The Ex Files: Suicide and Falling

I’m well aware of how cheesy this title is, thank you very much, so spare me the comments. However, I really feel that a series on my blog about my encounters, and those of the people around me, with their exes, is a must-have and a must-read; not to mention that it would be, surely, the most interesting blog-post I write in a while.

Let’s cut the crap; and let me tell you about Ayman.

Ayman, my dear friends, is the ex-boyfriend of Hazem, a guy I have a story worth telling with, but that’s for later. Today’s story is about the strange and extremely dramatic encounter between me, Hazem and this Ayman person. On Thursday, I got a text message from Hazem asking me if I’m free to pass by his house, pretend to be his new boyfriend in hopes that this will push Ayman to the point where he’ll agree to actually leave Hazem’s house for good. Considering the amount of weird shit in my life; I did not see anything wrong with this message; on the contrary, I found myself to be interesting in helping Hazem with that; especially that he is a nice person who doesn’t deserve an ex-boyfriend who shows up at the middle of the night and refuses to leave the house.

Off I came to Hazem’s house, with a new haircut and a scent of perfume; I wanted to look the part. I didn’t, however, expect the shit-storm I witnessed later.

When I arrived to Hazem’s; he didn’t look too boyfriend-y, if you know what I mean; he looked like someone who is ready to either cry, die or kill someone. Ayman was nowhere to be found; Hazem is almost refusing to talk and the whole vibe of the place seems extremely strange; if not dangerous. I dropped the boyfriend act and I asked Hazem if everything is alright. “Everything is not alright. Nothing is fucking alright.” Hazem points out, before he adds that Ayman is claiming that he actually swallowed Rat poison.

It took me a moment or two to actually grasp the fact that there is a person who might die in the bedroom of the house I’m siting in; before I grabbed my mobile; and googled the simple term “What is the effect of Rat Poisson on Humans”. The results did not help my inner peace; but rather sent me into frenzy; the guy is going to start bleeding from every hole imaginable in his body; before his heart just gives up. It looked like a horrible way to die.

Off I went to see Ayman; he was laying in bed; all gloomy and blue; I did not say a single word to him; but rather pulled his head towards me; opens his mouth forcefully; and saw his teeth; he wasn’t bleeding from his gum as expected; his temperate isn’t that high; his eyes are normally white; he looked fine; other than the sad doggy eyes looks he is sporting on his face. “Did you take rat poison?” I asked, firmly. “Who are you?” he answers; and I ignore the question. “I asked you a simple question! Did you fucking take rat poison!!” he refuses to answer. I decides to go to the logical part of my brain. “Listen, sugershit, I’m not buying this whole shitty act of suicide; I mean; if you got balls; you’d jump off a building and do us all a favor. However, in the slightly chance that you actually did take rat poison, I’m not going to be trailed for killing you while you laugh your ass off in losers’ hell, I’m taking you to the hospital.” Ayman started to cry, Hazem is standing at the door unaware of how unrealistic this situation is and I’m flaming with rage.

You see! I hate losers who commit suicide; it’s the ultimate escape plan that basically serve in only one thing; a new body for the grave. I mean; whatever problem you are facing is going to stay around when you commit suicide; whatever painful situation you got your sorry ass in; it’s going to hurt the people around you instead of you; while you root in your grave; so man up and have some balls; there is no situation without a solution; no question without an answer; we just don’t know that yet.

Also, let me telling you one thing; by the end of the day Ayman turned out that he indeed did not take any rat poison.

twenty minutes later; I’m in a taxi with Hazem and Ayman; taking them to a nearby hospital. Ayman is enjoying the fucking game; he is sitting in the backseat talking about the lights he is seeing and the heavens that awaits him; I’m in the frontseat trying to contain how much I want to punch him right in the face; Hazem is trying to comfort him.


In the hospital; the doctors were not sure about anything; the fake story of Ayman drinking the rat poison by mistake thinking that it’s some sort of a juice did not get their buy-in at all. While they worked on emptying Ayman’s stomach from everything that’s in it (and find that it was totally empty), they actually called the police. In the meantime; Hazem went back home to get the bottle of rat poison that Ayman allegedly emptied in his system. Police start to investigate me; asking me all sorts of questions about this man who I met less than an hour ago. I managed to pay them off with couple of hundred Syrian Pounds and they gave me my ID back. The doctor, at this time, came to me explaining that the only hospital with antidote to whatever poison the little fucker took is on the opposite side of Damascus; and that we need to get him there before it’s too late. “Too late for what?” I scream, “the fucker did not take any poison!” the doctor agrees with a nod but adds, “What if we’re wrong, though, what if his system took the poison too fast and now he is dyeing inside.”

That’s one big fat fucking what if.

In the taxi; Ayman was enjoying the drama to the max. “Tell Hazem that I love him,” he says with closed eyes and tired voice, “tell him I’m sorry I cheated on him. Tell him to visit my grave and put white flowers there.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I slapped him so fucking hard I think his ears were ringing for a good 20 minutes. “What was that for?” he asks, his face is red, his voice is normal. “To make sure you stay awake with me; I don’t want you to die, my dear Ayman.” I say sarcastically.

Hazem was in another taxi; getting phone calls from Ayman’s family; asking him all sorts of things; he finally gives up and give them my phone number.

“ALLO,” Ayman’s father says, “Are you Sama? Is Ayman alright?” I try to explain to him that it’s nothing; but the father was cracking under pressure. “What the fuck is wrong with him! He knows we are in a different city! How can he do that? Isn’t he a man! Doesn’t he have balls!”

In the hospital; Hazem just wanted to sleep; he has been up for the last 48 hours having a non-stop conversation with his ex-boyfriend before running around hospitals talking to police officers and doctors and trying to figure out a way for us not to go to prison.

In his sick-bed; Ayman is laying down and Hazem goes to lay next to him. “Would you forgive me?” Ayman asked, and Hazem nods. “Would we go back together?” Hazem refused to answer. Ayman stands up; all healthy all of a sudden and he runs out the door. Three hours later, and a long and painful search around town for him; he shows up at Hazem’s place. They fight; all night; until Hazem kicks him out.

The house now is a mess; broken glass everywhere; painful memories are gathered around. Sad look on Hazem’s face.

Then I did something that I always end up doing. I fall in love with people when I simply need to ask them , or them to ask me, “What’s wrong”. I broke up with my ex two weeks ago, damnit.


2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Trackback: Damascus, I think we’ve got a problem « Sama Says
  2. Trackback: She Lost Her | Danny Says

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