CH 18: Suicide

[Warning: The further content contains some depiction of violence that might be triggering to some readers.]

RYAN

She was sitting all brighten up in a shade of red, eating her food as quietly as she can. After mom’s comment, she hasn’t even lifted up her eye up.

She looked so cute. If she is like this now; what would happen when she finally remembers it?

---

I was sitting on the rectangular table situated at the extreme corner of the Josefine & dines’ main dining hall drinking a cup of Chai-Tea latte, engrossed in deep thoughts when I heard my name being called. Liting up my head at the sight of a feminine voice, I immediately stood up to greet.

“Hey!!” She spoke.

“Evening” I motioned for us to sit, “So” I paused to articulate some words, as she patiently waited, “how is everything going?”.

A grin spread her lips apart, her face blossoming, “Have you traveled for four hours to ask me this? Mr. Scott”

“Ryan, called me Ryan” I beam, correcting, “how about we pick something to eat first?”

 “Woah, is it a bribe?” She chuckled, scanning through the menu.

 “Something like that” I leered.

 She ordered Italian spaghetti with meat sauce, and narrowed her gaze to me, “So..” She waited for me to ordered. I ordered water, a knowing smile spread her lips apart, but she refused to mention, instead spoke, “How’s your honeymoon- no-visit going on?”

It wasn’t a mistake, she had especially said the word honeymoon with emphasis, and I chuckled. “Nice, I’m seeing a new Rose every time,”

 “I knew it,” This time she chuckled with me, “So what do you want to ask about Rose? this time?”

“I’m sorry to have bothered you, Jane” I began.

 I had canceled all my plans just to meet her—to ask about that bastard Jack. If Rose couldn’t give me answers that I wanted Jane could and I was sure she (okay not fully sure but can definitely expect) would tell me like she told me about Rose’s likes and dislikes before the wedding (although I had seen the circumstances of ignoring some).

“Really?” She passed me a knowing smile.

 “Actually no,” we both chuckled.

From what I have observed after talking to Jane, was that there was a massive difference in both of the friends’ characters. Rose was closed and guarded while Jane was free and open. She was much open to possibilities and was quite optimistic about the future. It was veritably easy to talk to her.

I hadn’t really known her now unless she hasn’t barged into my room just before the wedding. She was wearing something pinkish but her intentions were clear, and she didn’t beat around the bush. She had just said a single sentence and that was all she needed to say, “If Rose ever cries because of you. You are Dead!”

Well, we became friends after I assured her that I only mean her good ( It wasn’t that easy) and somehow managed to know more about Rose.

I cleared my throat “So coming to the point” she nodded “I actually wanted to ask something about her past”

 “Past? Like what?” She asked, I could see the surprise in her eyes, with just the mention of it. There was definitely something.

“Do you know anything about a person named Jack?” I tried to be as calm as possible.

 “Jack?” Her face grew pale, and an underlying fear squeezed her eyes “How do you know about Jack?” she asked, interrogating me back.

“Let me tell you this way” I tangled my hands resting them on the table. I had to carefully integrate those words together “Rose, repeated his name while she was drunk. She even cried. So I was just wondering if you could tell me who he was”

 “Did she say that?” She gulped hard. She looked way more shocked than me.

I nodded, unable to confirm her fears verbally.

“So, she lied!!” She said as if talking to herself. Supporting her head with her hand on the table, she took a deep breath. She looked confused, almost angry, and nearly about to cry.

 “Could you please tell me what happened?” I requested. I was getting impatient, now. I couldn’t wait to beat that bastard.

 She finally lifted her head and the flashback began.

 “It was back then when we were in the sophomore year of our college, when Jack, Jack Kennedy came into our life.

He was a transferred student, came as a result of some student exchange program, and attended the same literature lecture as us. He wasn’t an A grade, but from what I remember was great at research work. It was after our exams when he finally asked Rose out on a date.

Though he didn’t have many friends; he said he was an introvert. He was quite good at getting his way, thus he managed to have a yes from Rose for the date.

It might have been very simple for Jack, but for Rose, it was going to be her first date, to which she had finally agreed to go on. I remember how happy she was. She was almost on a cloud nine with just the possibilities of how that night might turn out for her.”

Jane paused for a moment, took a sip of water, and went on.

“She was dressed in red; she had heard in facts that red was the color men find the most attractive on a woman.

At seven he pulled in his car outside our dorm and fetched in Rose. Everything was going fine, they drove to a dining place on the city outskirts, ordered some food, and then… things went wrong…”

Another sip of water, this time Jane's hands were almost shivering.

“He ordered some bear and got drunk, Rose recommended to drive instead he grabbed her hand, pushed her into the car, and started driving. It was in the middle of the drive she felt his hand on her thigh. She freaked, and she told him to stop. She wasn’t ready for it.

He stopped the car in the middle of nowhere, took out a knife, and tried getting his way out with her. She shouted for help. They almost fought, Rose struggled to get him away and in that attempt, his hand got injured. The car doors were locked— she had to make her way out by breaking through the window.

Luckily he was drunk enough to park his car near the highway and the patrolling police had heard Rose’s cries for help.

Jack was arrested and by the time I reached Rose, she was …she was ..in the ICU”

Her voice broke up and tears started building in her eyes but that was the least I was concerned about—Instead, I asked, “But why ICU?”

 “Cause she attempted a suicide”

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