“Maybe it’s been crashing down around us the whole time.”
I wanted to tell her to save her breath. It was nothing new to hear Lana talking so cryptically; she had been doing that for weeks. Yet her words were starting to eat at my conscience, making me paranoid and sending a cold feeling up and down my spine.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said.
Lana shrugged, but didn’t avert her eyes. She looked me straight in the face. “I just think that the truth is finally catching up to you, to the both of us, and that’s what I wanted to avoid. The very thing I wished would never happen… did. People are being crushed because of my dad.”
When she finished talking the apartment was so quiet, you could have heard a pin drop.
We didn’t say anything. I had nothing but the sound of her words echoing in my head.
I got up and left the room.
We avoided each other the rest of the day.
I woke up to the sound of a crash.
I sat up instantly, feeling like I was being ripped out of a dream. It took me a while to come back to reality and when I did, I looked over at the clock. It was almost six in the morning.
The disorientation wouldn’t leave. I had to stop my body from lurching forward. I felt almost numb, yet there was an organ inside of me, about the size of my fist, that wouldn’t stop frantically beating. I placed my palm over my heart and took a few deep breaths. After a few minutes, my heart rate still wouldn’t go back to normal and I gave up. I got out of bed. My legs were shaking as I opened my door and peeked my head into the dark hallway. Light seeped out from under the bathroom door. I called out Lana’s name. My voice was crystal clear and steady, but she never answered me.
I finally walked across the hall. The apartment was so deadly quiet. I could hear everything: the blood roaring through my veins, my labored breathing, and my footsteps against the carpeted floor.
When I reached the door I went to knock, but hesitated for a millisecond. There was the smallest part of me that was scared and urgently told me not to go in.
I knocked lightly. My eyes closed when there was no response.
“Lana?” I said.
On the other side I heard drawers opening and shutting and the sound of sniffling.
“Lana, I’m coming in,” I said as I opened the door.
I opened the door. I was only one step forward when I stopped short. Lana was staring at her reflection with a knife pressed against her left wrist.
I approached very carefully and said her name. She didn’t look at me.
“What are you doing?” I said.
She blinked before she resumed staring at herself. Turning her head this way and that, looking over her features with a critical eye.
“My skin is perfect,” she said and grazed the blade against her wrist. Her hand started to shake. I sucked in a sharp breath. “But you know what?” She tilted her head to the side and stared at me through the mirror. I stared back. Lana may think she’s hopeless, but I see a person there. One that’s had to fight to survive her entire life. If she made it past this hurdle in her life she would be unstoppable.
“Inside I have so much pain,” she said. “It just keeps multiplying.”
“And you think cutting yourself will fix that?”
“Yes.”
I tried to reason with her. I told her we could go somewhere—anywhere—that would make her feel better. Was she hungry?
Lana said no to all the above.
I tried again. “What about something to make you sleep? You’ll take it, fall asleep, and tomorrow will be a better day. You’ll be able to think everything through!”
Lana looked at me, still through the mirror, like I was insane. “I don’t need anything to make me sleep. I know how to make my pain disappear.” Lana held up the knife. The blade glinted in the light and my breath became stuck in my throat.
“Just hand the knife to me,” I pleaded.
But Lana wasn’t with me anymore. I could see in her eyes that she was stuck in the recesses of her memory. Drifting further and further away from reality.
“You don’t get it,” Lana said.
“Explain it to me.” I took another step into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. We were the only two people in the apartment, but I still felt the need to close the door. It felt like I was closing the world off from this extremely private conversation. “Make me understand.”
She looked at me like I was the crazy one. “This,” she waved the knife in the air, “is the only way to get the pain out of me.”
“No, it’s not,” I said quickly.
The knife went back to her wrist and even though she had a white knuckled grip on the metal, her fingers shook uncontrollably. I was waiting for that perfect moment to lunge forward and grab it from her without either of us getting hurt.
“Lana, if you just—”
“Will you let me talk?” she shouted.
I flattened myself against the door. I’d never heard her raise her voice to anyone, especially me.
I held my hands up in surrender. “Yeah. Yeah. You can talk. The floor is yours.”
She was breathing hard, staring down at her wrist like it was speaking to her.
“Once…” Lana started out slowly. “When I was twelve, my grandma had a lady over from her church. They were sitting in my grandma’s living room and I was eavesdropping outside the door. My grandma asked her how she was. The lady, who was in her mid-thirties, had a small packet of tissues on her lap. She had just lost her baby at 20 weeks. She said, ‘He’s still in here.’ She rubbed her stomach. ‘Even though he’s gone, I feel him every day.’ She went on to tell my grandma that sometimes she lifts her shirt up expecting to see a swollen stomach and when she sees nothing there, she just wants to die. My grandma told her not to think like that, said suicide was a sin.”
Lana continued to stare down at the knife. She had a laser sharp intensity on the knife. I finally took a step forward, my hand outstretched in front of me.
“But you know what that woman said? She said, ‘Is suicide a sin? I know my son’s safe now. Safe and happy. I just want to be with him. I want death.’”
“At first I thought, who wants death?” Lana looked at me, really looked at me, past my outstretched hand and cautious gaze. She laughed breathlessly as she said: “To me, death was terrifying. Most people fight it off for as long as they can. Yet this woman craved it. But then I thought of something. Maybe this lady understood something that we all will lose later on. When the tears and anger aren’t enough, maybe dying is the only guaranteed way to end your pain.”
Lana had tears in her eyes.
“I used to think that the abuse and humiliation would stop. But now I realize that it never will. So why am I putting myself through this pain? Why not end it all?”
Tears dropped onto her wrist. There was a small second where the two of us both looked down at that perfect wrist, only marred by a single teardrop.
Lana pressed down. The skin around the blade turned white. I lurched forward. It was too late. She dragged the blade across her wrist and then the other.
It took her only two seconds to cut open both wrists. There wasn’t even a drop of blood on the blade.
The knife dropped to the floor. Lana gasped and stared at me. I expected to see terror in her eyes over what she had done, but she looked happy, almost relieved.
She smiled and gazed down at the blood that was slowly but steadily starting to rise to the surface and trickle down her hands, falling onto the floor. They looked like colored teardrops.
“Holy shit,” I breathed. I stared between her and the blood. I felt numb.