Читать книгу Handwritten Letters to the Devil - Zin - Страница 7

She screamed. Oh, did she scream. She screamed like her last breath meant nothing to her. She belted out everything she had, without a care, or thought, or even an understanding of what it meant to me. Of how her last moments would stay with me forever. Like I wanted to remember her that way. Selfish bitch. When her eyes broke their veins like neon fault lines of color and despair, she looked at me. Looked through me. She saw who I really was for the first time, and I smiled.

I met her in September. She was skinny, tall, and dressed in black. Yet somehow tasteful, and respectful. The first thing I noticed about her was her laugh. It seemed to make molecules themselves dance. I yearned for it. I required it. And it was mine.

Our first date was a walk. Low commitment was a mutual thing. We walked, and she laughed, and I soaked it in like rays from the sun. I used to boast I could survive that way, like some sort of photosynthetic monster. Little did she know.

We made love, and grew close. Everyday new admissions, and every day I grew to love her more. I hated to see her sad. It killed me. I grew to depend on her spirit to lift me up, and when she couldn’t, I would starve.

She had friends and family, of course they had to go. Little by little they began to disappear. Everybody that tried to steal her away from me ended up missing. It started with her cat. Always on her lap, always demanding affection. Always taking what was rightfully mine. It had an accident with the front and rear tires of my car. Yet somehow when I curled up in her lap and told her the cat was dead, she didn’t laugh. I felt hurt. I wasn’t a better substitute than her cat? She had no sympathy for my feelings.

Next, Monday night with her parents became Tuesday morning at the police station. Her best friends began to ignore her calls. Then her nosey know it all sister caught on to me. At this point the bodies were really stacking up and they were hard to hide. In hindsight, the iced over swimming pool was not a very good hiding spot. She had to go.

You would think that with all the holes in her life, that she would cling to me. She would be drawn to me more often, but she became secluded, and I hungered for her. Then it happened. She told me that with all of her family disappearing that she wanted to move away. That she was breaking up with me. She actually told me that she feared for her safety. Like I would let somebody hurt her. I took offense. I kissed her gently, and then asked her to laugh for me. She just stared. Can you believe it? Just stared at me. With one hand, I slid down her cheek and pinched the end of her chin. I told her to laugh, and she began to cry, and as my hands slid to her throat and her body to the floor, she began to scream.

I wish I could say that this is my only confession. But like God is to wine, so am I to steam, and this little engine did what it could. The following pages are all my confessions, and I ask you not to judge me, for I will be the one by which all others are judged.