The wind seemed indifferent as it swept over my face and through my hair. The neon lights flashing past as my car sped faster than they could blink.
The bottle of Jack Daniel’s kissed my lips again, the bitter taste of pain scourging through my insides. Every nerve the liquid burnt away, blurring the pain a little more as I tried to writhe away from everything that hurt.
Life had become too heavy; it was beautiful once, many, many lifetimes ago. I fight hard to remember her face, her beautiful face. Her bright eyes waiting, lips mouthing the words,
I can fix you…
I was a broken mess back then, only much worse now. She held my hand, picked up the pieces that had fallen off and had tried to stick them back on. I remember her face lying sleepily on my arm and waking up all of sudden, afraid it might hurt me. I can see her now, standing on the sidewalk, her arms outstretched, eyes calling for me, red lips smiling at me.
I guess I made her wait too long.
I see people hugging and kissing, drinking rum chupitos and smoking reefers. It’s a Saturday night and the city of Torino is having a festa. I am not partying though. Not tonight.
Tonight is the night I must die.
I can see her waiting for me, her face forlorn, resting in her hands. All those missed calls and dates.
“I waited for almost two hours…where were you?” or so went the numerous messages she would leave me. She would shy away from me in childish anger the next time we met, but she would come around. She always did.
She forgave me too many times.
I screamed into the brightly lit night as I pushed the throttle more. The persistent electronic beeping rising in frequency as if knowing my intentions.
I could hear her voice now. She had a beautiful voice, though she never thought so. I was the first person she ever sang for. I can see her covering her face in embarrassment after her debut cover of a Hindi song. She rolled away from me, knowing that I would pull her back.
It all seems so distant now.
Her song, lost to the wind. Her body, beyond my reach.
I take my foot of the pedal, slowing down as I light my cigarette. Possibly my last one. The smoke used to calm me, not anymore. Now I did it just for the pain. Like this night, the whiskey, the car, everything, all part of a plan.
She was never shy about her unclothed body, unlike me. She used to stretch her olive skin in the mornings and leaning over to me, kiss my lips and whisper,
“Good morning Kutapi…”
But I guess I had too many good mornings, because I let go of her. I let her out on the sidewalk and walked away.
I sighed into the night. It was a beautiful night to die. I had chosen well.
A beautiful night, to bring about a spectacular end to a rather, unspectacular life.
“No…” I can hear her murmur into my ears, after we had woken up to the buzzing of the clock; “let’s not go today…” I would laugh at her innocent display of reluctance to return to her hostel. She would then inch her naked body closer to mine, trying to get as close as humanly possible. She had sneaked out of her ostentatiously strict university hostel to be with me and she had promised herself and warned me that she would return the following day, as early as dawn. The single night turned into the most beautiful five, I may ever have. We made love until it hurt and clung onto each other, refusing to let go, until we could stand the heat no more and made love again.
She may have loved me a little too much.