So much for dying over the weekend.

I lay in bed in woollen pyjamas two sizes too big for me, draped in some thick blanket Lucas had brought along with the clothes, feeling my upset stomach grumble. He had also left me the house keys, a new dental kit, and breakfast which had gone cold long ago on the table nearby. His number was written on a notepad too if I required his help.

I could rob him if I wanted to.

It was a funny afterthought... Actually, these days, even the driest things sounded funny in my head because there simply was nothing left within me anymore.

It was the eighth of April, the Saturday morning I had not expected to see. As a teacher, Lucas had work in school, like setting question papers and stuff, I guessed. I didn't have a working day, though.

Drawing a deep sigh, I got up at almost noon. Despite all the stuff he told me I could heat up in the microwave, I wanted to cook for myself because my stomach wasn't having it, but what was the point? Did I want to die if I did everything to keep myself alive?

I ordered some eggs, spices, and some other items online and got it delivered. One thing about cooking was that I appreciated making my own food. It was a stress-relieving hobby of some sort.

Since Lucas didn't seem to be the type to cook, I had a quick look at whatever the kitchen had to offer. He had cleaned up the place heavily–I wondered where he got the time–but gas was running smoothly and I found all the utensils I needed, so I got to work.

Sometimes I'd look over my shoulder at that calendar. I could really be misinterpreting the thing–at least, that was what I hoped for. A single word under a date bothered me in ways I didn't know I could be bothered.

'Bother' was putting it lightly... it actually unsettled me. He was drilling that date into his head, he had been mentally preparing for his final day for God knows how long. And, taking into account what he said yesterday about understanding certain human behaviours, he damn well understood how he was manipulating himself. If I, with no knowledge in this sphere could realise how it could program one's mind, anyone could.

And besides... He was just too wonderful to be lost.

I made myself some plain rice and spinach for lunch. Upon checking my texts, I found out that my dad texted in the family group a few hours ago–he'd gotten himself a charcoal-powered grill and was inviting everyone over for barbeque. I messed around a little bit with that point, asking him when the house is going to burn down while waiting for the rice to cook.

Maybe I'd go. I liked barbeque.

And in those moments, I could almost believe I had a normal relationship with my family.

Playing my favourite upbeat songs on my phone speaker, I ate peacefully before taking another nap. When I woke up, I was finally feeling fresh, and that brought on the mood to cook my childhood dish, egg fried rice. Even in my teens, I'd force my mom to make that at least once a week, and it was also the first thing I learnt when I was decent with making omelettes.

While measuring out the rice, I wondered if making Lucas a homemade meal would be a good idea. Would I be overstepping my boundaries or would it count as a thankyou?

Well, even if he chose not to eat it, I'd heat it up and demolish the egg fried rice the next day, so it wasn't much of an internal debate.

Everything was fair game around here anyway. You could walk up to someone and offer them appreciation chocolates on Valentine's Day and they'd not doubt you in the slightest, and it was so common too. Not a culture I got used to easily, but definitely something I quite appreciated.

Quite ironically, I still wanted to die.

I thought I'd be happier away from everyone I knew growing up, but no. I thought I'd be happier in a place where love and kindness was commonplace, but no. I thought I'd be happier if I had full command on my days, but no.

If, one day, I understood myself, I'd be the happiest I could ever be.

But that was where the problem arised. I never articulated my feelings. How many times had I tried to maintain a journal but failed to keep on it because it made me sadder than ever looking at all the things that had hurt me over the pages? Had I continued putting my issues into words, maybe, just maybe, would I have figured out why I want to die by now?

Shaking my head, I did my exercise of deep breaths again. No bad thoughts, not now, come on.

I turned up Spotify and poured over an extra cup of rice. I tapped my feet on the ground with the beat of the song to get into a different mindset. It was the new atmosphere and the kind stranger I tried hyping myself up for, because I had the time to go all-out for this dish.

These things kept me alive too, in a way. Favours. Gifts. Surprises. To myself, I might as well be dust; but to others, if I could make them smile with a little thoughtful thing, I felt worthy of life. And so, I always did them–little things that I could devote time to in exchange for a wide grin.

Sometimes I even them just so God could see and label me as a beautiful human being. And, then, maybe, all the pain would vanish...?

Shut up, voice in my brain. No sad thoughts either, Alyssa.

I continued on, chopping up the spring onions and all. I had withdrawn from texting anybody for almost two weeks by then, just so that I wouldn't be waiting for any replies when I had hoped to be gone. But since I was around–and it seemed like I was going to be around for a while–anyway, I tried to catch up on people's lives.

And frankly? It was all worth it the moment the doorknob turned and a tired Lucas walked in.

"Lucas!" I said awkwardly, my eyes focusing on a swirl of the wooden floor, coming to a realisation that I had somehow forgotten to think out the conversation in advance. "I–I cooked!"

He took a moment to process the scene.

"Really now?" His voice was slightly husky. "Glad to see that."

The momentum of my happiness carried me. "I made egg fried rice, you know? It looks and smells amazing. I can't wait to dig in."

"How wonderful."

"I know! So wash up quickly so that we can eat together! I tried to put an approximate measure to how much I thought you ate!"

"I... Me too?"

"You too," I gently whispered, returning this reassuring gesture he showed to me the previous night. A sad person could feel another's hole in the heart, and sometimes it only took warm words and warm food to begin filling that up. "Of course, you too. Good job on working hard today. I like cooking so this is the least I could do."

I looked up to find his eyes glassy and his words stuck in his throat.

Now that I had seen it, I wouldn't trade Lucas' teary-eyed smile for anything. It was ironic, because just metres away from his back was a calendar with a suicide date planned, yet just meters away from that calendar was a man who only needed a handcooked meal tonight.

And I could live with that. Because... the satisfaction of making someone's day better, well, nothing matched up to that.

Yeah. I could live just to change this person's mind, one kind act at a time. Call it a hero complex.

~~

WC: 1298 words

That's the first milestone! :)

Thank you for reading!