sobbing with my breakfast

I text him back, “I’m good, yeah. :) How are you?”

I don’t tell him that I’ve spent the past hour sitting in the bathtub sobbing, or that I’ve just thrown up my breakfast lunch and dinner, or that everything hurts and I don’t know what to do.

A minute later he replies.

“You never use emoticons. What’s up?”

And I don’t know how to respond to that, so I don’t.

“Do you want me to come over?”

(Yes. Yes. Yes.)

“Hey. Stay where you are, okay? I’m coming.”

Deep breaths. Stop hyperventilating. Fingers for god’s sakes stop trembling. “You don’t have to. I don’t want to be a bother.” I’m trying to play it cool.

It takes him all of two seconds to reply.

“Fuck that.” He says, and I wince. “I’ll come for you every time. Don’t you ever think I won’t.”

—  S.Z. // Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #202

Pipes’ last moments are so heartbreaking. He’s this perpetually unlucky guy who nonetheless keeps pushing his own boundaries, trying to make a real adventure out of this trip. And this is such an abrupt end for him - it seems so fitting for Pipes - sweet little optimist - that his last thoughts are a reflection of the way he always tried to make the best of a bad situation.

And he dies alone. Completely alone.

“Having a pretty wonderful time. Bye.”

Excuse me while I go sob into my breakfast.