I saw an advertisement reading "Suicide affects everyone" on the way in for questioning.
DETECTIVE: I don't give a flying fuck where you were.
ME: Then wh-
DETECTIVE: Her diary does a lot of finger-pointing. Right at you. What happened Wednesday?
Do I feel like I'm responsible for her death? This fuckin' pig thinks I killed her.
Well, I feel partly responsible, but there's no way you blame it all on me though, you know? In the six months I'd known her not once did she let off that she was fucked up in the head.
Anyway, yeah, some stuff might be my fault. But I don't feel guilty for anything.
ME: It was just like today, cold as shit. Blizzard, too...
Almost like Jesus Christ himself slashed a big fuckin' hole through the sky and the snow flooded out like an open wound. It wasn't Christmas yet so everyone was all caught up in the holiday cheer. She called me and told me to come over. Today would be the day. Her first time. The ten minute walk to her apartment turned into thirty and by the time she buzzed the door I felt like my bones were going to crack.
Stupid, I know.
Her parents were in Long Island for some reason and I didn't ask why. Right when I walked in I could tell we wouldn't be wasting any time. I had done it before, but only three or four times. I was itching to do it again. I was cooking in the kitchen when she told me she was ready and we sat down on the bed. I slipped my belt off. She looked kind of nervous, but man, I knew she wanted it. I tied the belt on her arm and pushed the needle through. Then, I shot myself up and we fucked.
I realized I just told a fucking cop I got high with a suicide victim and figured I'd probably get put up the river for it the same way my old man did. He didn't say anything though. Like he didn't care. I don't know, he wasn't in Narcotics or anything. I figured I'd told him enough and we just stared at each other for a while. He walked me out. No statements, nothing. I smoked one of his cigarettes, as I walked home in the snow.
This is how a suicide affected me.