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We had a body come in this morning, looks like a suicide, took a pack Panadols in fact. We ...'
I pick up the phone ... disconcerted ‘I'm awake ... what happened' I said, still quite dazed. Afraid. A sensation I don't feel very often.
‘We have reason to believe that it was you girlfriend who committed suicide' he answered. My heart stopped. Time slowed. I felt like I was stuck in the twilight zone, everything seemed odd, out of place. I felt broken.
‘What do you mean?' I said, thinking about the breakup. She was no longer my girlfriend but it hurt all the same. I could still hear her shouting my name in the crowd. Supporting me as I scored the winning try.
‘She left a note for you ... and the autopsy reported that she had a broken rib and bruises on her stomach. You have no idea what could have caused this? We have speculated her father had found her again'. He said, matter-of-factly.
I tried to answer, but all that left my mouth was a stuttered jumble of unrecognizable gibberish. I was one of the only people who she told about her father. I could see him. Visibly staggering under the weight of alcoholism, approaching her like a demented carnivore. I imagined him hitting my fist. I felt no pity for this sub-human creature.
She left home at 15, wounded and bitter. He aunt accepted her with open arms, adopted her and protected her.
‘Oh my god. I'll be there in 20.' I said. Shaken, disturbed. I had to read the note.

He father must have found her again. He must have beaten her. How could I have missed the bruising? I knew I was just rationalizing with my excuse that I didn't treat her well. I treated her perfectly, more than perfectly. I treated her like Ken to Barbie. Why had she left me?

It dawned on me. She was protecting me.

I jumped into my father's Ex-Military Land Rover, and screeched towards the coroner's office. Racing through red lights I arrived in just under 12 minutes, and probably incurred $500 worth of fines.
I burst through the door and was met by the Senior Coroner himself. He looked me in the eye ‘this isn't pretty, just warning you'.
I totally disregarded his words and ran to her... She looked like a porcelain doll. Asleep. Cold To the touch. Pale. My love for her didn't die though. I opened her cold and stiff hand. Tears spilling down my cheeks I saw the note. It said only six words.

I love you. I am sorry.

I fell to my knees, powerless to do anything but weep. I felt selfish. I was sulking, eating Krispy Kreams by the box, at home when I could have saved her. Saved her from her father and ultimately ... herself. I felt futile, unnecessary. Most of all, I felt broken.

* * * * *

Two years later I flew back home for her memorial. Weeping at the back of the crowd. Friends try to console me, I am beginning to get better. All that was left of me was a shell. I had lost my ability to love. I am studying psychology at Oxford University. Through psychology I have a greater understanding. I am beginning to re-cooperate. Thanks to rugby, uni and a girl. A girl with an aura. A new chance for me to love. Hope has once again become a part of my life.