd left, something I knew I'd never be able to understand, no matter how hard I tried to, regardless of how long I sat and pondered over it.
That had always been one of my favorite things about him, how thoughtful he was, how sweet. God, even his reason for leaving had been for me, all based on his idea of how he wasn't good enough for me, how I'd be so much better off without him. If only he'd known.
It had been a month now. A proper month since he'd left, without a trace, without even so much as a real goodbye. Only a note. That's all he'd been able to spare me, two minutes to write four sentences.
I closed my eyes, leaning my head back against the side of the bed, a futile attempt at knocking back tears I knew were never going to come, would never even get the chance to.
I would love to cry, really I would, if anything for the mere satisfaction of knowing that I still could, the sense of meaning I had come to associate with actually having a ready supply of tears to give, with not having already used up every last one.
As if crying was still an option. As if there was even such a thing as having options anymore.
I heard myself let out a laugh, small and bitter. No. There were no options left, not now.
This was all that was left, only this. Only the pills in my hand, staring back up at me, taunting me with every minute that passed, my constant reminder of what I had to do.
No. I couldn't turn back, not now. It was too late, I'd already gone too far.
All that was left was actually doing it, actually taking that first pill, putting it at the back of my throat, and swallowing it. It would all be easy after that. So easy.
That's exactly what I told myself, again and again, as the pills went down one by one, just as easy as I'd said they would.