Suicidal

The night of

"Sam, phone for you honey," Mom struts through my door with phone in hand, the cord stretched out into a straight line as it's pulled from the kitchen to my room down the hall a bit. 

"Who is it?" I ask as I rise from my desk, leaving my pen flat on the paper. I was doodling robots, again. 

"Martie," she answers before wiping her hands on her apron, returning to her baking. It was Friday and Mom always makes apple pie for dessert on Fridays. It was Dad's favorite and we tried to make it a tradition when he was alive, but it wasn't until after he passed that the idea of it really stuck. 

"What's up?" I greet into the phone. 

"Meet me at the place." She hangs up. Startled, I return it to it's spot on the wall and return to my room to grab my jacket and my keys.

"I'll be back," I mutter as I rush out the back door passed Mom. 

"Before dinner Sam, or no pie." She holds up the wooden spoon as if it were a warning. 

"Sure, sure," I answer halfheartedly before the night air splashes a cool breeze against my cheeks. It was a particularly chilly summer night. Granted it could always just be me. My blood was running cold and panic raced through my veins, leaving an icy trail in their wake. 10 years I'd spoken to Martie over the phone and she's not hung up on me once, not even during arguments. She doesn't shut out her problems, then again she had asked me to meet her so it's not as if she were trying to avoid a response. 

Thoughts bounced around in my mind like tiny grenades. My tires crunched violently against the gravel as I sped away, towards the school and the field of cows that lay behind it. It took me only two minutes to get there, but it felt entirely too long. 

My stomach drops when I see her there, crouched against the brick, arms wrapped around her knees as she stares uneasily at the glowing orange evening sky. 

"What's wrong?" I ask immediately. She looks up at me as if she hadn't expected me to actually be there. It was almost offensive. 

"I just needed to see you," she answers, face unmoving. I couldn't read her for the life of me. 

"Why love?" I crouch next to her and wrap my arms around her tightly, protectively, granted I don't know what I'm protecting her from. I just know that I'd do anything to try to help her feel happy because it tears me apart to see her like this. It always has. Ever since we were children I'd wish I could take away her pain and make it my own. I'd taken to calling her the term love; I simply couldn't help myself, I had to remind her what she is to me. Even if she isn't mine. 

"I don't know." She looks as though she's thinking hard about something, eyebrows pulling together and pink soft lips pursed in concentration. She doesn't know that she licks them a lot when she speaks, I told her once and she got embarrassed. But it was decidedly one of my favorite things about her so I chose not to remind her again, for fear she'd train herself to stop. "I just know I needed to see someone." She looks up at me, black eyelashes perfectly framing her almond shaped eyes. "And you're my go-to someone." Her voice drops to a whisper and she turned again slowly, looking at nothing. I know she's not telling me everything, but I decide to let it go and just be there for her. I'll question her about it tomorrow, because honestly the curiosity is burning a hole in my gut. 

"I'm here now," I say softly, brushing a few strands of hair away from her cheek so that I could kiss it. She sighs and closes her eyes, leaning into my arms and resting her head on my neck. 

"I knew you'd come," she murmurs quietly. Something about the way she said it makes me feel like she wasn't really talking to me, more so herself. I don't know why she'd need reassurance at that, I'm always there for her when she wants me to be. 

"Duh," I chuckle, tightening my grip. I couldn't keep it in. "Please tell me what happened," I plead, nuzzling my nose in her hair. I cherish that familiar scent, the one that's always been the same even through all the trial and error of perfumes and lotions, dirt, grass, water- everything that affected Martie had no chance at changing her natural aroma of lavender and laundry cleaner, but then not so because it was unique in it's own right. A scent I couldn't name. I wished I could capture it in a jar and keep it under my pillow. 

We're silent for a couple of moments after that and I'm sure she won't answer my question. I finally decide it's time to move and I straighten out my legs, readjusting myself so now I only had one arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders. Sighing, I take her hand in mine and turn her palm upwards, tracing the curvature of her skin and the lines meant to tell her destiny. My fingers were light and feathery as I trailed them up her arm, back down again, and up in a circular pattern. She relaxes under my touch, closing her eyes, and gives a small sound of contentment at the pleasure. 

My mother used to do this to me as a child. It was the soothing motion along my skin that would get me to sleep for the first five years, and not a time without. My favorite part was when she would trace the upside of my hand, so I returned to Marties, memorizing her fingers with the tips of mine. They were so much softer. 

"You really love me, don't you," I hear her say. I can tell from the tone of her voice that she meant it not as a question but a statement. An answer to something she was thinking. 

"I really do," I tell her, touching her chin lightly with my index finger, turning her head towards me. She kisses me warmly, hands running through my hair and tugging gently at the ends when she pulls away. 

"I need you to help me with something," she whispers, lips barely touching. 

"Anything," I answer a little too quickly. I suppose my curiosity would get the best of me. 

"Remember that secret drawer you made for me?" she questions. Ah yes, the false bottom I put in one of the drawers of her writing desk. I'd gotten a diary for Christmas on her fourteenth year, and she wanted a place to hide it. We had just entered our first year of highschool and our lives were getting messier by the day. I thought she may need an outlet fit to contain everything she couldn't tell me, or Brody, or anyone else. 

"What about it?"

"I need another one." She shrugs. That's it, really? I thought her cat had died or something. She loves that thing.

"Uh, sure... I'll install it tomorrow. How's that sound?" I tighten my grip on her shoulders and hope that maybe this will make her happier. If all she needed as my help in creating a hiding place she could've just said so to begin with. 

"Thanks," she pecks my lips quickly, not giving me a chance to respond before pulling away and resuming her gaze elsewhere. 

"What are you trying to hide?" I inquire suspiciously. Another diary, perhaps? She grins softly, but it doesn't reach her eyes. 

"Don't worry about it."

I blame myself for letting her go home alone that night. I knew she was acting strange but I assumed it was just this drawer business. She must've known something was going to happen to her, it's too much of a coincidence to be unrelated. We parted ways the same that we did any other night; with a kiss and a wave as we walked back to our separate vehicles. We'd spent the next half hour simply enjoying each other's presence and the occasional small talk, but nothing else out of the ordinary occurred. I didn't know that was going to be the last time I'd ever seen her. 

I wish that our 'see you later' hug had lasted longer. I wish I had memorized every detail of the way she kissed me. Instead I'd just let it happen in the moment, not committing it to my memory enough to serve me in the future. I didn't do her justice those last few moments. They were too ordinary.