Two For Death

I really wasn’t sure what I was doing that night… looking back on it, the memories were dim, fading particles of a horror. My mind struggled to recall every waning minute of the account. Why had I done this? Control? None! It was me at the height of my anguishing wrath, the kind that leads people to do terrible things that they will rue for the rest of their sorry, guilt consumed lives. Yes. I had, in fact, done something so wretchedly cruel that I risked a lifetime of suicide attempts and excruciating remorse. Maybe I would never know exactly what my body was numbly acting on that night. It was possible that I’d never remember clearly the mere minutes it took me to finish the job, but there had to be some way to keep it with me…

***

It was another night of the loneliness… solitude never did suit me well. He knew that! My mind repeated the hot accusation that had I been turning over for the past two weeks, pulling it through the same straining burn. Nothing eased up in my attempt to find relief in my anger. This would, without a doubt, be a long and dismally bitter recovery. I conjured up the image of his face on that heartbreaking night once again. It was smug with something I tried not to see. I loved him without discretion or judgment, and certainly without questioning his character. The sentiment was irreversible. I, nothing of a sentimental being, was inseparably linked to him by heartstrings, living off the very threads of our togetherness.
His action was quick. It caught me off guard, stopping my thoughts for nearly a minute while I blankly tried to come to terms with his words. What did he mean? He didn’t love me? He was using me? Now he was turning me away? It was too much… my head rushed. I looked at his face, waiting for further explanation, some sign that he didn’t mean what I thought I was hearing. He gave none, so I forced myself to communicate something, anything. The words came out in an incomprehensible murmur. “You don’t love me?” That, right there, was the least that I could manage. He looked at me, the frightening smirk on his face again, and gave a sharp nod, second guessing nothing. Understanding began to set in, coming on abruptly and without peace. This meant that my life as I knew it was over! And I’d been accepting lies for the truth for all this time… My disconsolate blankness turned to loathing regret as I stood up and ran as fast as my legs would carry me all the way back home.
The days went on in this way, with my emotions riding the line between pure anger, and incurable lugubriosity. The nights were unbearably lonely, and filled with nightmares of his smug face, the image taunting me in sleep or awakening. The rage grew, tumbling without a way of escape. Still, my body was rendered useless for so many of the hours I spent in tears. They came with every memory of him, every thought of the past.
But it all came down to that one night. That was the night that I truly lost all traces of my control, of my effort to remain intact with sanity. I shook with the pain as the revolting tears took hold of me once again, seizing the last of my everything. I stood up too quickly, moving without solidity, my frantic gestures weak despite the burning enmity that showed as I never was able to stop the tears. My hands fumbled blindly, opening drawers, waiting for the gleam of something reflective to show through the blur, throwing one drawer and then the other open until I found it. The knives were haphazardly thrown into the large drawer, blades running in every direction. Without a care as to whether my own blood was shed, I thrust my hand into the drawer and pulled out a sharp butcher knife, clutching it as if it would solve my problems. Driving would have been difficult with my eyes so blurry as they were, so I began in a sprint towards his dark house much the same way I had run away from it two weeks ago, carelessly letting the weapon dangle from my fingers until I was within sight of it. There it was… something in the pit of my stomach screwed in the wrong direction, making me clutch my heart as if to leave it here. Could I do this? Of course. I told myself that for the next five minutes, pacing quickly. The deed had to be done. With this, I carried myself up to the house, pulling his key off the feeble chain around my neck, and easily unlocking the door without disturbing the silence. This was when it hurt him to be cliché with his gifts.
I found him asleep on the couch, the television turned on to the late night news, muted as he slept deeply, settled into his foolishly undisturbed dreams. I stealthily padded to the spot. His face brought on a new round of the tears that choked me as I forced them to be silent. The knife in my hand felt white-hot, knowing what it was about to do. But he always had been sensory. His eyelids fluttered open- he looked almost frightened as he flashed from my ravaged, pain-stricken face to the knife in my hand, poised to strike him. I acted quickly, catching him in his moment of shock, and pinned him to the floor, holding him defenseless. Mercy did not place. There was a moment of hesitation, a few seconds really, and the thought occurred to me… I pulled his head up to kiss me, forcing his lips around mine, and finally, I took the knife through his chest. His eyes glazed over, and I dropped his head, letting it hit the hard floor. Blood spilled over, pouring out of the wound. My fingers ran through it, carelessly dripping with the very liquid soul of the man that I loved. It hadn’t been hard at all. Not then.

***

What had happened? I could remember so little, but that I had killed him. Hysteria took over. My feet took me again back to the kitchen, where the knife, stained with blood, still lay on the counter. The guilt was so very pain-staking at that moment… and the knife was right there. Yes, this was the answer. Quickly, I pulled a piece of stationary from the drawer, grasping for a pen, and scrawled out the explanation.

It was too much. Just look at me. I’m not what you thought I was. After all, the knife was bloody before I did myself this favor…

The last seconds of my life passed as the knife struck for the last time. This was good-bye…