Chapter 15, Part 1: Angels in the Dark

                                    

                                          
Trenton, New Jersey, 2023 

I am completely alone in this world. No one, absolutely no one, cares for me.
I am alone; I am broke; I am broken. And I am going to stay alone, broke, and broken for the rest of my life. Nothing will change. No one will come for me. There is no light at the end of the tunnel, and if there is, I bet it's a train heading toward me to run me over.
I failed in everything, that's why. Everything. I lost everything and everyone. I could say I'm still young, but what good does that do me when I have the body of a 60-year-old?
No one loves me. No one ever loved me. Not even my parents, the people who made the ridiculous decision to give birth to me. I mean, seriously, what were they thinking? Why bring a kid into this world if you can't deal with it?
Daddy left. Of course he did. That's what men always do - leave. They leave when they have a child. They leave when you fall down the stairs. The bastards are serial leavers. Who needs them? I don't need them. I'm better off without them anyway.
And mommy killed herself because the bastard left. She cherished the bastard more than her own child, it seems. Maybe I shouldn't judge her so hard. She was probably depressed, like me. Maybe I should follow her example and kill myself. Die. Give this whole catastrophe its proper end.
How did she do it? Oh, yeah, right. Wrists. Could I do that? Cut myself open? No, too brutal, and I am a fucking coward. Pills are a better way to go, and I have sooo many of them here. Painkillers. Antidepressants. Nonsteroids. Sleeping pills. Tranquilizers. I have more pills than the pharmacy downstairs. I'm gonna make a cocktail stronger than a Molotov. And bye-bye fucking world. Bye-bye fucking hell.
Do you think I'll go to hell?
No. Hell is here. I'm already in hell. This is my way out. My exodus. My escape plan. Go on, Diletta. Do it. Just do it, like fucking Nike says.
Perhaps I'll see Mary again in the afterlife. Mary. That's right, Mary loved me.
And she died for it.
She died because she loved me. The universe killed her just to leave me alone in this world. Didn't you? Didn't you, fucking universe? That's why you did it. You hate me. Why do you hate me so much? Whatever have I done to you? Whatever have I done to anyone? I've never done anything to anyone.
Have I?
Perhaps I've done something. Maybe I am evil, and I don't know it, and now I'm being punished for my actions. Everyone gets what they deserve, that's what they say.
Bullshit. No one gets what they deserve. Mary didn't deserve to die. She was the sweetest, kindest person I have ever met. The children who get cancer don't deserve anything. They are just children. And the people who get raped and murdered. The poor who starve. All these people who never get a chance. They don't deserve it. It just happened to them. Wrong place, wrong time, bad circumstances. Pure luck. Everything is pure luck. This universe is evil. There's no justice. No meaning. No purpose. Just a series of random events, and either you're lucky or you're not.
Diletta stared at the glass in her hand. She flipped it, watching the last droplet of liquid slide down the side - empty. With a groan, she dragged herself closer to the table and seized the bottle of vodka that stood proud among pill bottles, overflowing ashtrays, and dirty plates. Refill and drink; the alcohol burned its way down, and she welcomed the sense with relief. She sunk back into the cushions, making herself comfortable, and thought about Mary and how they used to sit on that same couch together, laughing and talking for hours on end.