If I Kissed You, Would it Stop?

         There she sat staring blindly into the mighty Mississippi River, watching with eyes clouded by pain and despair as the freighters passed slowly, or the brightly lit riverboat casinos. He knew that she was looking into that river wondering just how deep it was, wondering if she could really do it, really swim out into that murky water and let herself fall, let the river wash her pain away with the rest of her tormented life.
         She must surely know that he would keep her from doing it. She must surely know that the moment she jumped up and ran for the water, he would grab her and drag her to the ground, or if she made it to the water, he would jump in. Since she wasn't a strong swimmer, she would surely know that he would catch her, and quickly. But he knew that the thoughts nonetheless flooded her mind. She was looking for a way out of the empty hollow pain in her heart and death seemed the best way to end it.
         He continued to hold her in his arms, holding her to comfort as well as restrain. His hands never stopped their ceaseless wandering of her skin, hoping as it seemed to find in their search the source of her pain so that they could remove it from her weary shoulders.
         A groan escaped her lips as her face contorted into an image of such emotion he could never forget. It surprised him, the emotions thus conflicted in that face, the pureness of the groan. It was the face of an animal sick of its bonds, making one last effort to remove itself, risking losing a limb for the sake of that thing known as freedom. She was making that effort, that last great effort to be free of her depression. He could sense the unrest in the air. He didn't know what to feel. He just knew that something of vast importance was about to happen. As if sensing the static in the air, the breeze became wind, tearing into the two sitting on the dock.
         "Tell me what I can do!" he shouted over the wind.
         "Tell me how I can help you!"
         The wind drove her hair from her shoulders and it flew about. In a sudden rush of energy, she broke free of his arms and stood. Her hair, golden even in this half light, flew on its own accord and she stood straight and solemn, hands fisted at her sides. He was struck once again by her undeniable beauty, both mind and body. Though broken by abundance of negative emotion, there she stood still, fighting with all that was left in her against the need to fill the void in her life with dark Death.
He stood with her and gripped one of her fists, seeking to undo the tight grasp of her fingers and thus entwine them with his.
         "Tell me what I can do to make it stop! Tell me! Let me help you!"
         Her eyes remained glued to the murky river, her features still frozen in an anguished defiant face.
         "You can't do anything. You've done enough all ready. You've done too much," she responded above the wind in a voice that seemed calm yet betrayed her pain.
         "Too much?"
         She turned toward him, her face somewhat clearer, her eyes windows to a troubled soul. The wind slowed.
         "Too much," she stated coldly while she hastily removed her hand from his.
         He suddenly understood and it was like a bolt of lightening to his heart. She was not just fighting herself, struggling against her own self hatred. She was also consumed in a battle against her feelings for him. Every glance, every touch had been for her equally heartening and painful. For a strange second, in the dying wind, he knew not what to say.
         "If I kissed you, would it stop?" he asked solemnly.
         "What?" she asked, new pain born in her eyes, eyes overflowing with tears. She was already struggling in a sea of emotion. This additional pain was weighing on her, pulling her into the deeps. Her heart thudded painfully. A part of him screamed to stop now, quit his malformed ideas of salvation before something aweful happened. But he couldn't just yet. The tidal wave of emotion that he sensed building in her needed to come, yes, sweep over her and wash her back to shore where she would be safer. Safety was not to be found in letting the battle continue thus, only in forcing an offensive.
         "If I kissed you, would it stop? If I kissed you, would your pain cease? If I kissed you, could you find peace at last?" He was babbling now, frantic whispers in a dark, quiet world.
         "No," she said while the streaks of tears on her cheeks became rivers. "No, you don't love me, no one can. No."
         He stepped closer, his hands seeking her flesh. One hand found her waist and brought her closer to him. The other found her hand and brought it to his cheek.
         "If I kissed you, would you be able to sleep tonight?" He brought the hand to his lips. He felt so powerful. He may not be able to alleviate all her pain but this he could do. He could make her forget. He could give her pleasure upon which to concentrate, thus bringing her back to emotional safety. He did love her. The love might be restricted to friendship, but it was nevertheless love. And he would do anything to bring her back to the world, ease her pain.
         "Noooo..." she moaned quietly while his hand released her hand in favor of her cheek.
         "Nooo..."
         He pulled her face closer to him. She was shaking. The wind was dead. All the rest of the world was a blur. All he could see was her face, radiating a strange beauty shadowed it seemed by the rushing tidal wave of emotion.
         He kissed her.
         The world suddenly crashed back upon them. The wind was still dead, there was still an unearthly quiet, but it was indeed the world again. She collapsed.
         He caught her before her head hit the wooden dock and held her close in his lap. Her eyes were fluttering wildly. He held her hand and spoke, trying to understand what had happened.
         "What's wrong? Tell me! Please!"
         She did not respond, only became limp in his arms. He moved his hand to her pulse. It was there! His heart jumped into his throat. But it was fading. Tears streamed freely down his cheeks.
         "NO!"
         Her eyes opened and in them he saw such a peace that had had never before witnessed. And yet he could also see her floating away into the sea, fading silently away from the scars of this world into a night without pain, despair, and rampant fear.
         "Such pain," she whispered weakly. He was engrossed by her distant, fading eyes. His tears almost blinded him.
         "If I kissed you, would it stop?"
         She reached one thin arm up and brought his face closer to hers. She gingerly lifted her head and kissed his lips.
         She almost immediately dropped back to the dock. Her eyes were now shut.
         "PLEASE! NO!" he shouted at her but she no longer heard. There is only so much pain a person can withstand before death claims them.
         His mind raced with thoughts. What had he done? What had happened? She was dead. He had as good as killed her. She could have made it. She was dead. He had messed up. He had killed her. He deserved to follow her in death. He deserved to die.
         He released her from his lap, bent down one last time to kiss her cheek in parting. He stood at the edge of the dock. His gaze was divided between her and the murky water beneath him.
         "If I kissed you, would it stop?" his mind mocked.
         "No."
         He jumped in.

{Note:

I've received many comments indicating that the preceeding story is vague. I apologize but I must admit, I do not know of a way to remedy the situation. This story was not intended to be true to life. Rather it is an extension of life, a tale of woe that you know of only through such phrases as "she couldn't bear to live without him. I think my grandma died of heartbreak," and "They don't quite know how she died. I think she just gave up on living."
People keep asking why? I cannot give you that answer. I can only say that in my mind this form of death is justifiable. Maybe that's just because I saw it happen in other forms before. Or perhaps it is for different, more personal reasons. I can only offer my apologies for any misunderstandings, as well as my gratitude for reading this little tale of mine.}