Jim loves his job. He keeps his desk neat and tidy. All of Jim’s co-workers know his schedule as well as him; when he eats, when he takes a break, when he uses the bathroom, when he stops for more water at the cooler, everything. They take a certain pride in knowing where he’ll be at any given time of the day; it has become strangely familiar. Jim likes that his office enjoys his routine; it gives him a sense of belonging.

On this particular day, Jim is power walking to his office, because the bus ran late today, he didn’t have time to pick up a paper. Although he hadn’t felt great this morning, he got up without fail at 6am and went for his morning jog. Jim sat down at his desk, feeling worse then ever but not wanting to disrupt his routine, began to work as normal. It was with relief that his 10:50am bathroom break came quickly, Jim needed it desperately.

With a sense liberation, Jim closed himself away in the farthest stall in the Men’s Bathroom; he really was not feeling well. He liked the last stall because from the toilet, Jim could see the sterile metal clock that hangs on the wall over the sinks. Jim knows at precisely 10:58am he has enough time to wash his hands, readjust his tie and be back at his desk at exactly 11am. But today is not like every other day for Jim.

Jim’s hands go clammy and sweat begins to trickle down his forehead. Jim looks up and with distress sees it’s 10:58am, and he can’t leave the toilet. What will he do, he thought in a panic. His co-workers know his schedule precisely; they’ll know something is wrong when he’s not at his desk on time. With shaky hands and trembling knees, Jim pulls himself off the toilet at 11:15am, exactly 25 minutes after he first sat down. Jim’s routine is broken, and so is his heart. He couldn’t keep his schedule no matter how hard he tried. He slowly walked towards his desk were he saw a small group gathered, concerned frowns on their faces.

“Jim, Jim…you alright?”

“Jim, where HAVE you been we need this report!”?

“My God, did you fall in? You look terrible.”

“When do you leave?” I changed the subject on my mind.

But as she proceeded to spill every planned, painful detail of their honeymoon, I wandered. I imagined her on a morning, leaving their beachfront villa. The powerful Pacific sun cast a halo around her. Her soft and pale, teasing body was all but revealed behind my imagination’s choice of her bikini. I sobered back into our conversation, regretting my absence - while my fantasies of their Hawaiian holiday continued to sway between a heaven and a hell. They looked at me with adoring faces, so satisfied to have shared the day with me. But I always felt they never shared enough. I excused myself from the table. The restroom would be a refuge from my foul thoughts.

Standing at the urinal, the warm fog that rose from the fountain of piss failed to blanket me against a chill of loneliness. My flaccid, pitiful manhood hung between my hands. I blamed it for everything. In the polished black tiles I saw my reflection - my curse. I wished it would reflect more than my face so I wouldn’t be an enigma to anyone, anymore.

“You’re so lovely, Tim. Why aren’t you married?”

“A guy like you, you must be fighting them off.”

Unidentified voices seized the moment to echo their probing, hackneyed queries inside my head. ‘Well, unfortunately, the woman I love is already taken. And it probably doesn’t help that I’m burdened by the shape and function of my cock, and that, generally, I’m fucked in the head. Do you take sugar with your tea, Jan?’ I always longed for the courage to make that my reply and repel my inquisitors’ seemingly innocuous question.

The phantoms fell silent and my loneliness became frustration. I briefly considered the shame that I should have felt on such a night, but my aching heart had grown too sore to pretend I was happy for my friends. I fled the toilet, undecided, and immediately collided with the bride on her way past. She laughed. My mind raced. She wrapped her loving arms around me like a sister would. My secret pushed impatiently against my lips. I put my hands on her bare shoulders and guided her back to a length where our eyes could strongly meet.

“Veronica, I’m in love with you.” I finally told her.

I didn’t stop for a reply. I continued to pour years of my private anguish over her innocent expression. A thousand thoughts came to me at once and crashed together to form clumsy, inarticulate sentences. I squeezed her gently to emphasise important words. Today I no longer felt comfortable coming second. She learned how I had loved her since before Alan, how I was ashamed to be their best man. Ashamed to be telling her this outside the toilet of the reception centre on their wedding night. Ashamed of everything, yet, not actually ashamed at all.

I finished my confession. An unbearable silence followed. Her face was full of fear or anger or pain - I couldn’t tell for sure. The moment passed slowly and I wondered at one point whether it was even happening at all. Then, she reminded me it was real.

“I want you… to leave”

Her final words carved me up. I couldn’t argue. After purging my black heart, even then, I knew Alan and Veronica sounded better than Veronica and me. I dropped my hands in resignation, apologised with my eyes and left.

Two weeks followed where I lay in bed. While awake, I regretted what I had done. While dreaming, I regretted not doing it another way. Dozens of missed calls displayed themselves on my phone. I’d not called work, I’d not called my family. A water ski tow-rope sat coiled in the corner of my room, tempting me all the time to enact a horrible end. The more I stayed in bed, the more I stared at it. The more I stared, the more it felt like a solution. I rose up from my flailed bed sheets. My limbs ached - perhaps I was dying anyway. Standing on a chair I flung the rope around the ceiling fan, unsure of whether that would even hold my weight. As I tied a loop to fit around my neck the growl of a motorcycle distracted me. From my elevation I watched the postman toss a handful of mail into the yard, unable to fit them inside my overflowing letter box. Curiosity had stayed my actions, for now. I let go of the rope and left it to sway empty and tantalisingly in the centre of the room.

Huddled over my kitchen table I flicked hopelessly through the bundle of letters. Bills and catalogues. And then, a postcard from Hawaii. I was paralysed with anticipation. Butterflies flew from my stomach in every direction - to my heart, my lungs, my intestines. My hand shook.

Too afraid to immediately read it, I analysed its cover instead. A painting. An elegant Western woman walked along a vacant stretch of Waikiki sand. Her back to me, it was caressed by the setting Pacific sun. Native fishing boats were pulled ashore, abandoned for the evening. Suggestions of a world of simplicity, incomparable splendour, but emptiness. I turned the card over. Few words adorned its white space.

“I’m in love with you too.” it read, “Veronica.”

Sighing quietly, he descended the hewn steps that zigzagged their way to the golden sand below. The edges had been worn smooth by many eager feet. While he carefully wound his way down the cliff, his mind gave way to reflections of the past and the decision so easily made. The reasons didn’t matter any more. He was on his way to find the peace and anonymity he craved, to meet the cool blackness waiting for him.

As more steps passed beneath his feet, he idly wondered who’d been the architect of this would-be death trap. The steps became awkward and triangular as they meandered back and forth. Stumbling slightly when he stubbed his toe, he safely altered the length of his stride and sniggered grimly at the irony. He jumped the last step to the beach as if in a hurry to meet his fate. All that remained now was performing the final ritual to surround himself with nothingness, and he wouldn’t have to face himself anymore!

Warm sand crunched between his numb toes, the heat of the day had passed taking the scalding bite out of it. The cooling wind whipped the sand along the beach, wasting its effort as it stung at his bare ankles. The dancing diamonds vanished as the large orange disk melted into the horizon.

A brightly coloured beach ball bounced behind his knee and dropped to a halt at his heels. There was a blank expression on his face while he considered the toy and the smiling little girl who came to retrieve it. He knew he should smile too but his mouth had forgotten how. Picking up the ball, he tossed it back to the child who grabbed it and ran after a woman who’d started climbing the uneven steps. He watched the girl disappear round the first bend and almost envied her simple and uncomplicated life, a blank canvas stretching over many years. Then without another thought, he cleared his throat, brushed the sand from his calves and continued.

The beach was deserted. He strode purposefully and without ceremony into the cold sea. As the water reached past his knees he could feel its weight pushing him back. Executing a perfect shallow dive, he started stroking at a steady pace. After a few minutes he felt calm and serene and swam slowly. When the tranquillity overtook him he stopped and let himself drift a while. Motionless, he gradually sank into the cool depths and dissolved in the endless void. Soon he would be free and cleansed, without any mocking thoughts to taunt him.

A spasm locked his larynx. His beleaguered lungs struggled for a lifesaving breath that couldn’t come. His body screamed with pain but his mind ignored it. Instinctively he fought, yet his determination not to survive was stronger. When his oxygen-starved brain shut down the man’s body went limp and his heart stopped. A ribbon of seaweed gracefully floated by as his eyesight faded. Barely moments later, his hearing failed.