Seven years ago, Tristan Knight walked away from the love of his life, Serenity Harris, without a word or a backwards glance. No goodbye. No Dear John letter. No words of apologies or excuses. She'd woken up one morning to an empty bed, her body sor...
Warning: Sensitive subject matter ahead that may cause emotional triggers in some. Read with caution
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Two weeks later...
Tristan turned up the nearly empty sixteen ounce bottle of Jack Daniel's and drained the remains in one short gulp. He threw the bottle on the floor of his Mercedes-Benz GLC-Class and drunkenly glared at it, annoyed he hadn't broken it. He'd hoped the remnants of the shattered glass would bury themselves in his skin and dull the excruciating pain he felt in his heart. It was nothing doing. This was a pain that was never going away. And he knew it. It was a pain that had become unbearable to live with. It was a pain that had brought him to this current place of ill repute and self-loathing. He never thought he could hate himself more than he already did. He was wrong.
He was parked beneath an abandoned graffiti-heavy bridge that was located in one of the seediest neighborhoods in town. He was alone, having paid some of the local homeless that frequented the area a bundle of money to get lost and stay lost. On one hand he was proud to have done something noble with his pathetic life before it was all over; on the other, he hoped and prayed they would do something positive with the money and not squander away their lives the way he had.
Tristan glanced up at the 5x7 photo of Serenity that was sitting in a jewel-encrusted frame on his dashboard. A whimpering sob pushed past his throat as he touched his finger to it and stroked her face. It was a picture he had taken of her not long after they'd first started dating. He was into amateur photography back then and would sometimes spend hours taking pictures of her in the makeshift studio in his home. She had been a willing participant and enjoyed posing for him as much as he enjoyed taking them. In this particular photo she was wearing an off the shoulder Vera Wang party dress that he'd bought for her. In the photo she was leaning against one of the large floor to ceiling windows in his bedroom, gazing reflectively into the city as she held a cup of tea in her hand.
It was a candid photo, one taken without her knowledge. He had caught her in a natural moment and wanted to capture it. She looked as beautiful in the photo as she had to him on that day. She was as beautiful then as she was now. She had wanted him then. She didn't want him anymore. She had made that abundantly clear two weeks ago. The words she had spoken to him had shredded his heart and his insides to pieces. He had no one to blame but himself.
Tears shamelessly flowed down his cheeks as Tristan continued to gaze longingly at the photo. He had carried this photo around with him every day for the past seven years. He wanted it lying next to him when he took his last breath.
Tristan reached over and pulled down the glove compartment, grabbed the .45 caliber that was inside and slammed it shut. He nearly laughed out loud at the irony of it all. Almost a year ago, it was the gun he had aimed at Nyle's head while he was marrying Serenity. Now it was the gun he was going to use to kill himself.
He held the gun in his head and blindly stared down at it, the events, circumstances, and memories of the last seven years floating and swirling around in his head, tormenting and teasing him. The tears continued to heavily fall from his eyes and he irritably wiped them away, wishing he could do the same with the images haunting him at the moment.
She didn't want him anymore. She didn't love him anymore. She hated him. She loved Nyle. Nyle was the one she wanted now. Walking away from her seven years ago had done nothing but open the door to someone else and provide that asshole with the opportunity to take away everything they had shared together. If only she understood why. If only she'd known he hadn't had much of a choice. If only he'd told her the truth himself instead of leaving.
You idiot! Why didn't you tell her you were sick? Why didn't' you tell her you were dying?
Tristan wiped his nose with the back of his hand; then drug his hand down over his face, wiping away more tears. He jiggled the heavy metal in his other hand and glanced down at it again, hating there was no other way this could end. No matter. It wouldn't make much of a difference to her now. The way she'd talked to him he knew there was nothing he could say that would make it all better or go away. There was nothing he could do or say that would make her leave Nyle and come back to him. Not even the fact that he'd been facing death when he'd decided to leave her. She would be angry at him for not telling her. She may not be able to ever forgive him for that.
Tristan twisted his nose and looked out the front windshield. There was nothing but death around him in the metaphoric sense. There were no trees. No flowers. No grass. Nothing but dirt, litter, and grime. It was the perfect setting. It set the stage for what he was about to do. He was going to do to himself what God hadn't had the nerve to do seven years ago.
Without his loved ones knowing, he'd said his goodbyes. He'd called his Mother. Ricky. He'd even called his next door neighbor Ms. Rita, who was watching his three dogs for him. He'd told her he was going out of town for a while and didn't know when he was coming back. He'd given her the key to his house, told her where the dogs' food was and where she could find their medical records for future vet appointments. She was a sweet older lady, kind of like a mother figure to him. She'd been a listening ear the last six months, talking to her when he couldn't find the strength to talk to his own mother.
He'd bought the house six months ago in hopes of one day sharing it with Serenity when they reconciled. It was a house she would have liked. It included all the amenities they'd always talked about wanting, including the exact number of bedroom and bathrooms, down to the movie theater in the basement and pool in the back. He wanted to raise children with her in that house. But it wasn't to be now. In the note he told his mother what he wanted her to do with both the house and the dogs. He wanted her to keep it up and keep the dogs there; he didn't want them separated. He asked that Ricky come over daily to walk and feed them. That they still went to doggy day care three days a week. Aside from his Mom, Ms. Rita, and Ricky, those dogs were the only things he had in his life now that truly loved him. They were like his children. He hated to leave them but he knew they'd be taken care of.
The people he loved hadn't known he was telling them goodbye when he spoke with them this morning and he didn't want them to know. He wanted this moment to be quick, painless, and peaceful. This was a decision he'd spent the last two weeks pondering. Like seven years ago when he decided to leave, it wasn't a decision that had been easy to make. Finally he came to the somber conclusion that he would be better off dead than alive. Living without her was too painful. He couldn't do it anymore. All hope was gone. He had nothing to live for anymore.
He wrote a note that explained why he'd come to conclusion he had and why he was doing what he was doing. He also wrote in explicit detail about the letters, the safe deposit box, and the location of the bank that housed them. He left the note on the dining room table for his Mom or Ms. Rita to find. Nyle may have thrown away the letters from the first year but he hadn't gotten rid of the ones from the last six. Serenity would see them and hopefully she would read them. The sad thing was, it would be too late.
Training his eyes on the flawless picture of his beautiful Serenity, Tristan raised the gun to the side of his head and pointed it directly at his temple.
"I love you Serenity."
Taking a deep breath, Tristan closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.
