Page 9 of Grave Love
The driveway is empty, and I sigh in relief. My grandmother—a woman I’ve called Mrs. Richmond since I can remember—owns a private elementary school, the only one on the beach. Her entire life is dedicated to helping children get what they deserve, and when she’s not managing the business side of the school, she’s meeting with teachers and parents over dinner and planning the next semester.
As long as it means I don’t have to see her yet.
I slip inside the house. Electricity strums through me, anticipating that sweet sleep. I shuffle toward my bedroom on autopilot. I pick up the pill bottle. It’s light.
I shake the bottle, searching for a rattle. It’s silent.
My legs bounce as I race to the bathroom. The medicine cabinet. I scour Mrs. Richmond’s other prescriptions, ones she never uses. My eyes gloss over the labels, hunting for anything like Xanax. The warnings catch my attention.May cause drowsiness and dizziness. Alcohol may make this worse. Use care when operating a vehicle, vessel, or dangerous machines.I select a random bottle, then shake it in my hand. I yank off the cap.
Every bottle is empty.
Did I use all of them?
No.She hid them from me.
Why would she do that?
I text her:Can you order more Xanax?
No,she responds immediately.It’s not due for a refill.
Emergency,I text back.Please, Mrs. Richmond.
It takes a minute this time. Then her response comes through:What could you possibly need it for now?
I slide down, slithering to the floor. Collapsing like a heap of dirty clothes until I’m completely flat against the cold tile.
There was a time when I used to want to please my grandmother. I didn’t understand why she wanted me to follow in her footsteps, but I took every class, did every extracurricular, even dated the man she wanted me to marry. Hid those dark desires deep inside of myself, only letting them out when I was alone and couldn’t hold them back anymore.
It took me a long time to realize that I would never measure up to what she wanted. And even then, I was in denial about it, until she finally forced me to drop out of the doctorate program just to silence the rumors about why my fiancé broke up with me.
The cool temperature of the tile calms me, but the tears still stream down the sides of my face as I stare up at the white ceiling. Why am I still here? Still alive, when my life has no purpose? I burn bodies; anyone could do that. I’m paying Mrs. Richmond back for the tuition; she doesn’t need the money though.
I think about death a lot. It even seems like a fantasy to disappear like my mother. How quiet it would be, the weight leaving my shoulders, the tension gone. It’s not that I want to die; it’s that I don’t want to wake up.
Defeat brews in my temples, a dull ache that builds until I can barely move without oscillating pain. I hug my arms around myself, keeping the screams inside. My mind jolts, the white noise—the air conditioning, the random creaking pipes, a neighbor driving by—reaches new heights as I try tothink.To figure out another way.
There are so many ways to die, but I always imagine someone else taking my life, watching me as I end it all. Maybe even fucking me as I die.
I judge our clients for needing that barrier between life and death, but I’m exactly the same. Even in my fantasies, I’m a coward. I can’t do it by myself.
When I look down, my hands are on the steering wheel. I don’t remember leaving the house or getting in the car. I don’t remember if Mrs. Richmond came home, but I can remember her words:Pull yourself together.The same advice I always give myself.
My mind leaves my body, my consciousness is unaware of what I’m doing. I’m living in a carcass of myself.
I drive. I pass the medical spa. A light shines in the window, and a few cars are parked in front of the building. I don’t stop.Eternal Hope—it’s a joke where I’m the punchline. I probably couldn’t get any medical assistance in death because I’m not terminally ill. Even in a medical setting, I’d have to fake paperwork to get what I want.
I’m not going there anyway.
The Souvenir Emporium parking lot across from the mortuary is barren. It must be after midnight by now. I park where I always do—on the side where they keep the garbage bins, a short distance from the margarita shack.
I know where I’m going.
Chapter5
Ren
Stars speckle the sky,the rumble of ocean waves like a slow thumping beat under my skin. The mind is a funny thing. You can be clinically unwell, but as long as you can function, no one gives a shit. It’s not like there’s anything wrong with that. It’s the easy choice; I understand that well. I coast in automatic patterns, and as I draw closer to the mortuary, I regain energy. I can come, then I can sleep. I can forget myself for a while.
