Part II

I was walking across campus on my way home from the lab when someone called my name. "Roger?" It was a familiar voice, a woman, but in the crowds of students filling the sidewalks, it took me a moment to see who'd called.

Then I saw Cheryl Smith, one of the most beautiful women I've ever met. "Cheryl!" I called.

"That's me," she said, getting up and walking over to me. God, she was beautiful, and she certainly wasn't shy about it. She was wearing a tiny elastic miniskirt that hardly covered her crotch and a nearly transparent blouse that covered but hardly hid her breasts.

"I heard you were sick," I said, remembering what Jim Davis had mentioned over coffee two weeks before.

"I was," she said, smiling warmly. "I was out of work for a month, but I'm OK now."

"Good," I said, "Jim mentioned that he'd heard it was pretty bad."

"Don't worry," she said, and then rested her hand on mine. "It's been a lonely month, though, and you know what? I was just thinking about you, about the last time..."

The last time. We'd only been out on three dates together, but somehow, on the last one we'd ended up in bed. Cheryl had turned out to be as good in bed as I could have hoped, but somehow, we'd never managed to get back together after that.

"Want to come over for dinner?" I suggested, acting on impulse.

"Sure," she said, smiling as she stood there in front of me. "Where's your car?"

"In the West Engineering parking structure," I said. I'd meant to try to set a dinner date some time later in the week, but I didn't mind her misinterpretation.

She walked ahead of me at first, making it easy for me to admire her long legs and tight fanny. Her almost transparent blouse flowed loosely with the motion of her body, and she occasionally turned to smile at me as she walked, giving me glimpses of her beautiful breasts.

She held my hand as we approached the parking structure, and somehow, walking hand-in-hand with her was almost magical. We weren't just walking together, we were dancing. Dancing hand in hand, side by side. When she was close, she let her breast gently nudge my arm. When there was room, she danced along at arm's length, smiling happily at me as I watched the gentle bounce and sway of her breasts.

She got in the car with me, and as I drove out of the garage, she sat close to me with a hand on my thigh. It wasn't long before my hand was on her bare thigh, and she held it there with her other hand as we drove.

"You're acting pretty horny," I said.

"I am," she answered, sliding her hand up my thigh and letting a finger slip between my legs to rest on the soft bulge of my penis. "And you?"

Of course I was horny, in an abstract way, but as her finger touched the crotch of my pants, the abstract became very concrete. I slid my hand up her thigh to answer her gesture, and where I expected to find panties, I found smooth skin.

By the time we reached my house, I was ready to make love on the spot. As I let her inside, Cheryl began unbuttoning her blouse. I led her up the steps to the loft, pulled back the bedspread, and turned to her. She fell into my arms, kissing me full on the mouth, then started to unbutton my shirt. While I held her to me, part of me was curious to learn why she was so anxious to get me into bed, but mostly, I was swept away with anticipation.

She gently pulled my shirt from my shoulders, then undid the button at my waist and unzipped my pants. As she freed my penis, she took it into her mouth, plunging her head over it, threatening to drive me to a premature orgasm, and then she pulled free and grinned up at me.

I sat on the padded edge of my waterbed while she pulled off my sandals and finished taking off my pants, and then she stood in front of me while I finished unbuttoning her blouse and pulled the smoky grey fabric from her. I slid her tight elastic skirt down over her hips, and then she grinned as I gently slid my finger over the clean-shaven skin of her crotch.

I rolled onto the bed and sat in the center, cross legged, and she understood, crawling out to meet me. My penis stood out between my legs, hard with anticipation. She knelt over me, holding my shoulders to brace herself against the gentle bounce of the waterbed, and then she kissed me before she fell into my lap, thrusting herself down over my penis and laughing with joy as she wrapped her legs around my hips.

She almost drove me to a premature orgasm as she engulfed me, and then we sat there, hugging and kissing as she gently rocked her hips on me, grinding her clit against me as the look on her face changed from bliss to intense pleasure. She laced her fingers together behind my neck and leaned back, looking intensely into my eyes as I held her breasts. I could resist no longer! I felt myself explode within her, pulsating, riding the crest of orgasm as she rocked her hips on my lap and moaned with her own pleasure.

She hugged me tightly for a long time as she sat in my lap, and then she leaned back, fingers laced behind my neck as she smiled up at me. "I like your waterbed and satin sheets," she said.

The sensation of my still half-erect penis burried deep in her body was indescribably good. I didn't want it to end, but I felt obliged to be a good host. "Thanks. Want to get off me so I can whip up dinner for us? We can always fool around some more afterwards if you want."

She smiled at me, but there was something almost sad looking about her face. "Roger Stearns, I've got a thing or two to tell you."

"What?" I asked.

"I can't get off you," she said. "We're stuck together."

"What?" I asked. There was no way I could believe what she said, but at the same time, the tone of her voice and the intense look on her face made it clear that she was very serious.

"We don't have any choice in the matter," she said. "Try to pull out of me if you want, but I guarantee you that you won't be able to."

I tried to lift her off me, but my penis was locked tightly into her. She cooperated, lifting herself slightly as I slid a finger between us. My penis was stretched tightly, locked somewhere deep inside her, and I couldn't budge it.

"What the hell?" I asked.

She grinned ruefully. "Try to pull free, try hard. See what you can do to free yourself."

I pushed her onto her back and tried to lift my hips. I can't say how, but as I pulled, the sensation in my penis was incredibly sexual, and before I could accomplish anything, I found myself thrusting myself deep into Cheryl, pulling her to me as she squirmed with pleasure beneath me. The intense pressure of an orgasm came over me suddenly, and then it washed through my body as I pumped myself deeply into her.

Unlike any orgasm I can remember, it continued, sweeping me away, taking my self-control, until I was exhausted, barely able to think, and unable to continue any effort to pull free of Cheryl. It took me a long time to recover enough to think about what had happened, and longer to rouse enough energy to move or speak.

"Cheryl Smith," I finally said, "you've got a lot of explaining to do." I was lying spent beside her on my bed, still locked into her, with one hand between us exploring where my penis entered her vagina.

She smiled whistfully at me. "I was sick for the last month, you know, and now, you've caught it. A condom would have saved you. A guy named Ron caught me a month ago; he locked into me just the way you're locked in. Every time I tried to pull away, it ended in orgasm. The harder I tried to resist, the more pleasure he gave me. Now it's your turn."

I stared at her, not wanting to believe what she said, but she offered me no choice. The experience of the last few minutes was enough to convince me that she spoke the truth.

"What happened to Ron," I asked.

"You should ask, what happened to Cheryl," she said. "I look like her, I have all her memories, but mostly, the resemblance is superficial."

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

She smiled, with a sad look in her eyes. "I'm telling you what you need to know. For most purposes, Cheryl's dead. This thing that I am is a monster, something out of a horror movie, a venerial disease. It's old, older than I know, and it eats people. Ron was a victim, Cheryl was a victim, and now you're going to be a victim. If all goes as it has for as long as I can remember, a month from now, Roger Stearns will have been consumed; what remains of him will be a part of me."

I laughed, trying to shrug off what she was saying. "Come off it! How do you expect me to believe that kind of nonsense."

"What you believe doesn't matter," she said. "It's happening, though, and I can't change the outcome. What I can do is try try to make it more fun for you by giving you a chance to participate more fully. Cheryl had fun while I consumed her, Ron had fun when I consumed him, all the memories I have are of happy endings, but I think I can make it even better. I know you pretty well, and all my other victims were strangers, at least as far as I can remember."

"So why did you pick me," I asked.

"I didn't pick you," she said. "You were there... No, that's not entirely true. I spent the day talking to men, trying to find someone who could provide shelter for the month it takes me to consume a victim, and you were the first man to come along who met my criteria. I'm glad you came along, though, because I do like you alot. As long as I'm doomed to consume people, I may as well have fun while I'm doing it.

I stared at her as a sense of unreality swept over me. "What do you mean about consuming me. Surely you aren't going to eat me."

"In a sense," she said, still smiling, gently rocking her hips against mine as she lay there, then rolling me onto my back and swinging herself into a sitting position on my hips.

She smiled down at me and gently stroked my chest before she continued. "Eating's the wrong word, though. Neither of us will eat again. Once the bond between us is solid, I'll begin adsorbing you through it. I have some control over what I adsorb and how; if I do a bad job and pick someone I can't get along with, I have to adsorb their brain first and then spend a lonely month with their mindless body hanging from me. If I make a good choice, like I did with Cheryl, I'll keep them intact as long as possible so I can enjoy their company."

As she talked, she rocked her hips gently on mine and stroked my chest. By the time she reached the end of the last sentence, I was rising to an orgasm, and as she stopped talking, an intensely happy look swept over her face. I came, pumping deep into her, swept away with her into the perfect world of orgasm.

"It's good, isn't it," she asked, still squatting over my hips as I recovered from the orgasm.

"Yes," I said.

"It's nice being able to talk this way so soon," she said. "For all the victims I can remember, I had to keep them under for most of a week before we could talk much, but before you, as far as I know, I've never consumed a friend, someone I knew pretty well before we started."

"I'm not sure I want to be such a willing victim," I said, relaxing under her with my head cradled on my hands.

"I know," she said. "But you haven't got much choice in the matter. If you resist, you'll have an orgasm that ends your resistance, and you'll enjoy it. I think my body makes tranquilizing chemicals to keep us calm, and I know that whatever part of your mind tries to resist will be the first part to be destroyed as I adsorb you.

"What choice do you have?" I asked, trying to turn the tables.

"Not much," she said. "I've got to eat, if I don't, I start digesting myself, and then I get desparate and go after anybody. It's far more pleasant to go after someone who's company I enjoy. I use orgasm to control my victims, but it's far more fun to make love to my victims than to masturbate them into submission."

I began to hit on an idea. "Cheryl, if I can call you that, there've been a few times in the last few minutes where you've hinted that you didn't remember lots of things. Why not. Who are you?"

"You can call me Cheryl, there's a good part of her preserved in me," she said, and then her smile turned to a frown. "As to who I am, I'm not really sure. All my memories are the memories of my victims, or the memories of those parts of their brains I've adsorbed. In a way, I guess I'm mostly a composite of my victims bodies and minds, plus what must be some small part that makes me what I am."

"If that's true," I said, frowning as I tried to concentrate, "then do you really want to keep eating more people?"

She was still sitting on me, and her face suddenly shifted from a serious look to a look of transcendant pleasure as an orgasm swept through her. Her hips rocked convulsively on top of mine, sweeping me away with her. My penis throbbed within her, I pulled her down to me, kissing her, hugging her, and all the while, thrusting my hips against hers as I rode the crest of orgasm.

It was dark out when I finally pulled myself together enough to speak to her of anything, and it was a while before I came back to the thread of our interrupted conversation.

"I asked you if you really wanted to keep adsorbing people," I said, gently holding her as we lay face to face beside each other.

"No," she said, and her hips began to thrust at me. "I can't help it, though. Every part of me, every victim I know of reached the point where they'd rather die than participate in this, but ..." she stopped, gasping with the pleasure of another orgasm, and then I was swept away.

The orgasms were a obviously a defense. She'd said that she used them to tranquilize her victims, but they controlled her too. By morning, after a night of short conversations punctuated by incredibly intense orgasms and long peaceful recoveries, I'd learned that she wanted to find a way to stop consuming the people around her, even if it meant an end to her life.

As the early morning light swept through the skylight over my waterbed, she told me everything she could about the mechanics of consuming her victims, how she adsorbed them, how the waste products of her metabolism were stored in the body cavity of the victim and occasionally eliminated through whatever body opening remained available, and how she controlled which parts were adsorbed in what order.

"Right now," she said. "I haven't really started adsorbing you. All I've done is burn some of your fat, but that's no loss. I suppose that if I wanted I could even initiate the adsorbtion in my own body instead of in yours, though I don't remember ever doing it."

"If you did," I said, feeling inspired, "could you arrange it so you died, so that all that's left when it's over is me?"

"I think so," she said, smiling. She pulled me to her and kissed me, we made love, and for the first time since she'd joined me in my bed, it was love, not her desire to tame me or the strange way her body saved her from self destruction. It was joyous love, but slow. We kissed, hugged, and touched while the tension built and the glow slowly spread to my hips. I began thrusting my penis into her as she pulled against me. I was swept away with glorious love as we climaxed, and, though the climax seemed like it would last forever, it never stole my rationality or clouded my mind.

I still wondered about the strange way I was bound to her, and I was curious to understand why I never felt the need to get up from the bed. We made love over and over, rolling from one position to another and resting between sessions of lovemaking as we talked. Mostly, Cheryl told me about the people she'd consumed. I knew quite a bit about Cheryl, but there were others, Ron, Mary, Steve and so many more. She only knew snatches about some of them; with others, she could recall a lifetime of detail, and others had been totally forgotten, completely consumed with not even a souvenier to remind her of who they'd been.

"Roger," she said, sometime during our second evening together. She paused, and then started over. "Roger, I've done it. My body is starting to adsorb itself, you'll survive."

She hugged me, rolled onto me, and rested her head on my shoulder, then drew a ragged breath. "It's kind of sad, in a way, I'm going to die, and until now, I've had a strange kind of immortality in this hellish but fun life that I've been living. I'm glad we found a way to do it, though, and at least, it'll be a fun ending."

I held her. There was nothing I could say. I felt a tear drip onto my shoulder. She drew another ragged breath, and then sighed, relaxing against me for a long time before she began gently thrusting her hips, drawing strength and comfort from the simple sexual pleasure that we shared. I helped, meeting her thrusts with my hips, helping her on the long slow rise to an orgasm. When it came, it was what I needed, not intense, but slow and gentle, a comforting feeling of pleasure pulsating from between my thighs as we hugged and pressed our bodies together.

The next morning, as she sat on my hips, I called in to work and told them that I'd have to take a month or so of sick leave. I fibbed, telling them that I had mono, and then hung up the phone as Cheryl rewarded my fib with an intense but short orgasm.

Cheryl told me everything that would happen before it happened, but it was still a shock over the next few days as the bond between our bodies grew from just my penis to a broad connection joining her fanny to my hips. She made an effort to spend as much time as possible squatting on my hips with her knees under my elbows, explaining that that position led to the most enjoyable bond that she'd found.

"Can you lift me out of bed?" she asked. It was the afternoon of our fourth day together, and her thighs were starting to bond to my ribs.

"I think so," I said, shifting my weight as I sat up. I swung us around until my feet were over the edge of the bed, and then paused. She was beautiful lying on my thighs and looking up at me, and I absently ran my fingers up and down her sides, from hips to breasts, befor continuing with the job of getting us out of bed.

"OK," I said, once I'd managed to lift us into a standing position. Her fingers were laced behind my neck, supporting her body, and I leaned back against her weight and tried briefly to support her fanny, that is, until I realized that it needed no support.

"Where to?" I asked.

"The bathroom," she said, "then the kitchen. You don't need to eat, you can live for a month adsorbing me, but you've got to keep your digestive system running. While we're at it, we could probably use a bath, and although I don't really need to wretch yet, it'll probably help if I unload what I've got."

I sat on the toilet for what must have been half-an-hour before I managed to pass what was in my bowels, then she asked me to hold her over the toilet so she could wretch. It was awful watching her heave, and the gob of thick yellow stuff that came out of her mouth was disgusting enough that if I'd had anything in my stomach, I think I'd have thrown up.

"Are you OK?" I asked as I helped her back into a sitting position in my lap.

"Sure," she said, licking her lips. "You look awful. Don't take it so hard."

"But that stuff, it's so gross."

"Actually, it tastes pretty good. It's not surprising. Think about it, it takes me a month to consume a person, and that comes to about five pounds of flesh and bone a day. That's too much to nourish a person, so I must not be very efficient, as carnivores go. I bet the yellow stuff is loaded with nutrients, probably fat and protien."

From then on, we made a daily habit of a trip to the bathroom and then the kitchen. I never felt hungry, but she made me eat something every day, with emphasis not on nutrition, but on roughage to keep my plumbing in order. Our baths were fun times to explore our slowly merging bodies, and no matter what we did, it was punctuated with orgasms, every change of subject, every move from room to room, every shift of posture drove us to orgasm. It wasn't empty sex; as the days passed, a deeply shared bond of love grew between us.

By the end of our first week together, the bond between Cheryl's body and mine had spread until it reached her toes, binding them to the sides of my hips. The changes were gradual, but I could see that her thighs were shrinking into my body and her waist was becoming slimmer. The result could have looked monsterous, but it didn't. Cheryl remained a pretty woman even as she sank into my body, and I found that I liked the way we looked together.

Every day, she vomited out more of her substance, and I regretted every ounce of yellow goo that I flushed down the toilet. She continued to assure me that it didn't taste bad; she said that it wasn't unpleasant to vomit it out, but that didn't make it any better.

We were talking about it a few hours after we'd made our daily trip to the toilet. "It's almost orgasmic when I vomit, you know," she said. "If you'd help, it would be orgasmic. That's how it always ends up, but if you work at it, you can make it more fun sooner."

I pulled her to me and kissed her as we walked back from the kitchen to my living room. Her legs were almost gone, and between her weight loss and my experience balancing her, it was becoming easy to walk around with her.

I sat down on the couch, still kissing her, and then leaned back to speak. "Mabe I'd have an easier time dealing with your vomit if I had a taste of the stuff. You keep telling me it tastes OK."

"Here," she said, pulling her face to mine.

Our orgasms had changed. Her hips were firmly bonded to mine, with her back emerging from where my penis had been. My penis was gone, and all that remained of her genitals was the bump of her clitoris where her belly emerged from mine. I couldn't thrust into her, she couldn't engulf me, but we still shared sex, somehow, and it was better when I stroked the joint between our bodies as we came.

I began to stroke her, feeling the rising tension of our coming orgasm, and then it washed over and through me as she pulled herself against me, her body pulsating with pleasure as the waves swept through her. At the very climax, as we kissed open mouthed, her mouth filled with something that tasted rich and salty, but slightly bitter.

It was surprisingly good, good enough that swallowing was natural and we never broke our kiss. With each slow wave of delightful contraction that swept through us, she delivered another small portion of the stuff into my mouth. Each time, I swallowed; it was such a perfect completion of our love that I hardly had to think about it.

That started a habit that lasted for the next month. From then on, every time we made love, we kissed, and as she came to an orgasm, I drank from her lips. After trying it only once, it seemed more than natural, it was necessary. Her vomit was my nectar.

It was soon after that that she noticed that her adsorbtion wasn't following the expected course. "Roger," she said one morning, sitting up on me, if you could call it that, while I lay in bed, "I'm not being adsorbed as quickly as I expected."

"Any idea why?" I asked, looking up at her. There was nothing left of her hips and legs, and I could see that she was getting thin. Her long thin waist rose from my groin before expanding into her beautiful and very feminine thorax.

"Well, it's all going differently from what I'm used to. I mean, vomiting every day has made changes gradual that used to be sudden, and now that you're drinking it, I think you must be adsorbing me more efficiently; perhaps that'll make me last longer."

Three weeks after she bound herself to me, it was obvious that lasting longer wasn't the same as lasting forever. She'd grown perilously thin, and her ribcage had begun to collapse. She didn't need to breathe, I could breathe enough for the two of us, and she was finding it harder and harder to talk. Her waist was so thin that it looked like a huge penis standing between my legs, and more and more, she relied on her arms to support her weight as we moved around.

"Roger, I don't think I'll be able to speak anymore," she said, drawing a short breath before each word. "I love you."

She kissed me. I held her, gently sliding my hands over her back where it arched from my groin, bringing us to a slow but wonderful climax, drinking her nectar, and then holding her for a long time.

Her chest finished its collapse fairly quickly after that, but her arms were still strong and she was still intensely fun. We could still communicate, she could form words with her lips, and she could type. We spent long hours fooling with my Mac. I used the computer to try to keep up with things at work, and it wasn't hard for me to talk her into using the computer to write up her story. It turned out that she was a pretty good writer, better than I ever hope to be.

I was worried that her breasts would disappear as her chest collapsed, but they lasted until near the end, very kissable, and very much a part of our lovemaking. Her body shrank to a long column the size of her neck, stretching from where my penis had been to her head, decorated by a single two-nippled breast just below where her arms branched off.

Her heart was obviously gone by then, and over a period of a week, her arms began to bond to the sides of the column that had been her thorax. At first, it was just her upper arms and she could still finger me with her forearms, but then they bonded in place, leaving her fingers briefly on my groin before they too began to dissapear.

By that time, I'd become pretty good at reading her lips. We'd just finished a bath, and after I toweled us dry, I walked over to the full-length mirror to look at us, turning first one way and then the other as we looked at what had happened to us.

"You're pretty nice looking," she mouthed, then grinned. "I think the turn of phrase is well hung. I'm becoming your penis, you know, my nectar is your ejaculate, and when we make love, the way you run your hands up and down me, it's just masturbation."

I honestly hadn't noticed, but she was right.

With the loss of her arms, her body had been reduced to a long neck connecting her head and groin. At first, she still had bones in her neck, but they didn't last long. As her neck became flaccid, I began to notice that it was erectile, stiffening when we made love. She really was becoming my penis.

We still love, though; it wasn't masturbation. She demanded to be kissed, she needed to be touched, she returned my love with full spirit even as what was left of her body diminished.

Every day, her neck grew shorter and thinner. Her clitoris began a slow migration up towards her nipples, and my skin followed. As her neck shortened her breasts slid upwards, always staying within reach of my lips until her nipples merged with her lips. It was nice making love with her that way, holding her head so she could kiss my nipples, stretching her elastic neck so I could kiss her, feeling her neck expand and stiffen with our erection, and then stroking it until we came and I drank her nectar.

Her head began to shrink, yet she was still lucid. Her eyes disappeared from her face, her nose closed up, yet for days, she could still shape words of love with her lips, and we continued to talk with each other, laughing over childhood memories, and always, making love.

"I think my brain's mostly gone," she mouthed one evening as we rested after a sweet hour of lovemaking. "Good bye, and I love you."

Those were her last words. I kissed her and brought her to another orgasm, one that swept me into dreamland until morning. When daylight came, I half expected her to be gone, but she wasn't. Her head was gone, but the stalk that was either the remains of her body or my penis was tipped by a pair of very expressive lips, and and surprisingly, they still responded. I pulled them to mine in memory of her, and when I kissed them, they returned the kiss eagerly.

The very last thing she lost was the ability to make love to me. For two days, her lips sat on the end of what more and more resembled a penis, and for two days, I made love to them, kissing them, letting them kiss me, stroking what was more and more my penis, masturbating, and drinking the nectar that still flowed from between her lips.

The opening of her mouth shrank, but it remained a kissable mouth until my penis shrank to the point that I couldn't kiss it anymore. Then, all too predictably and in only a day, what had been her lips, her clitoris, and her nipples shrank into the very normal looking end of a long but rapidly shringking penis.

I was desparately lonely. I missed Cheryl's company, I missed making nearly continuous love to her, and I felt empty. It had been almost two months of pleasure that Cheryl had given me, and now she was dead, by her own choice. I comforted myself with the fact that at least I had none of her memories, and better yet, as far as I knew, I'd escaped her monster.

I mourned the end of Cheryl for a day, but I was just about out of food, so I decided to go to work in the morning and go grocery shopping on the way home. At the lab, everyone told me I looked good, they welcomed me back, and Steve Jenkens thanked me for the work I'd managed to do while I was out.

It felt good to have such attention, very good. I felt painfully lonely without Cheryl; I needed someone to make love to; I needed someone to share my life with. When Jeanne welcomed me back to work, I couldn't resist her offers of comfort and sympathy. We ended up spending most of the day together, and she invited me over to her place for dinner after work. Jeanne was beautiful, warm, and funny, and I wondered why I'd never felt so attracted to her before.

I went home after work, took a shower, and drove over to Jeanne's place for dinner. She met me at the door to her apartment wearing the sexyest thing I'd ever seen on her, a strapless black leather top with a skirt that was slit to the hip. Sitting across from her at dinner, I was fascinated.

After we ate, she put on a CD of dance music and we danced in her living room. Why was I so stupid! Why didn't I understand what was going on! As we danced, she pulled me to her, advertising that she wanted to make love by the way she held me and by the way she moved her body against mine.

I could feel my hard penis pressing against her, and then she pulled back and slid her hand down to caress it. She smiled at me, pulled me to her, and kissed me, then unzipped my pants and pulled out my erect penis. She giggled, holding it in her hand as we danced, and then she knelt during a pause in the music and let it slide into her mouth.

I tried to pull out as soon as I realized what was happening, but I couldn't do it. Each time I pulled, each time she tried to let go, we were both overcome overcome by an intense wave of orgasmic pleasure. Jeanne looked so helpless with her lips locked around my penis. She couldn't speak, she could hardly breathe, and it seemed like an eternity that I had to look down at her helpless eyes before she finally passed out. God, how I wish I could join her in unconsciousness. How did Cheryl control the thing, how did she make it kill her and not me, I want to die and I don't know how to do it!