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2:00, April 20th
Zanka sat up in his bed, panting and sweating. He just woke up from another one of those horrible, repeating nightmares.
Nightmares about him.
About Jabber.
As the thoughts of “what’d I do” briefly passed his mind, tears began to well up in his eyes, pouring down his cheeks. He began to sob, holding his face in his hands.
…
The nightmare was tormenting him. It was all reliving the night he left. The night everything changed.
18:30, December 20th.
It had been a long, cold day for Jabber and Zanka. The couple had gone out for a bit to run errands in the cold weather. Normal things, groceries, laundry, picking up the mail, and whatnot.
Yet, when they returned to zankas apartment, Jabber didn’t say a word. He simply went into their room and started grabbing his things.
Zanka stood in the doorway, confused. “Jab?” He mumbled. “Whaddya doin?”
Jabber stayed silent, throwing his things into a bag.
“Are you going somewhere?”
…
Zanka was getting nervous. He moved closer and reached for Jabbers shoulder.
“Jab, did I do somethi—?”
Slap.
Jabber backhanded Zanka across the face.
“Get out. Go do something else. Leave me alone. I don’t wanna be here anymore.” Jabber said, his tone dripping with anger.
Zanka just stared at him. Was it something he said or did? Jabber was pretty easy to set off, but they always had good communication with each other. This wasn’t like Jabber.
What Zanka really wanted to do was stand there and try to talk to Jabber, but he quickly felt tears fill his eyes as he brought a hand up to his pink, stinging cheek. Jabbers’ rings had made the hit even worse.
Without a word, zanka ran and locked himself in their bathroom, full of confusion and despair as he stared at himself in the mirror. He sank down against the wall, and heard jabber's footsteps heading to the door.
Zanka quickly realized he was going to leave, so he got up and forced himself to leave the bathroom—against his better judgement to just leave the other man alone. He ran to jabber, grabbing his arm.
“Please, Jabber. Don’t leave. I don’t think I can live without you.” Zankas voice was a broken plea, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Jabbers next words would haunt Zanka for the next coming months.
…
“Then die.”
The two stared at eachother for about 30 seconds, before Jabber yanked away and walked out the door.
As the door slammed shut, zanka dropped to the floor.
“What’d I do?..”
…”Was it something I said?..”
…
“Was he being serious? Does he want me dead?”
“Should I just kill myself?”
All these thoughts ran through his head faster than he could comprehend, and he ended up vomiting on the floor in front of him.
…
After he got up, he immediately texted jabber. Over and over. Things like “did I do something?” and “please come back”.
He was left on read.
…
He didn’t get much sleep that night. He cried until he passed out while hugging a pillow that smelled like Jabber, pretending it was him.
…
2:05, April 20th
Jabber was still hyperventilating in his bed. Alone. Alone in his dark bedroom. The only light was the moon peering in through the cracks in his shutters.
His cheeks were still wet with salty tears. Tears of longing—longing for the one person that made him feel like something. Like someone.
…
About a month ago, he got a text from an unknown number. They claimed to be one of jabbers friends, telling Zanka that Jabber had left because he “found someone better”.
He couldn’t help but constantly look back at that message, wondering who that person was.
“I could probably do better than them,” he’d think from time to time—even though he knew deep down his confidence was really just envy that he was too scared to admit to.
16:00, April 25th.
Zanka sat on the balcony of his apartment, lighting a cigarette. He never smoked—not unless he was missing him.
Enjin always told him that smoking was bad for him—yet the man smoked about a million packs a day, so he never truly listened. It was always “Okay,” and “I’ll quit after this one”. But alas, his words meant nothing when his actions never reflected them.
He stared off at the setting sun, smoke dispensing into the air with every breath he took. Maybe someday Jabber would come back. Maybe someday they’d get married and move in together.
…
That’s delusional to think.
Zankas a complete waste of space, a sad excuse for a human.
At this point, he should just—
He should just…
Just…
…
He dropped the cigarette and went inside, into his bathroom. He left the door cracked open.
He grabbed a sharp object—he didn’t even really know what it was, a razor blade maybe? He didn’t care. He just needed to do this, with anything he could.
He sat in the tub, and began to reminisce as he ran the blade over his skin repeatedly, causing the wounds to grow deeper with every swipe.
Until, he bled out.
He sat there for about 5 minutes, the bathtub filling with his crimson blood.
In his final breaths, as he closed his eyes, he thought of the last words Jabber spoke to him.
…
“Then die.”
…
And die he did.
…
21:00, April 25th.
Jabber had been thinking of zanka too much recently. He had been regretting the last time they spoke—all the selfish decisions he had made and whatnot.
Then a thought came up.
Why not visit him, and apologize?
…
The drive to Zanka's apartment was long. After the breakup, Jabber was forced to move into a small studio apartment across town. It was late, and halfway through Jabber stopped to question if he should just turn around and head over tomorrow.
I mean, he was showing up unannounced and all. Maybe he should text Zanka. Or call him. Or something.
Nah.
He put his foot back on the gas pedal and kept going.
…
22:00
Jabber went up to his apartment door, knocking. When his knuckle met the wood, the door creaked open. Jabber was a bit surprised, and now a bit worried. Zanka never left his door unlocked. Ever. This wasn’t like him at all. He stepped inside, his footsteps creaking throughout the house.
“Zanka?” He called out.
…
No response.
He wandered all throughout the painfully familiar apartment until he finally saw the line of light coming from the crack in the bathroom door. He carefully approached it, and his nose was hit with an awful scent.
“…Zan-Zan?..”
…
“Are you in there?…”
His voice began to crack with a bit of fear.
…
He pushed the door open.
Took a step inside.
Turned to the bathtub.
…
His face drained of all color at what he saw. He wanted to throw up, right then and there. He would. He did. He didn’t even realize he’d emptied out his stomach all over himself until he looked down. His vision was hazy and he fell back against the wall. His lips were twitching as he tried to mutter out a word. Something. Anything.
But he couldn’t.
…
He sat there, staring at the gory scene before him for about 30 minutes in absolute shock, before he finally got up and approached his ex lovers body. He stared at the crimson blood—he almost saw a reflection in it. It was bittersweet, seeing your reflection in the one you loved’s blood.
It was almost like a metaphor that screamed “it’s your fault”.
…
It took Jabber a painful 10 minutes to take out his phone and call the police.
They arrived after a bit of waiting, and Jabber stood outside by his car while watching them wheel away a large black bag.
…
May 20th, 8:00
Zanka had been pronounced dead to the world on April 26th, the morning after his body was discovered.
Jabber had spoken to police, therapists, and to Zanka's family.
It was now the day of his funeral. The funeral Jabber thought he shouldn’t even be attending.
He did, anyways. He sat towards the back of the church and watched as each of zankas family members stood at the front and delivered a speech about their late loved one—each one of them speaking through tears that seemed forced and uncanny.
Jabber didn’t go up. He was approached by Zankas sister, who asked him if he wanted to say anything. Yet she said it in such a nasty, passive aggressive tone that made him shake his head.
He waited until after he was buried and after everyone cleared out to go and sit at his grave.
He stared at the engravings on the stone before him, wondering if maybe he’d came a bit later if it would’ve played out differently.
Then he spoke.
“Zan-zan, I’m not sure if you can hear me, but you’re one hell of a fool.”
“I got no clue why you did it. You didn’t even leave me a note or anythin’.”
…
“Ya sis is a real bitch, you know that?”
“Yeah, I bet you do.”
…
“I hope you know I love you. Even after everything. I was dumb.”
…
“They found cigarettes in your apartment.”
“You told me you quit.”
“Well, I didn’t really quit either. None of my bullshit. How can I blame you? Life is shitty, death is weird, and emotions are expected to be served one way in every person.”
…
“I don’t wanna grieve you. I don’t wanna sit here and feel shitty about this for the rest of my life. I think I’d just end up following in your footsteps, man.”
“I wanna live my life.”
“But I don’t think I ever will.”
“Atleast, never the same after what I did to you.”
“And I don’t think I could live that way.”
…
“Love you, Zan.”
Jabber reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of pills. He laid each of them out on the flat top of zankas gravestone.
And he took every last one.
His last thoughts were filled with overwhelming serenity.
The medication made him begin to hallucinate. He saw a familiar two-tone haired figure approach him, and take his hand.
They walked together, leaving behind jabbers convulsing body on the grass.