No Way Out

I saw the headline that day: Rock Star Jumps from Rooftop. It seems another band were becoming famous for having their vocalist kill himself. People were saying it was such a big loss, but I didn’t see why – sometimes, killing yourself is the only way to solve your problems.1

I decided that I would kill myself.2

I sat at my desk at school, ignoring the incomprehensible drone of the teacher. I had more important things on my mind. Namely, how I was going to do it. I thought taking some pills would be the best way. There’d be no blood, and it wouldn’t hurt. I’d just lie down and wait to die. Then, when people started seeing the headline the next day, they would know just how horrible my life was, and everyone would feel guilty for picking on me all the time and pretending I don’t exist. 3

I smiled and heard the bell ring. I got up and started putting my books back into my bag. As usual, I waited for everyone else to leave first, to avoid getting bumped and pushed in the corridor. I’m sure they did it to me on purpose. I looked around to check that the room was empty, and that’s when I saw Amanda. She always did the same thing as me, waiting for the room to empty itself before leaving herself, but this was the first time I paid any attention to her. As she reached up to tuck her long black hair behind her ear, the sleeve of her right arm fell, revealing a network of red lines, criss-crossing like roads on a map. She caught me looking and pulled the sleeve back over her wrist. In her hurry to escape without being questioned, she pushed her chair too hard against the desk, causing her bag to fall and spill her books onto the floor, like warm guts from a slaughtered lamb.4

Frantically, she started packing them into her bag, and in her haste bent and tore some of the pages. I leaned over and started helping her.5

‘My name’s Chloe,’ I said, conversationally.6

‘Amanda,’ she said, avoiding eye contact.7

‘What happened to your arm?’ I asked, trying to keep my voice as casual as possible.8

She didn’t answer.9

‘Where are you going after school,’ I asked, unfazed.10

‘I thought I’d go shopping.’11

‘Can I come along?’ I felt like I was making a friend. If it went well, maybe I wouldn’t kill myself.12

‘If you want to.’ I could see how pleased she was. Though she tried to keep her voice casual, I could see her smiling at the floor.13

We spent the afternoon together, travelling from one shop to the next, picking up this and that, with no intention of buying anything. I tried on a pair of horrible yellow sunglasses in one shop, much to the amusement of Amanda. I took them off and placed them back on the shelf, looking for another pair to try.14

‘Hey, Amanda.’15

We turned around, looking for the source of the voice. Amanda was looking worried for some reason.16

‘Is that some friend of yours?’ I asked.17

She didn’t respond.18

‘Amanda, you’d better come out here.’19

The voice didn’t sound friendly.20

A blonde-haired girl was standing in the doorway, glaring at Amanda. She put down the glasses she was holding and put one foot in front of the other.21

Two more girls appeared and took a hold of her, grabbing and pulling at her hair.22

‘Stop!’ I ran after them. ‘What are you doing!?’23

I chased them until they ran with her out of the main doors and into the darkness of the street outside.24

I caught up with them as they pulled her into an alleyway. One of the girls, almost twice my size, took me and hauled me to the ground. I struggled, my face pressed against the cold stone pavement, until I felt a knife pressing itself against my throat, and I became dead still.25

I heard someone shouting at Amanda: ‘Don’t mess us around, or we’ll kill your friend.’26

I felt a stab of terror, but was too scared to swallow in case the movement was enough to drive the knife into my throat. This wasn’t how I wanted to die. I heard something soft fall to the ground, then another, and another. And then a clicking sound. A camera? I began to wonder what the girls were doing to her. Whatever it was, they’d finished and were laughing and running away. I felt the blade pull away from my throat, and the chubby hand released its grip on my head.27

‘We’ll make a lot from these pictures,’ one of the retreating girls said. They laughed again.28

I stood up and rushed over to Amanda, who was hurriedly pulling on her underwear and picking up her other discarded clothes. I stopped and stood there, too shocked to move, and just watched her. She was crying, and as I stood, fixed to the spot, I found myself crying as well.29

That night we went out onto the roof of the building in which Amanda lived. I carried a bag with a camera, two bottles of vodka and two bottles of aspirin. We were going to do it, right there and then. The digital camera had two pictures stored on it – one of me, and one of Amanda. We would leave it with a note, explaining to our parents that we wanted those pictures to be the ones they printed in the newspaper. By the time anybody found us out here, it would be morning, and we’d be dead.30

I felt excited for some reason, as if killing myself was nothing more than an unusual way to spend an evening. I shuddered in the cold, and with the anticipation of finally being recognised for something. It felt strange though, after seeing what Amanda had to go through, for me to be complaining about my own life.31

‘Are you sure this will kill us?’ I said, chattering like an ape. ‘I mean, there’s no chance that we-’32

‘It’ll work, Chloe.’33

We sat on the ledge surrounding one of the skylights, each holding a bottle of aspirin, the vodka lying unopened at our feet. I would open the bottle, through the pills into my mouth and swallow them, one by one. Then, for good measure, down half of the vodka, at least. Finally, I would lie down and wait for as long as it took until I realised I wasn’t alive any more.34

We sat there for a long time. My hand was shaking. I waited for her to take the first step. She didn’t make a move.35

After a long time, I stood up and put the aspirin back into the bag. Amanda stood up and did the same. We walked back down the stairs in silence.36

Finally, I said ‘maybe killing ourselves isn’t the best way.’37

She said: ‘Maybe not.’38

It was so much harder than I ever expected, and neither of us dared to actually do it. My life hadn’t gotten any better, but I realised I would be trapped in it forever.39

The next day, I woke with the urge to work hard to make my life a better one. I had a friend now, and together we would work things out. Somehow, I would find those girls, and pay them whatever it took to stop those photos changing hands.40

My phone bleeped at me on the dresser. I had an answer phone message. I dialled the number and listened. When I heard Amanda’s voice, my blood slowed in my veins. When I heard her say she had cut her wrists again, I felt it stop. Her voice broke off in mid-sentence and the message continued for a few seconds before cutting off.41

I placed the phone very carefully down on the dresser, like lowering a coffin into a very deep grave.42

I didn’t cry at the funeral. I guessed that maybe, for her, suicide really was the answer. Her mother was talking to me through floods of tears, saying how much Amanda had talked about me after the one afternoon of knowing each other. That’s how she knew to invite me to the funeral. Her words brought the first lump to my throat.43

She also said that they had decided not to mention to the newspapers that she had killed herself, but that it was an accident instead. The statement stunned me. Was it all for nothing, then, that she had killed herself? If she said it was an accident, then those horrible girls would never know the pain they caused.44

I was furious, but I didn’t let it show. Instead, I turned to look at the coffin. On top of it, in a beautiful silver frame, was a photo of Amanda. I smiled. At least they had used the photograph.45

I walked over to get a clear view of it, and my smile faded. Sitting there in the frame, staring at me like a mocking, grinning little imp, was a horrible school photo of Amanda. I recognised it from a year ago, when she still had her braces and her spots.46

I turned away, my anger turning into helplessness. I couldn’t look at it any longer.47

I saw her mother talking to a group of girls. They looked as if they had been crying, and were very upset by what had happened.48

To my horror, I realised that I recognised them as the same girls that had taken those naked pictures of Amanda. Grinding my teeth, I stormed over in time to hear them telling her mother and a group of others about how close they had been to Amanda, and how much they regretted not being able to spend more time with her. They were trying to get sympathy! They had driven her to kill herself and now they were playing the victims!49

I couldn’t stand any more of this. I left the church, went home and wondered why nothing had worked out the way we imagined it. The rock star who killed himself – he had been recognised for it! Why not Amanda? Even death didn’t save her from her problems.50

I knew then that suicide didn’t change people. It only takes away your chances of a good life. I wouldn’t make the same mistake Amanda did. I would live, and make things right.51