Ishaku has always been against spending one-third of one's life sleeping. But in the past three days, even the 6 hours he finds acceptable (overlook that this equals one-fourth of a day, and by extension, a life span spent asleep) have eluded him.
He has thought more about Lola in those 72 hours than he's ever done before.
He owed her an apology, at the least. He'd been a heel the last time they met. Even though she'd said yes to another, he still needed to mend fences with her.
He wanted to call then decided against it. She came to see him that time, he would return the courtesy.
Mum, Dad, I am sorry that I am taking this step but I cannot continue like this.
This cycle of break up and bounce back is exhausting. I have no strength left to get back on.
I love you.
Take care of you.
Lola signed the note. And left it on the table. Then she reached for a bottle of pills.
Lola had no idea what death was supposed to be like. Did it come with visions or reminiscence? Was it a struggle or peaceful?
What she experienced was a heavy, cloying, darkness that closed in on her from every side and sucked air out of the room. On any other day, this would be a prelude to a nightmare. She would fight it. Today, she welcomed it.
A thought flashed through: "But what is on the other side?" Lola entertained it. But not for long. It came too late, and she was too weak.
From far away, she heard knocking on the door and her name being called. She did not want to be disturbed. She closed her eyes.
They (Ishaku and a neighbour) forced the door open.
The scene in the bedroom was all shades of wrong: a bottle of valium, a note... Both guys sprinted to Lola.
She had no pulse.
Photo credit:dlepos
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