Jakobe’s Trinity

I’ll never be able to understand why they put me here. I did not do anything wrong. I wear my heart on my sleeve and everybody knows that. All of my friends know it. My family know it. Even my nurses know it. It was self-defense, I had to do it.

I’m peering out the window looking at the beautiful day. I could not believe that I was in a world so fascinating, looking at something so pure. I felt like the luckiest man in the world. I would do anything to be able to travel the world. See the sun set in every country in the world. Watch the hues of blue blow across the night sky with the faint noise of whispers by people talking in their native tongue. I just wish to have no home. I wish to roam the seven seas and see the world without wars and famine. To see the world that was meant to be. Un-corrupt. Un-touched. Un-harmed. I wish to be brought up by the sunrise and drown with sundown. I want to buy a ticket to go see mars. Prove that Pluto is a real planet. Walk on the moon. Fall with the rain. Float with the clouds. Dance with the wind. And destroy with the asteroids to purify what could be. To get rid of the pain and the suffering residing in this world we call ours. To take back humanity. To regain sanity. To prove to everybody that I was not in the wrong, that they were!

“Attention patients please prepare yourselves for the three PM medicine doses.”

I dragged my body out of my room into the pale hallways of ward three, to be greeted by the miserable, lifeless faces of the medically insane.

I know what you’re thinking.

You think I’m insane.

Don’t you.

I know you do.

I moved towards the kiosk to collect the shot sized paper cups filled with bullets that are only fatal to my mentality.

It was then I saw her. Her dark brown hair with tight curls. Her deep brown eyes with specks of precious gold. Just her. Everything about her made me a shell.

I have been speechless but three times in my life, once on my first day of school in 1989 when my mother just left me there in fear of her not coming back, once in 1994 when my grandfather beat me into shattered pieces, and once in 2014 when I was found guilty. But this girl. She snatched my words from me. And she can have them. At this point I’d give her everything and anything.

Bang! My heart went bang. As she spoke the words,

“Could I have your name please?”

“Jakobe Matthews” I stutter.

“I’ve heard about you. The man of three.”

“It’s a comforting number”

She laughs, and her curls bounced in front of her face I swear I saw the stars. She was beautiful. She handed me the paper cup. For the first time in three years swallowing them down didn’t seem so haunting.

She was breaking me. Every day I saw her was another day that a piece of my mind and heart was stolen from me. A thief. She was a thief. She’d stolen everything I loved about myself. O! how I hate her. She took my strong mind and replaced it with a feeble one. I hate that she doesn’t know what I did. I hate that I know that she would leave me if she found out. And I hate that her beauty would leave me one day. Like everyone else did. Or at least how they tried to.

I could do to her what I did to them. But then I would not feel the warmth of her golden-brown skin. I could find a different way. I could do it without the blood. I could go down the routes of some of the greats such as Jeffery Dahmer. But cook up a better potion.

January 11th 2017. It’s my birthday. I’m 33. A year closer to death they say. My father passed when he was 34. When I say passed I mean he slit his throat in our bathroom and drained himself. But let’s hope I out live him. Birthdays are supposed to be a happy time but I feel anything but ‘happy’. I feel drained. Hopeless. Useless. I feel like I am merely a spectator floating through the constraints of the walls that keep me and everyone else in here imprisoned.

Sometimes I think about her. And whether she feels imprisoned like I do. I know it’s different. I know it’s different for her. I know she’s not like me. She might want to be here.

I love her. I do. I just want to hold her in my arms and squeeze the life out of her. I want to watch her cry at me. I want to breath in her curly locks, and lock her in a room with me so I know she’ll never leave me.

I wonder if she loves me.

I will make her love me.

I know she loves me.

“Attention patients please prepare yourselves for the three PM medicine doses.” I knew she was going to be there. It was Wednesday. She was always there on a Wednesday. I knew that if I really wanted her I’d have to do something about it. Words mean nothing if they’re not followed by actions.

I’m wandering down the halls towards the kiosk, it’s 3:05, I know that I’d be one of the last people in the line. Punctuality was particularly important to the patient’s OCD, the same people who occupy the vast majority of ward three. My turn is approaching faster than I thought it would. I think I may be having some doubts.

Should I do this?

Will she be in too much pain?

I would have never questioned my mind if she hadn’t scorched her way into my life.

I understand that nurses are not supposed to be ‘mates’ with their patients. But she was different. I heard stories of her going into other people’s rooms to give them personal therapy. She was naïve. I collected my ‘medicine’ and shot it down my mouth. I turned to her and told her that it was an emergency and that she had to come to my room right away because if I didn’t talk to her now, I would kill myself. She came. Quickly. Rushing. She was in. I had her in my room. My room!

Now my room isn’t much. It can’t be. It’s a hospital room. It’s bleak. Four walls, all a ghostly shade of white. A single bed with a basic wooden Ikea frame. A pillow with no case just in case I try and suffocate myself with it. A duvet, again with no cover but this time just in case I try and hang myself with it. A small desk with thin legs and a wooden top with only an A5 notebook and a pencil living on it, and last but not least a chair. A chair most perfectly nimble and suiting the gorgeous excuse of a desk thrown into my room. I know what you’re thinking: where’s his wardrobe? Well I don’t have one. The nurses bring me fresh clothes each morning.

She strutted into my room not even noticing all of the imperfections of it and placing herself down onto the nimble chair. As she sat I locked the door. Quietly of course, so that she wouldn’t notice. Before she could ask me, what was so urgent I grabbed some duct tape which I acquired by telling the arts and crafts kiosk that I was working on a private project. They weren’t very careful. I unravelled the tape and pounced onto her with it. She was going to scream. I had to do something. So I hit her. She was knocked out. I couldn’t do this without her consciousness so I waited. I did some preparation so that my time wasn’t completely wasted. I taped her arms and legs to the fragile chair so that she was almost embedded in it. And for safe measures I put tape on her mouth in a cliché movie like fashion.

It was perfect. Everything was perfect. She was perfect. Now I just had to wait.

It had been three hours since I silenced her and she still wasn’t awake. My patience was thinning. I slapped her to try and wake her. But it didn’t work.

Another two hours had passed. Still no response.

It had been six hours. I began to give up hope that she would ever wake up. Until the sparkle in her eyes was unveiled by her swollen eyelid. I could hear her struggle to scream through the tape. I knelt down so that my mouth was almost pressed against her ear and whispered, “Nurse. I don’t even know your name yet. You’ve been here for months and I haven’t heard it. Or seen a name tag. What’s your name? I’ll take the tape off of your mouth for two seconds to tell me. I swear to god if you scream I’ll fucking kill you right here and it’ll be painful.” I ripped the tape off.

“Trinity” She spat out with a cotton soft tone.

It was the most beautiful name I’d ever heard. I put the tape back onto her mouth and explained to her what I was going to do.

“Don’t be scared trinity. I’m doing this for us. Because I love you. You need to know how much I love you. You need to see how much I love you. You need to feel how much I love you. Everything about you is perfect, so I need you to understand that we have to be together. Forever. You can never leave me. I will not- let you leave me. Because I love you. This is what I’m going to do. I will use this tape to form a wire like object so that I can cut through your throat and feel the warmth of your draining blood. If that doesn’t work I’ll stop your breathing by placing a pillow firmly onto your mouth until I can feel your life leave your body to enter mine. After this I’ll fashion a rope out of the tape and hang myself. So that we can be at peace from this horrific world together. Do you understand? Of course, you do. You’re amazing.”

I started to the tape wire ready for Trinity. My love Trinity. But I noticed it wouldn’t be enough. It wasn’t strong enough. It would snap. I tried it anyway. Wrapping the thing piece of now un sticky tape around her neck and pulling and rubbing it till even a slight bit of blood came out. Nothing happened. It snapped after a minute of trying. I walked to my bed to grab the pillow to try my second method when I heard a thud. She escaped. Oh! How I’m such a fool, under estimating her strength. She ripped the tape off of her mouth and screamed for help. Running outside of the door. As soon as she was heard armed security burst into my room. My arms were up in the air. But before anyone did anything else I screamed, “Trinity. You did once call me the man of three. But you were my only Trinity.”

Bang! The gun went bang right through my heart. I felt the blood gushing out of my body as my life left me.

I know I’ll be re-united with my Trinity one day. But for now my only trinity is the holy.