The Night He Didn’t Die
“Ok don’t move, I’m sending someone, OK?”, I hung up, my heart pounding against my chest. I had less than one hour left till my shift ended, enough time to call a cab to pick him up and drive him to my place.
My nervous system was all over the place as I was trying to do damage control, so that was the only solution I’d come up with, if there even was any to be found.
Jeff had called to let me know that he’d decided life wasn’t worth living and that he’d just injected a double dose of heroin in his veins. I didn’t understand what was going on. I just knew I had to do something.
He was a lost soul. His father had been sick with cancer a few years before and he’d spiralled down, losing any bearing he had. Now that he was the man of the family, it was too much responsibility when grief had taken over every function of his being.
Sadly, in his attempt to destroy the pain, he was destroying himself as well.
He’d left his job, started taking drugs, taken another job, then another, moved out of his place, tried to seek refuge on people’s couches — or vaginas — but nothing worked.
A few months ago, he’d met this Italian woman, Barbara and her friend, and they’d spent the night together. When they left, the two kept in touch, until this one evening where she told him she was done living. Must be contagious because suddenly he didn’t want to live anymore either.
Hands shaking, I dialled my trusted taxi driver’s number. This had to work. When Jeff called, he was roaming around aimlessly, waiting for… death? Or maybe a miracle? I’d made him promise to stop and wait by the cafe.
I asked the taxi to pick him up there and drive him to my place. We’d probably get there at the same time. But still, there was one hour to go till then. Who knows what could happen by then? What crazy idea could shake up his high mind?
I got home, and sat down on the porch steps, praying that the taxi would pull up soon. The wait seemed endless.
Jeff had a way of making me feel safe even when everything around me was chaos. But he also had a way of making me feel completely upside down when everything around me was quiet and calm.
Finally, I saw headlights in a distance, and seconds later, there he was, getting out of the taxi. There wasn’t much that I could do, but I felt relieved to have him there.
He sat down on the porch steps next to me. He seemed calm — maybe he was just numb, resigned to die. I wasn’t sure how to feel, but somewhere inside of me, I thought we’d actually all be better off if he did.
Jeff was the greatest manipulator I’d ever been with. A pervert narcissistic human being who was completely disconnected from reality, and only saw the world in terms of how it could serve him.
He’d been wreaking havoc in my life, taking me on an emotional roller-coaster ride for years, and I’d gotten to the point where I thought that even though grieving him once and for all would be hard, it would probably be the best for me. Or both of us, actually.
Nobody had ever made me feel as special as he did. And nobody had ever hurt me the way that he did.
I was young then, too young to understand what was going on, but wise enough to know I needed him out of my life: People who love you don’t purposely hurt you.
But I was too weak to resist, and always ended up taking him back. I couldn’t help it. He always found a way to get to me. I knew his place was out of my life, but I struggled to keep him there. The thing is, sometimes it takes years between the moment you know someone belongs out of your life and the moment you actually remove them from it.
Our relationship was toxic. Toxic and addictive. That’s the thing with toxic relationships. When things were good, they were great. But that never lasted. Every time I thought I was standing strong on my feet, I got kicked to the ground.
Jeff seemed to find some sick pleasure in destabilising me. He couldn’t stand peace and serenity. It’s almost as if he needed things to be fucked up. He couldn’t stand the world to be happy, he needed. to. destroy — things, people, himself, ANYTHING.
And that day was one of those days where I secretly hoped life would take him away from me.
It didn’t. Not that night.
I ended up moving 10,000 km away a few months later.
I have no idea whether he’s still alive, but I’m glad he’s not part of my life anymore.
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