She says she's dying

She says she’s dying but I know she’s lying. She is too weak for that. She walks out to the kitchen, collapses, crawls back and it starts again. She breathes death, but she’s alive.

Sometimes the air she creates is so heavy that I almost want to help her. You’re lying, bitch, I think then. You just want compassion for not being able to live. You know what living is? It’s suffering. But it’s not dying. Stop fucking whining about it.

She sits in the sunshine, a tea in her hand a pale smile on her face. She says the weather is nice, maybe it would help… Maybe a lightning comes and strikes you. I know she’s lying, wanting all the attention to herself while spreading death everywhere. One day I found myself holding a knife to my wrist. What the fuck, I thought.

The next day she had another fit, collapsed on the tiles, gasping for breath, begging for help. And I thought, there she goes. There is no one to help you because you’re damn annoying. We don’t want to die. But for some reason I helped her up and gave her a glass of water and she smiled weakly and kissed me right there, I mean right there while I was squatting on the tiles, she’s not drinking the water but goes and kisses me. Do you want to die? she asked. Fucking not, I said. Then let me go. But you don’t want to die. Well not, but there is no other way for you to love me. I don’t love you. Yeah, that’s why. The air was smelling like death and she went back to the bed in her white nightgown, small dancing steps, breathing in some life and then falling into the bed sheet. You bitch. You’re lying.

Next day she’s on the floor again. I want to move out. She’s alive. I don’t want it, it just bothers me. I hid the knife somewhere, so no one would find it. I want a cig. A drink. Something. I go into her room – she’s sleeping like she’s dead – and I really want her dead, is there a gun somewhere? If she continues, she’ll kill me too. She’s like a ghost painted on the bed and I search for some pills, you know when you need the pills, I might take too many or you might take too many. Just damn annoying. She moves and speaks in a low voice, do you want to die? I want to yell at her but she’s just sleep talking, fucking sleep talking. Do you see me? I’m right here. Give me some pills. I want to die.

Next time she’s on the balcony, I’ll push her, I think. Even her breathing makes me shiver. Go die. Go die. Don’t get me involved. I’m not you.

Today I’m gonna die, she says. She stands before me, eyes sparkling – are you a zombie? I’m gonna die, do you want to die with me? Don’t screw with me. I’m angry. I should’ve taken the pills yesterday night. Now she is here, she’s white and gives off a smell so familiar, still whining, still dying. You’re alive, what are you talking about. See, you don’t love me so I have to die. Don’t blush, bitch. What do you think I’m gonna do with the corpse? You don’t love me, right? So I have to die. Well here, a gun. Do it alone, I don’t wanna see it. No? You don’t? But I want you to shoot. But no, give me a glass of water before. No, I want a kiss, rather. Don’t fuck with me. Hurry and make up your mind. This smell makes my whole body itch. Damn it. Here’s the water. But she kisses, rather. I’m holding out the water and she’s just kissing, giving that taste that makes my body itch, hey cut it out, I say cut it out, it’s itching like hell and I can’t take it anymore. But she clings to me, do you really not want to die? I wanted, hell yeah, because you made me. Oh but I just wanted to love you. Go die quickly before I shoot you. Don’t you love me? It’s still itching, damn. You really don’t love me, right? This itching, this smell, this taste makes me want to strangle you bitch. I love you, dammit, just go die quickly before I kill myself. Can’t we together…? You’re not dying at all. Stop lying. I’m dying for you, she smiles, she’s white and small and wants to kiss me more. Dammit, now the itching is never gonna stop. Drink your water and shoot already. You should. Okay, give it to me. Where should I pull it? Now you die, annoying bitch. Her hand is so fragile as she shows the trigger. See, you pull this. She stands before the window, you know the sunshine and her white gown and she asks, is this place okay. No, come closer. I don’t want to miss. Come closer. Is this okay? She stands before me and looks into my eyes. Yeah, like this. Now pull it. Any last words, bitch? Just pull it, you know the rest. Now you’re getting stuck-up, bitch, I think and then I pull it. The room goes bang and the sun is just shining and her gown is white on the tiles, the whole room is white and I feel like dying in this smell that makes me itch. And then she moves and moans. And I moan and the whole room is white and the water is, we’re all wet and she loves me and this is all to it.