Her Suicide Note

Epilogue

Adrian
Five years later...
"I know she'll love it sir. Have a nice day."
I smile a thank you at the woman behind the display case as I take the plastic bag holding my future from her.
Out in the parking lot, I toss it in the passenger's seat and start the engine, asking myself for the millionth time if I'm really ready for this. I love her, I know I do, but I'm starting to question if maybe I'm jumping the gun.
Our blue and white Blue Ridge High tassels swing around as I drive. Mine has '17, hers has '19.
I start thinking about how exactly I came to be where I am. Five years ago, I didn't know what I would be eating for dinner let alone where I was going to go to college or the major I was going to be pursuing. I think I'd still be figuring that out if it wasn't for her.
I had did as I told Mom and went to UNCG for two years until she graduated Blue Ridge and came with me to Campbell. She was able to go to ICC just like she wanted and I'm glad I decided not to go down and fight to keep her with me.
The car fills with the sound of my phone ringing and I touch the screen on the dash to answer it.
"Yeah?"
"Hey, man." It's Nathan. He moved down to Florida after graduation to go to the University of Miami. He's now living in a bachelor pad, trying to figure out where to go with his Biochemistry degree.
"Hey, what's up?"
"You get it yet?"
I glance over at the passenger's side. "Yeah, I did."
"Nervous, aren't you?"
"Nervous doesn't even describe it." I stop at a red light and use the pause to run both hands through my hair. "Do you think I'm crazy?"
"Sure do," Nathan states simply. "But love makes you do crazy things."
I shrug even though he can't see me. "So, hey, you know Mason's anniversary is coming up."
I swallow the lump that has sprung up in my throat. I do. It's been a year since Mason died while deployed in Iraq.
"I was thinking that maybe we should invite everyone we know back to Blue Ridge to visit his grave."
"That's a great idea," I say, my voice hoarse. "We'll be there."
"Great," Nathan replies before clearing his throat. "Adrian?"
"What's up?"
"Don't be such a punk when you ask her, alright?" Then he hangs up, leaving me chuckling.
"I appreciate you guys." I look in the rearview mirror at Mason who's sitting in the back seat in his army uniform. "Getting everyone back together is a good idea."
"I think so, too," I tell him. "We miss you, man."
"I miss y'all, too."
"Can we talk about this now?" In the passenger's seat, Dylan holds up the plastic bag.
"We sure can," Mason says, pushing his head in between the two front seats. "Congratulations."
"She hasn't even said yes yet," I remind him.
"Yeah, but we all know she's going to," Dylan states as he pops my glove compartment open and pulls out my gold '21 tassel from San Jose State University. "You're doing it man," he states, nodding at the tassel in approval before handing it to Mason. "We're proud of you."
"We just wish we could really be here." Mason sighs wistfully.
"So, what's the update on Lisa?" I ask, changing the subject before I can start sniffling. Losing one best friend was bad enough. I'm surprised I'm still pushing forward at two. I think it has everything to do with the girl waiting for me at home.
"As far as we know, she's been completely left. Bianca hasn't thought about her that much and when she does, it's only for a second," Dylan explains.
"She did say she was going to let her go," I say as I pull into the parking space in front of my apartment building. After I cut the engine off, I turn to them just as Dylan closes my compartment. "See you guys later?"
"Of course," Dylan says.
"We'll be waiting." Mason gives me a military salute before he disappears.
Now that I'm alone again, the weight of what I'm about to do hits me again. Please for the love of all that is holy let her say yes, I plead to no one in particular as I take the small box out of the plastic bag and shove the bag under the passenger's seat.
The apartments around here are mostly filled with college kids that are surprisingly pretty quiet.
When I walk into the apartment, I go to the second bedroom labeled Captured on a Canvas-the name of the booming business we started earlier this summer.
I open the door. "Babe?"
"I'm in here." I walk inside. The spare bedroom has become her "office" filled with tables covered in supplies taking up two walls. The wall behind her has at least 20 already painted canvases stacked against one another. Some are orders fulfilled, some are just for fun though there's no doubt they're going to sell because they were simply made in her hands. The center of the room is where the real magic happens. She's sitting on a stool, working on a canvas that lies flat on a table hotdog style, letting me know she's doing a portrait, a fountain pen in hand which means it's in black and white. A waist-high square table stands beside her holding her palette, a couple of paintbrushes and all of her gear for her Round Hand Lettering, a signature that all customers demand to have on their purchases-to let people know it's a legit Bianca Smith piece, I guess.
She wiggles her toes at me, a greet she always gives me when she wants to acknowledge my presence but still focus on her work at the same time.
The summer sun shining in from the window creates a halo around her head. Her dark hair is piled up on the crown of her head in a messy bun. She's wearing her uniform: a pair of running shorts and an old graphic tee of mine from high school. Her legs look longer when they're not covered.
Paint covers her legs and arms-even a few smudges of Metallic Gray and Miami Pink on her right cheek-so I know it's been a creative day for her. Her clothes are surprisingly spotless.
I look around the room again. We covered the white walls and hardwood floor with huge plastic tarps to protect it from the paints.
"I can't wait to get our own home so I can paint a mural on the walls," she had said once.
I take a step towards her. She kicks her leg up to ward me off. "Wait just a second." Her tongue hangs out the side of her mouth as she does a few last minute touches. "There. Done."
I walk up behind her, placing my hands on either side of her hips, peeking over her shoulder at her work.
It's of me. I'm facing away so you only get my profile and one side of my body. She's captured me from the waist up. My arms are wrapped around myself and I'm wearing a black tank top, my face impassive. She's gotten every ropey muscle in my arm and every line that goes to my features. A thick strand of hair hovers over my forehead. The only thing that has color are my eyes: the spring green she's always telling me she loves so much. My eyes scan farther down to the word she's Round Hand Lettered under me in black, Husband.
The small box in my front pocket seems to burn as I close my hand around it.
"You like it?" she asks.
"Love it," I reply, burying my nose into her hair, taking a deep breath. She smells like paint and ink but also something else. She smells like peaches. It's her soap, I know it this time.
"I'm hanging this over our bed," she states, running a pointer finger along the edge. 
If only I had her talent. I would paint millions of pictures of her. I can't ask her to paint one for me. She wouldn't give her portrait the justice.
"My parents want to fly out and visit," she tells me after a moment of silence. "They miss us."
I nod. I don't ask about Trey. I don't need to. I'm the reason their relationship is in tatters. He obviously didn't think we'd last, but because we have, as far as he's concerned, he doesn't have a sister. He's supposed to be getting married soon. I have yet to see an invitation in the mail.
"That's good," I say. "It'll be nice to see them again. It's been a while."
She nods in agreement, picking at some dried Fire Engine Red on her thigh.
I take her ink-splattered hands in mine. "You okay?"
She nods. "I just miss him."
I get nervous when she says this. Even though she chose me over him, I always dread the possible day when she won't have the heart to do that anymore.
She shakes her head and smirks as if reading my mind. "You worry too much."
She hops down off the stool. "I'm gonna go wash up. I'm in the mood for cookies. Are you in the mood for cookies?"
I smile. "That sounds nice."
Giving me a firm nod, she marches off.

Bianca
I'm drying my hair off with a towel when Sasha Smith added a new photo pops up on my screen from FaceBook.
I tap into the app. She's on the beach in Blue Ridge with a three-year-old boy. She has her arms wrapped around him, a huge motherly grin on her face. I remember when she first found out she was pregnant our junior year. I was the first person she turned to.
It was a little past two in the morning when the ringing of my phone woke me up. I groaned loudly. I had a huge Calculus test in a few hours. Who in the hell was calling me at this time?
I answered the phone with a bitter grunt. Sasha didn't answer right away because she was trying to get her crying under control.
"Bianca." I almost dropped my phone at the miserable way she said my name. Add in the fact that this was the first time she ever called me, I thought Uncle Randy had died.
"Sasha?" I sat up, rubbed sleep out of my eyes as best I could. "What's going on? What's wrong?"
"Um..." she trailed off making me even more interested. "I've gotten into a little bit of trouble recently."
"What did you do?"
"I've been dating this guy, Elijah, for a few months and we had sex two weeks ago..."
Jesus, Joseph and Mary, I know exactly what station this train is stopping at.
"...before you say anything, we used a condom...for a little while."
"Sasha!"
"It didn't feel right so he took it off!" Sasha explained as if that made the situation better. "Anyways, I've been having morning sickness, plus I missed my period, so I went to the drugstore and got a pregnancy test."
She stopped there because she already knew my lightbulb was on.
I raked a hand through my hair, letting out a huge exhale. "Have you told Uncle Randy?"
"No." The answer was meek sounding.
"When do you plan on telling him?"
"When I'm dead."
I flopped back onto my pillows. My cousin, ladies and gentlemen.
"Don't you think he's going to suspect much earlier when your stomach grows to the size of a pumpkin?"
"I need your help," Sasha told me. "I need you to talk to him. You know you have a soft spot with Dad."
"What do you want me to tell him exactly?"
"Tell him my situation. If it comes from you, there's a less likely chance his head with pop off," Sasha informed.
Before I told her I'd do it, I thought back to Thanksgiving a couple of years ago. I was a freshman and had invited Adrian and his mom to dinner. It was afterwards and I had found Sasha in the kitchen getting leftovers.
She told me I wasn't her family. At least not the kind that bonds one together. We were connected by our bloodlines, that's it.
I told her she would need me one day, but she didn't want to believe it. I told her there would come a time when she would turn around and not find me there.
Even though I didn't want to, I put the phone back to my ear and said, "I can't, Sasha. I'm sorry."
"Why not?" she whines. "Come on, Bianca, we're family."
I fought the urge to laugh bitterly. "Not really." I hung up.
Despite refusing to sugar coat the situation with Uncle Randy, I was there in the hospital when she gave birth to Cameron.
I hit the like button underneath her picture.
As I make the chocolate chip cookies, I see Adrian kind of pacing around the kitchen. He keeps messing with something inside his pocket.
I want to leave him alone, but whatever's in his pocket is making me curious. "Adrian?" I have to say his name a few more times before he finally realizes I'm trying to get his attention. "You okay?"
"Of course," he answers a little too quickly. "Just thinking about something."
"Wanna tell me about it? Have you seen them?"
I'm referring to Dylan and Mason. I think I cried harder when Mason died than when Lisa did. He had become my brother over the years and the loss devastated both of us.
"Yeah, I did. In the car on the way over here," Adrian tells me. A wistful smile flickers across his face. "The way they acted...it's like they never left."

The next morning, I wake up at 5. I do this every morning, spending the two hours to take a nice bath and read before I make breakfast for Adrian and I. When I crawl out of bed, I pull the blankets up to his shoulders and make my way to the bathroom.
Something sparkles on my left hand under the bathroom lights as I scratch my head. I look down and see a diamond ring in the shape of a rose. I could've sworn it wasn't on my hand the previous day.
"Adrian?" I call out as I turn to the doorway. I stop short. He's down on one knee, his hair in this cute tousled way it always is when he first wakes up, his green eyes sleepy but happy. A lazy smile drips across his mouth.
"Hi," he says.
It takes a minute before I find my voice which comes out like a squeak when I finally do. "Hi."