Every morning I wake is a betrayal. To her, to them, to everyone. I’m not supposed to be here anymore, and I’m so fucking tired of it all. The core of me is dead, ever since I lost her.
All the things I’ve done since — all the destruction, the chaos, the brutality to make it right — they mean nothing. I’m still here. After 14 long years, I’m still carrying this.
I don’t want it anymore.
I leave him at dawn, still sleeping, sheet down around his hips. I’m going to miss that body, and all that goes along with it. Wherever I’m going, he won’t be there. I think about leaving him a note, but there’s no point.
At the top of my favorite path on the side of my mountain, I look down at the valley below. This is the desert I love. This is my home.
I grind my cigarette out under my heel.
I take a deep breath, breathing in the creosote and mesquite, the dust.
I close my eyes.
And I jump.