I met Jesse when shifted to Boston from Denver with his family. He was a senior at that time, and I was a freshman. He lived nearby, and we soon got talking. We grew very close within days. Crazy rumours spread like wildfire, but I didn’t care. Then he asked me to the junior—senior prom, and I said yes. Actually, we were just very good friends.
He was a good artist. He didn’t go to college after passing out from high school. I didn’t like that, but then again, who was I to object? I didn’t mind the rumours of us dating, even though technically, they were not true. I was crazy about him without even realising it. I used to dream of a good future of us together. He wanted to open his own furniture business—his father was stinking rich, and he could have easily led a luxurious life without working, but he said that he wanted to have an identity of his own. I…I wanted to go into journalism. In more than one way, he was perfect for me.
Then, when he was about twenty, his mother died from leukaemia. Being very, much attached to her, his life kind of…broke apart when she died. His father was a lot like mine—he barely ever had time to talk with his family. I don’t think he even noticed when Jesse got into depression. His sister, Valerie, went toViennato study music.
He got paranoid that everyone was going to leave him, and he was going to sink into a dark deep hole and die alone. He would call me up every couple of hours to check on what I was doing. He became extremely possessive, and I started getting scared. I started ignoring his calls, hoping that he would get the message that it wasn’t okay with me if he kept a tab of what I was doing, but he thought that I was going to run away too.
He started me following me everywhere—from home to school, and from school to back home. He would call me up to ask what I was doing if I went to any of my friends’ house. It was as if he was forever watching me.
So one day, when he called me over, I decided to use it as an opportunity to ask him to lay off. He pointed a loaded revolver to his head when I did. Said he would shoot himself right there if I ever tried to run away. I snatched the gun away. That’s when he really crossed his limits.
He started saying all sorts of things about my people you know. I stopped listening after a few seconds, but my temper got the better of me. I pointed the gun at his legs, and shot him thrice in quick succession. I ran away.
I told my parents to go toEuropefor their anniversary. I wanted to run away from there, before Jesse recovered completely, and came after me. Surprisingly, they agreed. On the other hand, Jesse told the Police that he had accidentally shot himself in the leg while cleaning the revolver.
I bought a ticket as soon as your mother replied to my e-mail and I landed up here…