It was half past five. Dusk had almost fallen. Even that day, I was trying to read the story behind the smile that he always faked; learn what made him cripple. Was there something that kept him smothered and abstained him from opening up? I wanted to decipher the entire Him.
Though we have been known each other only for few months, we have spent enough nights discussing about almost everything, be it music or politics or sex or any college assignment or anything and everything possible. But there was something that he always kept hidden from me: The reason behind why he was on drugs; why he smoked like there was no tomorrow; why every night of his was dedicated to Mozart and whiskey and sometimes Steven Wilson.
I asked him a couple of times. He never had an answer for me.
But this time, I wasn’t letting him go. I needed an answer. I wanted to know what it was that has been killing him from the inside.
I held his hand told him what if his mother was alive, wouldn’t she be in tears to see her son destroy himself…
He stood numb for a moment and he broke down. This was the first time I saw him cry in that manner. I held his hand tighter and assured him my company and support.
“Everyone, Margaret!”, he continued, “Everyone leaves me!” “My mom and dad met with an accident on my first birthday while returning from a nearby market. Nobody wanted to look after this orphan and everyone considered me to be evil. Then, one of my aunt, my mother’s sister decided to take up my responsibility. She gifted me enough happiness, until the time she was diagnosed with cancer. I lost her too. I was doing well not even in music. People stopped listening to me and accused me of being a stupid drug-addict. My world was in pieces. It still is in.”
“If smoking is injurious to health, let me kiss it thoroughly, for death is the only thing I desire for now.” He smiled. I felt my world sweep away under my feet.
He couldn’t die. He ought to live. I knew.
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