Homeless or Dead

"Take my hand, sweetheart." Jake stated, with a desperate tone in his voice.
"No." I answered, with the most confidence I could muster.
I shouldn't hold it against him, but the only time anyone ever called me sweetheart was when they were angry at me. This wasn't really different.
"Nora, I can't love you."
Okay, maybe it wasn't a desperate tone, just one that wimps use when people aren't cooperating with them.
"If you can't love me, don't tell me to hold your hand."
I'm so done with him. I'm so done with everyone. Too bad suicide is a sin, and running away will just leave me homeless or lost. I don't really know which one would be best. I don't really know why I'm wondering. But I guess being dead would be equivalent to being homeless and lost, for me at least. So maybe I'll just go with lost. Maybe I'll just wander for a while.
"Jake, what would you do if I told you I never wanted to see you again?"
Jake stopped walking away, I kept shivering.
He turned around and looked at me, as if I was one of his patients in need of some hardcore medication.
"I would say that you don't have the choice, sweetheart. You're stuck with me until you die."
Ironic. Normally that kind of thing comes along in a marriage vow.
"I never want to see you again."
Standing up was difficult, but I did it.
"Too bad Nora, you don't have the choice."
He was staring at me from across courtyard, but was distracted when his cellphone started ringing.
"To hell with choices."
I took the pill out of my pocket, placed it on my tongue, waited for Jake to get the chance look at me, then swallowed my deathwish.

life was pretty kind to me after that.
life was pretty mean to Jake after that.