Joe and Dianne: My Suicide Saviour - Part 2

Memories of a home

Joe's POV:

Dianne and I sat in a taxi, slowly making our way home through the morning traffic in central London. Her head gently rested on my left shoulder as she dozed off. Through all that we had been through, I couldn't help but feel nostalgic about the times we's had together. As I looked down at her delicate features I thought about the entirety of our relationship.

From the first moment my eyes met her beautiful face in that make up room almost one year ago. Her deep hazel eyes looked as if they had been smelted from the purest gold, or sampled from the sweetest honey. Her cute features that I admired so much. The dimple on the right hand side of her cheek that could be seen in her brightest moments. The small scar on top of her perfect lips that only highlighted all the strength and resilience this girl has inside of her.

It's fair to say that things between Dianne and I aren't normal. They've never been normal. And they probably never will be. But as we sat together, with blue skies and the sun beaming down on the streets of London that had once hosted so many of our storms, everything was almost perfect.

I looked out the window of the taxi, just as the driver pulled up outside the apartment. I paid the driver and opened the door. I grabbed Dianne in a bridal carry and slowly brought her into the building and into the lift. As I waited for the lift to raise us to the right floor, I suddenly became more than worried about going home. The last time I had been there, I had seen the worst sight of my life.

Suddenly the door's pinged open - the tired red head still fast asleep in my arms. My hand and right arm was killing me, I was in so much pain from holding her weight all this time. I bit the inside of my cheek and sucked the pain up, slowly bringing Dianne into the apartment, rushing her up the stairs, and allowing her to sleep comfortably in bed.

Narrator's POV:

As Joe quietly left Dianne alone in the room,shutting the door behind him, he walked down the stairs, sitting on the third step from the bottom. He looked out onto his apartment and thought about what had happened within these walls, that were beginning to haunt him.

He looked out into the living room were he felt himself fall in love with Dianne. When they danced together on his birthday - where they felt there entire lives swirl together - where Joe felt something he had never felt before.

He looked over towards the kitchen. The memories of he and Dianne cooking together, singing and being stupid together. He looked at those old, broken bar stools - thinking about the videos they'd filmed together - where Joe had given Dianne the necklace that to this day, she wore all the time - where Dianne had told Joe she was pregnant.

He looked behind him up the stairs - where he and Dianne had spent hundreds of nights curled up in a comfortable slumber, in each other's arms - Where Joe hid the engagement ring he was still planning to give to Dianne one day.

Millions of happy memories that Joe had were within these once cheery walls. But now the small details of his home were haunting him wherever he turned.

Back upstairs, the bedroom where Dianne had lost her baby - the bathroom that he'd been shot in. Downstairs the small crack in the wall by the door, where Joe'd head had been whacked when he was forced out of his home, away from Dianne.

The living room which was once filled with memories of laughter. Of dancing. Of getting drunk and smiling to their hearts content. Now filled with the image of Anthony ruining Joe's life, and ruining his brain barely 24 hours ago.

And the balcony...

What was once Joe's favourite place to sit in the sun and look at the London skyline, that he so often craved when he was homesick - the balcony where Joe had once planned on proposing to Evie on. The balcony that made him fall in love with this home and fall in love with London. The balcony that was now plagued with images of Dianne wanting to jump. Of hatred for those who had affected her over the years. The wood that was placed on the balcony to make it feel comforting and luxurious, that glowed in the sun and calmed Joe down - was now the wood which would most likely end up building Joe's coffin.

Joe's POV:

As I sat there on the steps of my once beloved home, I traced the scars on my arms.

The reminders.

The trenches of my own battlefield.

A battlefield in my mind - my body - my life.

A battlefield were so many fights have been fought. So many arguments have been attacked. So many hearts have been broken. So many lives have been lost.

It makes me wonder if I should call a truce. Or even...

Or even stop fighting...

Once,

and for all.