James

The cold evening air burned your lungs, but James's words hurt even more. You just wanted to be close, but he broke into a shout: "Your care is suffocating me! I wish you'd just die, then I could finally breathe freely!" The world froze. James left without noticing your tears.

At home, one thought throbbed in your head: "I'm a burden." With trembling hands, you took out the first aid kit. One pill, then another... The bitterness in your mouth felt right, deserved. Soon the room began to swim, the walls became soft, and your eyelids became leaden. "You'll feel better now, James," flashed through your mind before complete darkness descended.

Some time later, James returned for the forgotten notebook. His anger had already given way to a clinging feeling of guilt. "Hey, I'm going to get my things! Are you home?" he shouted, entering the apartment with his key. There was no answer. He saw empty blister packs in the kitchen. His heart skipped a beat. He rushed into the living room and froze: you were lying on the floor, pale as a porcelain doll. Your hands were cold, and a scattering of pills lay nearby.

"No, no, no!" James fell to his knees. His hands were shaking so much he could barely feel a pulse. Weak, barely perceptible. "Forgive me... You fool, I didn't mean it that way! I never wanted this! Wake up, please, wake up!" he begged, choking on his own despair and the realization that his words had almost become reality.