Page 28 of Dead Serious with Benefits
“Taken aback,” he corrected quickly, and I wondered if, like me, he wasn’t fond of being caught shaken or vulnerable. “To say her suicide put a damper on the rest of my night is putting it mildly.”
“You are aware that it’s normal to be bothered by the sudden, bloody death of a person? Even if it’s someone you didn’t know,” I told him, pulled by the idea that he was trying to rally himself back to his normal personality. Maybe it was on my mind because I did my own version when I was taken off guard. “Not that you have to share your feelings.”
He sighed. “I’m trying to understand what compelled her to do it at my party, of all places. The cleaning alone was significant, from what the crew told me. Blood is notoriously difficult to get out of grout.”
Which presented me with the difficulty of determining if he really was as dismissive of the woman’s fate as he made himself out to be, or if he was simply using his rich, playboy image to conceal a harder internal battle. I knew his behavior wasn’t exactly the nicest, and I wouldn’t blame anyone for taking offense at how he talked.
The thing was, I’d dealt with death, and those who were dealing with death to know the subject always brought out the strangest, and sometimes the worst in people. For all anyone knew, he had lost someone, or several someones, in his life, and his way of dealing with the pain was to treat it like ajoke, or at least something that wasn’t that important. It didn’t even require personal loss for people to get awkward and even offensive when it came to the subject of death.
I also needed to remember that I knew next to nothing about him, even on the surface, let alone what ran deeper. It was my rule of thumb that when dealing with someone new, it was best to view their behavior under the best lens possible, while keeping an eye out for proof that they were not a good person. Essentially, treat someone like they had good intentions unless they prove otherwise, but do not wear rose-tinted glasses; otherwise, all flags look red and could be easily dismissed as dangers.
“Alright,” he said after a pause. “I have to admit my comments are distasteful and don’t give gravity to the scope and depth of the tragedy. Honestly, this is the first time someone has done anything like that. The last death a few years ago was due to an overdose that no one caught until it was too late. It’s easy to dismiss someone who didn’t take the time to learn their limits. To have someone...take their own life is altogether bewildering. Not the act itself, just the timing and place.”
“Suicide is like any other manner of death; it happens when it happens.”
“I think several people out there would disagree with that assessment. You can easily argue and win with the idea that accidents or sickness have no rhyme or reason. Sure, they can be avoided by being diligent and disease through careful preparation. But you would be hard-pressed to argue against the idea of murder or suicide. There is a clear intention in those two.”
“You could, yes, but what else can be done about them? There are already systems to dissuade both from happening. It doesn’t stop people from murdering each other, and all the aid in the world isn’t always enough to save someone intent on takingtheir own life. There is tragedy and a strong human element in both, and while they are less random than disease or an accident, they are no less random or surprising to the world at large. And it’s usually a surprise to the murdered. Trying to find meaning in any death will bring no peace. Understanding might help in the recovery process, but no real answers can be given.”
“Ah, yes, the fundamental unknown, uncaring nature of the universe, and for some, God.”
“I’ll admit, most people bring up the subject of an uncaring universe or deity with a certain amount of bitterness that I don’t hear in your voice.”
He laughed. “I have plenty to be bitter about, Arlo. Whether or not God or the universe cares about me is not one of them. I’m perfectly fine with the idea.”
“Because the absence of a sentient will, guiding or punishing us, means we are wholly responsible for our own behavior?”
“I...yes, actually,” he said, and it was the first time I’d heard him surprised. “Exactly right. Are you guessing where I was going with that, or were you speaking from knowledge, saying what you believed?”
“I am,” I admitted. “However, I’m still unsure if I believe that because it’s simply the inevitable conclusion, or because I need to believe it.”
“Now, why would someoneneedto believe in self-actualization and realization?”
“It’s no different than people who need to believe in a deity or an afterlife. Or those who need to believe that their hands are guided by fate, through tarot cards or crystal balls. At the end of the day, every person needs something that brings them comfort. Perhaps I believe in free will and a lack of fate because believing in it would mean I was destined for the life I led.”
“Worried about bitterness?”
“Perhaps. Or worried that if there is some destiny, I’m missing it. I don’t know what bothers me the most about fate and destiny, that I’m finding a way to fail to live up to that potential, or that I’m perpetually at the mercy of a force I can neither persuade nor understand.”
“I would have to say the second,” he said with a chuckle. “Then again, it wouldn’t take a head doctor to figure out why someone like me might be uncomfortable with a powerful figure in control of my life.”
“I’m sure one could flip through Freud for a few chapters to figure that out.”
“Ugh, that coked-up sex fiend?”
“Like calls to like? Or is this disliking what one sees in the mirror?”
There was a pause, and then he let out a bark of laughter. “My oh my, wasn’t that deliciously sassy? Not that I disagree, of course. It is ironic, hearing me complain about a man too coked-up to think properly when our first meeting was with street pharmaceuticals running through my veins.”
“Surely someone with your wealth and connections could do better than street-grade drugs?”
There was a shuffling from his end, and his voice became a little distant, with an echoing quality. “For such an upstanding, thoughtful person, you don’t seem concerned with how I handle my personal life.”
“I have no problem with drugs or drug use,” I said with a shrug he couldn’t see. “Curiosity will lead people down all sorts of paths, and altering our perceptions and how our minds perceive things has been around for generations.”
“And addicts?”
“I feel pity for them. They race toward death, using drugs to block out the harshness of life for the trip there. It’s hardly worth condemning; we all have ways of handling the trials of living.”
