‘Can
someone truly choose to love another? Choose to give another parts of
your soul in return for parts of theirs? Can you choose to do that?
Are there gods that pick and choose for us? Does some unseen force in
the universe decide for us? Whichever it is, whether or not he chose
this, it is me that he loves and he who I love. Who I will always
love.
I
love him.
I
adore him.
Absolutely.’
The
worn page of the journal was velvety soft beneath his fingertip as he
dragged his index finger lovingly down the lined page. His finger
paused over the words ‘I love him’ and after a minute he sighed
and tapped the words three times.
“Don’t
you remember this? We love each other.”
He
reached for the pale, limp hand resting on her lap and laced his
fingers with hers. He squeezed her hand gently hoping, praying, she
would squeeze back, but her fingers never curled around his. Not even
so much as a twitch. He wrenched his hand from hers. Scrubbed it down
his face. Pushed off from the wall they were both sitting against and
threw down the journal.
The
loud clap it made as it hit the cold concrete floor seemed to echo
infinitely in the silence between them. He stalked across the room
his footsteps silent, almost predatory. His hand scrubbed down his
face again. Then once more. Still no reaction from her. He turned to
face the mirror in the corner. The one with the cracks going down the
sides. With the pictures stuck in the frame. So many that only
glimpses of the edges were visible, only impressions through the
windows the glossy photographs created. These impressions were
shattered, creeping, broken images that tore his face into a thousand
pieces.
Even
in a thousand pieces he was a rather beautiful creature. She had, of
course, noticed that immediately, but something about it seemed
cruel.
Harsh.
Almost
sadistic in a way.
Like
he used his beauty as a weapon.
Like
his dark, satiny skin and light blue eyes were just another dagger to
be sharpened and put to use.
He
walked slowly on his way back to her. Stalked his way back to her. He
stopped next to her and bent to swiftly pick up the leather journal
from under her hand.
“Do
you remember how in love we were when you wrote this? Do you remember
that?”
He
looked to the mirror again. Caught a glimpse of the spattering of
freckles across her nose he loved so much. He smiled softly and
paused to gaze at her in a way he hoped she knew was loving. She
continued to ignore his attempts to apologize. To close the gap that
grew wider between them. His smile faltered slightly before growing
wider as he met her eyes through the mirror. He loved everything
about her even with her splotchy forehead and her tear streaked
cheeks and her soft grey eyes. Even with her silence. Her distance.
“Do
you remember how we met?”
He
thrummed through the musty pages by instinct until he found the entry
he was searching for.
‘June
17th
I
saw him today. He came into my store. Just for five minutes and then
he was gone. A breath exhaled on a frosty morning. A cloud of
infinite shapes there one minute and then gone like a whisper in the
night the next. That breath was enough.
I’ve
never believed in love at first sight. I still don’t, but I think
I’m starting to understand how someone can feel something so deeply
for another after such a short amount of time. He came in looking for
a hammer and nails. For his baby cousin’s new crib he said. While I
helped him find them he continuously cracked puns. Horrible, horrible
jokes that I couldn’t help but laugh at. Before he left, new hammer
and nails in a paper bag clenched in his hand, he promised to come
back. If he needed anything else for his project he knew who his girl
was.
His
girl.
I
swear my heart skipped a beat.’
He
glanced back at her hopefully, but turned away without waiting for a
response.
“I
remember this day. You were the most beautiful woman I had ever
seen.”
He
reached his hand across the emptiness between them and smoothed a
silky brown curl towards her ear. It fell forward again as he pulled
away his fingers and ended its journey caught on the crest of her
nose, but neither made a motion to remove it. A tear rolled slowly
down his cheek. He made no move to brush it away and it slipped into
the crease of his lips. The salt stung as it rolled across the
weeping split that cut through his bottom lip and the teardrop that
rolled down his chin and dripped onto the dusty floor was tinted red.
“The
way that you glowed when you explained to me the difference between a
claw hammer and a ball pein was magical. The way that your laugh
seemed to hang in the air and surround us when I asked you why I
couldn’t just hammer in a screw. The way that your fingers danced
across the rows as you walked me down the aisles to the cash
register. That’s why I fell in love with you, but there are so many
more reasons for why I still love you.”
He
collapsed against the wall next to her. The sharp rock pressing into
his back hardly registered against his grief.
“I’m
so, so sorry.”
More
red tinged tears fell to scatter the grey dust that covered the
ground.
“I
just wanted you to love me back.”
Shaking,
he placed the leather journal with the words he had penned onto her
lap. Folded her cold hands over it. Wiped another streak of blood
that wept from the hole punched in the center of her forehead.
Picked
up the metal gun from the floor next to him.
Put
it to his head.
And
pulled the trigger.
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