Three Cups Of Tea Author Kills Self Novels & Stories

“We had a fight over Luporath. She refused to give me the location, said she’d die before she let it fall into the wrong hands.” My stomach clenched. “The fight escalated,” he continued hollowly. “I was… I was so angry. I grabbed her throat—” He made a strangling motion with his hands, then dropped them to his lap. “I choked her, Kayla. I choked her until she stopped fighting, until her face turned blue.” Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Not here. Not in front of him. “I stopped before I killed her,” he said, as if that somehow absolved him. “I came to my senses and let go. But something broke in her that day. When I saw her next, she had taken a poison pill and k

“She even had the nerve to relax like she could just sit there and enjoy herself. She was about to drink tea. Can you imagine? After everything she’s done—just standing there like some queen, sipping tea—” My hand froze mid-motion. Tea. “…What?” I asked quietly. “I didn’t let her have her tea. I spilled it. Right on her. Hot too. Hmm, you should’ve seen her flinch—” Everything in my head went silent. “You… what?” I said slowly, dangerously. “I said I spilled it. She didn’t deserve to—” The realization slammed into place. That was it. That was why she didn’t die. That was why the plan failed.

He even captioned it with, "As expected of a ladies' man. Much respect, bro." That resulted in the entire campus sending a barrage of insults and criticisms my way. Even after I drank the water that Jimmy had added crushed cherry pits to and was poisoned to death, Connor helped my murderer out. He spread the story that I'd taken my own life after having an emotional breakdown over missing the exam.

So sending him poverty, illness, and a life of permanent struggle with no way to rise again became my responsibility. I thoughtfully sent a copy of the published interview to Anthony in prison, where he was working at a sewing machine. I heard he tried to kill himself with a toothbrush but was saved in time. Unfortunately, he'd severely damaged his vocal cords. He could never speak again. When I learned this, I went out to sell flowers that day and gave them all away for free. After all, news this good deserved universal celebration!

« I don't hear a reply, and besides, I don't care. I’m done with all men on this world. No way I’ll voluntarily sit down and have coffee with one. I don't know what to do, I'm just trying to hold it together at the moment and push through the constant feeling of sickness I've had since Jim was killed. The asshole got me in so much trouble by dying. I spent the first few days barricaded in my home, scared to go out. I don't know what happened with his body, but I didn't want to have anything to do with it. Besides, I didn't know if the killer was around and if maybe he wanted me dead, too.

⁠ Some pages hold only a si‍ngle sentence‌, but⁠ the‌y hit harder th‌an anything e⁠lse. She wr‍ites about w‍anting to die and prayi‌ng for it. Bel‍ievi‍ng death is the⁠ o‍nly way she will e‍ver be free. I reach into my jacket and pull out my flask, un‌screwing the‍ cap with stiff fi‌ngers. The bu‍rn of the alcohol is the only‌ thing that keeps⁠ me from s‍lamming‍ the book shut right then but the⁠re are too many pages.

“You think you’re not a good person?” “I’m a very angry person, Cruz.” She swirled the wine in the glass and took a sip of it. “Do you know in every book I’ve written since the first one, I’ve killed Odin off in it in one way or another? What kind of person murders their brother in a story repeatedly?”

He answered and took a sip of his cup of matcha. “What do you want from me?” I barked, the hair on my neck rising. “I think a thank you will be nice for a start.” “I didn't ask you to save me. What if I was trying to kill myself?” I challenged him. A chuckle burst from his lips, he shook his head and placed the tea cup on the table. He gazed at me, his eyes still twinkling and shook his head again. “Your eyes has too much fire for you to kill yourself.”

Cyra couldn't understand anything. What was happening there? Where was Ethan? And why was that gun of hers empty? Why couldn't she succeed in killing herself just like she succeeded in taking that person's life whom she loved more than her own self? Just why? Tears stung her eyes again, which didn't go unnoticed by his second in command, Theodore’s gaze.

One sip could however not determine his death. Soon, he took a second, third, and fourth sip. I guessed it was now time to tell him. Smiling so much at how proud I was of myself, I stood up from my seat, and walked to him. And settling to sit beside him, facing him directly, I gave him a devilish smirk. "What's with that smile?" He asked, and took another sip. "Hmm." I cleared my throat, and soothed his lap. "It's really rare for a lion or snake to kill themselves. So rare."