Gia Raquel

Ophelia woke up with a jolt. When she looked at her clock, it read, 12:30 P.M.

It didn’t feel as though half the day was gone. It never really did. It was always this repetitive loop she couldn’t seem to escape.

But today would be different. This was the day she was going to kill herself.

She threw on jeans and a t-shirt and looked in the mirror. It took her a moment to realize it was her reflection staring back: wild, black curls framed her long, pale face. Her gray eyes were haunted by dark circles. She used to be so much more than who she was now. She used to be a girl who loved to read and paint and laugh. She used to be happier.

She wasn’t that person anymore.

 

“Afternoon, sweetheart,” her mother said as Ophelia walked in the kitchen.

“Afternoon.”

“I made chicken and rice. Your favorite.”

“Thanks,” she replied and took a seat.

She didn’t bother looking at the empty chair at the other side of the kitchen table. She could still picture him sitting there in the midst of his endless laughter. Her father was a loud man.

“Straighten your back,” her mother said as she set down her plate. “No one likes a girl with bad posture.”

Ophelia looked down at her plate and saw two familiar pills in the corner. Seeing them every day was a reminder of how much independence she had lost.

“Have any plans for today?” her mother asked.

“Yeah, I’m hanging out with Jane after work.”

“That’s sweet. You should invite her to dinner one of these nights.”

It’s a shame she doesn’t exist, Ophelia thought.

She no longer felt bad for lying to her mother about Jane. If it meant the end of her mother’s constant worrying, then it was well worth it.

“I’ll ask,” Ophelia said. “I know she’s going on a trip in a few days to visit some old friends.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun. Maybe you two could take a trip somewhere.”

“Yeah.”

Her words hung in the air. Ophelia swallowed her pills as her mother ate quietly.

“I was talking to Carol,” her mother said. “You know, the one from down the street?”

Ophelia nodded, not really paying attention.

“Her brother is visiting for two weeks. He’s around your age. You two should meet up.”

It was obvious Ophelia’s love life was a large concern to her mother. She was twenty-four, but she had no intention of involving herself with men. They were merely a distraction.

“He sounds wonderful,” her mother said.

Ophelia placed her dish in the sink, then grabbed her leather jacket and handbag. She looked around her house, taking in everything for the last time. It seemed bare somehow. Most of her family photos had been put away. They had just been reminders of what had happened.

She walked up to a picture of herself taken on her fifth birthday. She wore a lopsided grin, her face covered in vanilla cake and blue icing. The spark of happiness was clearly evident in her eyes. It had been so long since she possessed that sense of liveliness.

“Bye, Mom. Love you.”

Her mother seemed stunned by her words, not used to hearing them. A part of Ophelia felt guilty, knowing she didn’t really mean what she said.

“Bye, sweetheart. Have fun at work.”

Ophelia left her house convinced she wouldn’t ever see it again.

At first she thought she was cowardly for never going all the way. Then again, she hadn’t exactly planned it all out. She wanted to die; that was her plan. She didn’t need anymore convincing in order to jump off that bridge. There were just so many obstacles to get there.

At first, it was her friends. They would hang out with her, never understanding her depression or anxiety, but they stayed with her nonetheless.

Then, it was her mother. She constantly tried to encourage Ophelia to live a happy life. She did everything she could think of to make her feel as though she were normal. In the beginning, Ophelia was grateful. But as time had passed, she realized why her mother was trying so hard. Because she felt responsible, she felt guilty. It was because of this realization that she no longer felt bad for not actually loving her mother anymore.

But what truly kept her alive for so long was her will. Since she was small, she had a fire in her that no one could burn out. There was this hope that drove her and kept her believing life got better.

But, it didn’t.

 

Just one more day, she would tell herself.

It became a chant in her head. It kept her alive and sane, believing this tragedy of a life would stop suffocating her. The day she stopped thinking it was the day she would be so tempted to finally kill herself. Today was that day.

There were so many ways to go. Drowning in the tub. Electrocution. Drinking bleach. But none of them seemed right. She wanted to die in a way that would give herself closure. And last night, she finally decided how.

As she walked, she passed by a public park, remembering how her father would take her there whenever she was upset. For some reason, it calmed her. But as she got closer, she could feel her heart rise in her throat.

It was him, pushing a little girl on the swings. She remembered how tall he was, how she would always have to stand on the bed just to reach him. His black hair wore thin on the top of his head and his hazel eyes seemed lighter somehow and that laugh. How could she forget it? It was like a clap of thunder in her ears.

Suddenly, he turned and looked at her. He smiled and waved her over. The little girl’s black curls bounced as she went up and down. She laughed, seemingly oblivious to the monster behind her.

Ophelia squirmed and quickened her pace, passing the park with only one look back. But when she did, he was gone.

She felt a pain in her stomach, falling down to between her legs. It nauseated her so much she had to sit on a bus stop bench.

It’s not really him. He can’t hurt you, she thought.

But she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop the fear slowly consuming her sanity.

 

She decided she wouldn’t go to work today. Instead, she walked along the familiar streets of Brooklyn. She could practically name every homeless person sitting on the sidewalks. It was sad, but Ophelia had a hard time deciphering what sad meant anymore. Everything in her life felt unattached, like nothing was real.

One homeless man caught her eye. He was slumped against a corner. His dirty blonde hair was long, almost covering up his beard. He wore a stained, tattered suit, but what made him stand out was the small cardboard sign he held with big block letters: WOULD YOU CARE IF I DIED TODAY?

Ophelia gave him a twenty-dollar bill, knowing he would have a better use for it.

“Why?” he asked, confused.

She was surprised by his reaction.

“Why what?”

“Why’d you give me money?”

“Because you’re homeless?”

“Please, just take it back.”

“Buy yourself something to eat.”

“Give it to someone you care about.”

“How about a new tie?”

He looked down at his worn and faded tie and said, “You don’t like my tie?”

She gave him an odd look, not sure of how to respond.

“It’s a nice color,” she said.

“What’s your name?”

“Ophelia.”

“Different. Nice. I’m…Well I don’t think it’s very important.”

“I think it’s important.”

Ophelia took a seat beside him. The brick wall behind them was rough and dirty.

He gave her a sad look and replied, “Anthony. I was called Anthony.”

“Was?”

“No point in being called Anthony if I’m not that man anymore.”

“Then who are you now?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Not anymore.”

They sat side by side, contemplating the continuation of their conversation. Ophelia felt intrigued by Anthony. She wanted to know him.

“What’s with your sign?”

“Why do you care?”

“Well everyone deserves-”

She cut herself short. It felt so automatic to say everyone deserves a chance to live. But she found that so untrue about herself.

She never finished her sentence. She couldn’t even look at him.

“You know that’s a lie,” he said.

She sighed, rubbing her eyes with her fists. “I know,” she whispered. “Would you care if I died?”

“No.”

Ophelia looked at him.

“I don’t know you,” he said.

“Do you want to die?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then why don’t you just do it?”

“For conversations like this,” he said.

“You live for random strangers to come up to you?”

“It’s quite a life.”

They sat in silence, watching cars and pedestrians walk by. The city was loud enough without their voices to add to it.

“I’m going to kill myself today,” Ophelia said.

Anthony looked at her with his sad eyes.

“You wouldn’t be the first to tell me that,” he said.

She bit her lip hard, regretting her words. It wasn’t right to tell him. It wasn’t fair to him.

“Do you want me to do something about it?”

“What?”

“Do you want me to stop you?”

“No. No, no. I want this. The last thing I want is to be stopped.”

“Okay.”

“I haven’t felt anything in such a long time. And when I do, God, I just want to go numb. This is my chance. I’m going to be free.”

“Dying doesn’t solve anything,” he said. “It’s easy to die. It’s easy to close up and not feel a damn thing. But where would we be? What’s the point of living if you can’t feel?”

He gave her a solemn look as she got up.

“I wish I knew who you were, Ophelia.”

“I wish I could remember.”

“Fight for your freedom,” he said. “If it makes you happy, fight for it.”

“Goodbye, Anthony.”

Ophelia wrapped her jacket closer to her body, feeling as though she had just been given something. She looked up at the sky and saw how it was almost sunset. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Something inside of her had settled. There was a shift within her that she couldn’t explain, but it felt beautiful.

She walked by a quaint café, putting her in the mood for a coffee. But as she walked by the tables and chairs sitting outside, she saw his face again.

Her father was reading the paper, sipping on a cup of hot coffee. He looked up at her and nodded toward the empty seat across the table.

“Care to join me?”

Ophelia was frozen with fear. She could feel a scream ripping its way through her throat, but it wouldn’t come out. Her limbs trembled and her vision became spotty.

She was stuck in place, only wishing to run away from the man in front of her. He couldn’t be here. He couldn’t.

With a sense of urgency and panic, Ophelia ran across the street, dropping her cell phone in the process. She didn’t even spare it a glance.

The Brooklyn Bridge sat right in front of her, the sun slowly setting right behind it. It was still a bit bright out, but it wouldn’t be for long. She started to briskly walk on its sidewalk. She balled her hands into fists and couldn’t seem to swallow. Everything around her felt fake. The world was drowning in colors and screams, but she continued her way past the few pedestrians. A soft breeze brushed by her, creating goose bumps along her arms.

It had taken so many times to get to this moment. But she was here.

Every time she blinked, she saw Anthony’s face. She could practically hear his voice thumping through her head.

Dying doesn’t solve anything.

She stopped when she had gotten about halfway across the bridge. She could jump from here. She leaned against the railing and watched the waves roll below her.

Like a ghost in her head, Anthony’s voice followed her. She cringed, trying to shake him away from her thoughts.

There is so much to do in this world. So much to see, people to meet. You don’t just give up when you can’t find your reasons to live. You search for them, you fight for them. Find those reasons.

Anthony hadn’t said those words. She didn’t know where they’d come from. They were ghosts possessing his voice, tricking her into believing it was him. In a way, she felt betrayed.

“What are you doing?”

Ophelia turned her head so quickly that her hair hit her face.

Her hands trembled on the cold, metal railing. Her palms immediately became sweaty and the smell of warm copper filled her nose. It was him, standing a few feet away, looking upset.

This can’t be happening. This isn’t real.

Her eyes welled up with tears. She wanted to escape. How could she now?

 

“Get away from me. Don’t take another step closer!”

Her father looked hurt, but didn’t listen. He stopped right in front of her, towering over her like she was still a helpless child.

“I really doubt you really want that, sweetheart.” His voice was gruff, his breath smelled like cigarette smoke. He hadn’t changed at all and that terrified her.

“You’re dead,” she said. “You overdosed on your meds. I saw your lifeless body.”

She couldn’t even bring her head up to meet his eyes. After all those years of knowing he was lying in that coffin, at least a part of her felt safe. But this…this was a new hell in itself.

Ophelia felt a wave of disgust pass through her, knowing he overdosed on the same medication she currently took. Depression and anxiety were in their genes, making it hard to ignore their ever-looming presence. For years it terrified her how similar she was to him. That was the last thing she wanted. But every time she saw her pills, she couldn’t help but feel a little more like him.

“What do you mean I have to go? I know you haven’t been visiting me. When was the last time you paid your respects?” her father asked.

“You’re dead now. Leave me alone,” she said slowly. She was full of uncertainty from talking back to this man, but she wouldn’t let him have this. This was the one moment she had to herself. This was all hers.

“Ophelia, that’s no way to talk to your father.” he replied sternly. She winced at his tone.

“I don’t want to talk to you! I don’t want to see you! For Christ’s sake leave!”

“I can’t leave you…Not yet.”

“Why not?” She laughed humorlessly. “Why can’t you just give me some peace already? I am who I am because of you. You are the reason why I want to die.”

“You have the responsibility to live your life.”

“How dare you say that to me. After what you put me through? This is my right. This is the only thing I have left because of you.” Ophelia had grown livid to a point where her entire body jolted with adrenaline. “I can’t sleep for days on end. I have panic attacks for hours. I can’t get any of those images out of my mind. I can’t even smile without knowing it’s bullshit. You ruined me! I can hardly live with myself because I will always be a constant reminder of you!”

“You’re my little girl.” He attempted to reach out and touch her, but she stepped back started her small climb over the railing of the bridge.

Ophelia hung on, craning her neck away from her father.

“Ophelia, baby, please look at me.”

She turned and looked straight ahead, keeping her expression hard as stone.

“You molested you’re own daughter. You fucking called me a liar in front of our entire family and they believed you. My death is on your hands. I will never forgive you.”

With a small and shaky breath quickly after those words, she let go of the railing. For a moment, it felt as though she was flying. She was free.

“I never wanted your forgiveness, Ophelia,” he said. “I just wanted to be inside of you.”