It
looked as though the sky were a pillow case that had been ripped wide open,
letting fall little white flakes upon the face of the earth.
Van
Vicker blew warm air into his cold hands and looked out into the horizon. South
Africa was going to have a very severe winter this year. All around him people
were dressed in defiance of the snow they so loved, embracing and caressing the
powdery ice with thick gloves and even thicker sweaters.His breaths were like
the manifestations of ghosts, white and airy. He had to get inside, but not
before one last call.
She
didn't pick up. Again.
He
had been waiting for her for two weeks now. When he lodged into the hotel he
had been so bold as to tell the receptionist that he was expecting a guest, but
for 14 days he had waited and for 14 days she didn't show up. Promising each
time and failing. Now she wasn't even picking his calls anymore.
He
made his way back to the hotel, a defeated man. It would be a long winter
indeed. Inside he took off some layers of his clothing and tossed them on the
floor. He took off his gloves and put his face in his hands. They were cold,
but soon they caught warm tears from his eyes like buckets beneath a leaky
roof. She had broken him, something his lost childhood and challenging
adolescence couldn't do. He had let her in way too deep and she had struck him
where he was most vulnerable.
The
tears ran on for the next seven minutes, then his red eyes grew tired. He reached
into his duffel bag and brought out a picture. It was her face, captured in a
moment of pure happiness. Van Vicker made up his mind then. If she would not
return,then he would cease to live.
His first instinct was to buy some pills and attempt an overdose,
but then that would take a while and they could revive him. So he figured he
would buy a gun, but then he didn't know the inner workings of the streets of
SA, where would he get one? So he opted for the most traditional form of
suicide; death by hanging.
The world outside was still feverishly cold but his blood ran red
hot.He carried a chair and placed it beneath the fan. Then he climbed upon it.
The height seemed about right. He took the bed sheet in his hand and tied it
into knots, then he swung it round the fan thrice to shorten its length. He
took a deep breath, thinking it was his final, and put the noose around his
neck. He bit his lower lip, stifled a cry and kicked the chair down.
In that moment wherein the bullet travels through the nozzle of a
gun into brain matter; wherein the severed arteries gush out red liquid;
wherein the bodies immune systems rages war against poison; in that moment
between life and suicide, the bodies survival instinct kicks in. Van Vicker
thrashed his hands and gasped for breath, involuntarily wanting to abort what
he had voluntarily ventured into. He spun and pulled at the noose round his
neck, but it only seemed to get a little tighter. He grew weaker, and weaker
still.
Snap!
The fan was built for luxury, not durability, and the moment Van
Vicker hung his entire weight upon it, it began to give way. Now he lay on the
floor, a broken fan inches from his head. He lay on the floor coughing and
wheezing, wondering what would cause him to go so far.
Her perfume was the first thing he became aware of, before her
presence. He had left a key for her at the reception, and now there she stood looking
down at him, surprised
In six long steps she was kneeling by his side. Her scent bathed
him.
Are you okay? She asked and picked his head off the ground and
placed it on her lap.
He didn't answer her, he didn't need to. An army of the word
"no"lay about him. He took his head off her lap and reclined against
the bedstead.
Van. It was his name, but the way she said it, like it meant sorry
and all sorts of other things all at the same time. What are you doing? She
asked.
Waiting for you Rose. Each word struggled to get through the death
clamp of his teeth. He was angry. Waiting, like I've been for the past eight
months! You said we could be together. His anger gave way to sorrow now and his
voice broke into sobs. You said, you've forgiven me, and all I had to do was to
prove myself, and here I am, and you kept me waiting for the past two weeks!
The anger roared back into his voice for the latter half of his statement.
Rose wasn't taken aback by his ambivalence; it seemed she half
expected it. Slowly she moved her body so that she sat directly across him.
Then she rested her chin on her knee, contemplating a reply. You have a lot of
nerve....she began.
Van looked at her, perplexed. Excuse me?
I said you have a lot of nerve! You think this is love? She
stretched out her hand to gesture at the vestige of his failed suicide attempt.
You think you did this for me? You're still a boy Van, a petty little boy. You
would've died and it would've all been over for you .But me, you would have
left me with blood on my hands, how did you expect me to live after that? You
say you've been waiting for me for eight months? I've been in tears for the
past eight months! I forgave you for sleeping with her; I really did, but
forget? I couldn't. I can't. Tears streamed down her face. I've been cold Van,
what you did, it’s ruined me. I've been cold. I've been trapped in this winter
for the past eight months, trapped in a winter that never ends.
I'm, sorry. Was all he could manage to say.
I know you are. She said and wiped her eyes. She got up. But I've
got to find the summer in me again, and if you love me, if you really love me,
you'll wait. She began to leave but paused when she got to the door. She turned
round to look at him. Clean up this mess she said and then she was gone.
"But I chose the life, I chose the life, then I realized, She
might have been the one. I let it go for a little fun."The Weeknd.
TAYLOR SWIFT, THE NEW YEAR KISS
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