In the darkness of Rebecca’s room the only light came from the computer monitor. The cold blue glow bathed her face in a harsh, unloving light. Downstairs she could hear her mother moving around, clearing up the dishes before settling down in front of the TV, like every night. Her middle-class masquerade ball, circling the sofas like a dog looking for its favourite spot to hunker down in and see out the night. Rebecca couldn’t live like that and wouldn’t live like that. A life without intensity, without love, was pointless. If her short life had taught her anything it was this: It was better to be dead than to know and then lose love. Rebecca wouldn’t lose her love. But now it was threatened what could she do?
She got up from his chair and walked to the small wardrobe in the corner of the room. Her bedroom was small, little more than a box room and the bed took up half the room. Shelves that lined the poster covered walls groaned under the weight of cuddly toys that had been retired from the bed, books, old toys and magazines. The floor of the room was covered with discarded clothing. She knelt down at the foot of the bed as though she was about to pray, but instead of praying she leant under the bed and pulled out the battered leather satchel that she carried to school every day.
She sat back at the chair in front of her computer and opened the satchel. It didn’t contain textbooks. She placed the two items from the satchel in front of her on the desk, and then she looked again at the message on the screen.
Ethan was beautiful inside and out. His picture made her stomach do flips and her nerve endings tingled with pleasure every time she looked at it. He was good looking with his floppy fringe, blue eyes and loving smile, but she had fallen in love with him long before he sent her a photograph. She had met him, or rather his avatar, E-Z92, on a forum for the American teenage poet, Bluestar. Bluestar was an online sensation but mainly in the US. Rebecca prided herself on being one of the first in the UK to hear about Bluestar and she loved his poetry, nothing else seemed to express just how she felt herself. They had begun by debating the meaning of Bluestar’s most famous poem, ‘the love we give away’, and from there things had progressed quickly. They had quickly moved on to Instant Messaging. Ethan worked so messages during the day were few and far between but the evening hours would pass as they handed to each other the secrets of their hearts.
Ethan was older than her, twenty-three and married with two young girls. Him telling her this had been a milestone in their relationship. By then she had been lost and if he had told her he was a serial killer she may have stuck by him, but an unhappy marriage that trapped him? This she could live with and it seemed to bring them closer together in many ways. He had confided to her that Rebecca was his escape, his private place that no one else knew about as much as he was hers. Their secret relationship bound them together in a knot of charged passions and frustrated desire. She loved him and she knew that he loved her.
Their relationship had developed quickly and, despite only existing online, passionately. Rebecca would inwardly laugh when her school friends talked about their boyfriends. They were boys, with boyish, awkward and clumsy ways. Ethan was a man, and he talked about his feelings like man. He also had responsibilities and he honoured those like the man he was. And therein lay the rub. He loved Rebecca but his wife, an evil woman called Melanie, had tricked him into marriage by getting pregnant, not that he begrudged his daughters, they were, apart from Rebecca, the most precious things in the world to him, but he was frightened about what Melanie would do to the children if he left her for Rebecca. Melanie was jealous and had threatened before that if he ever left her she would harm the children. Ethan had sent Rebecca photographs of the girls, they were gorgeous, exactly the kind of children that Rebecca had hoped she would have, but that was impossible now.
Online, late at night, Rebecca and Ethan had talked it over and over. The cutting was something that he raised. He mentioned he had become so upset and frustrated that one day he had taken a craft knife and just sliced his arms, just a little bit at first, but then more and more, and that the pain was sweet and took him out of himself, away from his worries. Rebecca had started to cut, first just to be closer to him, and then she became enthralled by it, by the ritual, by the pain, by the release. Now, they cut together and it was beautiful.
There is only one way to be together. Have you got the materials? E
Rebecca looked down at the desk where she had neatly laid out the materials, a large Ziploc bag that she had taken from the kitchen, and a small loop made of washing line that she had taken from the garden shed.
She looked at them and shuddered. She knew what they had to do. They had agreed it was the only way out, and the only way that she could be with him without the children being hurt.
Rebecca picked up the bag and placed it over her head. She paused as from downstairs she heard the sound of her mother getting off the couch and walking through to the kitchen. And then she heard the sounds of a cup being placed on a worktop. Her mother was making a cup of tea to drink while watching her favourite soap opera. Her routines were tragic and Rebecca was glad she wouldn’t ever fall into that rut.
She picked up the rope and placed the loop around her neck. She tightened it, but not too tight, not yet.
Breathing was difficult and the bag began to stick to her face, moisture from her breath condensing on the inside of the bag quickly making it slick.
She typed quickly.
I love you, E
The reply came seconds later.
I love you Becs. I’m ready. Are you? E
She took in another breath. Air was still getting in but as soon as she tightened the cord the air would be gone in seconds and then she would die as would he, her beloved Ethan.
She heard the kettle’s digital whistle sound from downstairs. At least her mother wasn’t on the wine again as she seemed to be on most nights.
Her fingers gripped the end of the cord. One pull and it would be over.
Her breathing quickened. Not many more breaths now. Excitement and fear made every moment seem as hard and clear as diamond. Her fingers caressed the cord.
Are you doing it? E
The cursor flickered expectantly at the end of the sentence.
There was another sound from downstairs, a familiar sound in recent weeks. It was the sound of her mother crying softly.
Her fingers left the cord. She hesitated for a second and then typed.
I want to do it looking into your eyes. Will you meet me and then we can be together for ever?
This time the answer didn’t come as quickly as before. A minute passed and then the reply.
Of course, my love. I have to go now, SHE has come in and the kids are crying. I will be in touch soon, my love. E
Rebecca sighed. He was always so understanding, so loving, and now at last she would meet him, smell him and touch him before they completed the most loving, the most final act together.