Yours Truly, Ramona

chapter twenty six | catch me.

*possible trigger warning*

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If I was going to kill myself, how would I do it? I've thought about this a lot before.

I mean, there are just so many different ways to do it. I could use a number of different things, from a blade to a bottle of bleach. Or, shit, I could jump off of a bridge if I really wanted to.

I actually don't hate that last one; there are plenty of bridges in Portland, so it'd be easy to do. Not to mention, once I get my feet over the edge no one can save me. That's how I like it.

No one can save me now, while I'm still alive, and no one will be able to save me once I'm off of that bridge and on the brink of death. God, death would be so comforting. So relaxing.

My demons would be gone, along with the suffering my mind puts me through every day. I can't even fathom how good that would feel. To finally feel nothing. To drown out into the blackness of my mind and just disappear.

I'm snapped out of my sad, dream-like state when my brother shifts around uncomfortably and sits up in his seat, which catches my attention.

All of Owen's family is seated around Carol's dining room table, each of them engrossed in casual conversation as I sit in the middle of them, awkward and anxious.

"So, Owen," Mason speaks up with a clear, curiously confident tone. "Where do babies come from?"

The lighthearted chatter fades into a cluster of chuckles and whispers, the most prominent of the laughs being Grace's ugly cackling. I myself have to bite on my lip to keep from uttering a giggle while I look to Owen to see how he's going to respond.

Not surprisingly, the poor man is caught off-guard and appears immensely taken aback, eyes wide in uncertainty.

"Umm," Owen stutters, looking around at his family for help. They all keep their mouths shut, leaving Owen to have to formulate a response on his own.

"What prompted that question?"

Mason shrugs and picks up his fork without seeming to notice the eyes that are on him.

"Just thinking," he states. "Because I never see the babies landing on the doorsteps like they do in The Grinch."

This time my heavy heart can't help but laugh, and I slap my hand over my mouth while I utter a chuckle. Grace is still laughing along with me at the other end of the table, making Mason's words all the more hilarious.

"Well," Owen proclaims confidently as he seems to have found the answer to my brother's troubling question. "Why don't you, uh, ask your sister?"

Owen catches my eye and smirks, not caring that my jaw has dropped in annoyance and disbelief. He really has the audacity to pin this on me. He really thinks this is going to turn out well for him.

Too bad he's dead wrong.

"Aren't you supposed to be the parent?"

Again, what I receive from him is nothing more than a dismissive smirk.

"You seem to think you know everything, so tell him."

As much as I want to feel like Owen was joking, there's a part of me that feels as though he took his opportunity to intentionally flame me. I watch him across the dining table with slitted eyes, getting nothing but a shrug as he takes a sip of his water.

"Well," I announce while being sure to glance at everyone at the dinner table.

I know Owen doesn't want me to tell Mason how babies are actually made—he wants me to give him the sugarcoated, lighthearted, 'cooties' version for the sake of the unfortunate circumstances that we're presented with. But I'm not gonna lie to the poor kid, even if we are at the dinner table.