Winchester Winds

I look down at the object I’m holding. Although I can hear two men – no, nurses - talking about me from the door, all I can concentrate on is this object. It carries so much weight without having more than half a kilo at most. I still can’t believe that I am trapped in this hellhole of a place. It’s so cold and sterile here. There has been no attempt at making this a home. I hate it, ever since I’ve been here it’s been horrible. The smell, the people, everything. And knowing that he was here, or at least his body once was is killing me. They say this place will make me better but without him, how could I ever feel anything but miserable ever again? What right would I have to feel happiness if it were without him? The mumbling from the door fades until I can barely hear it.

I remember the softness of his hands and the warmth accompanying it when he gave it to me. I was so happy that day, what happened?

Now I am sitting here on the floor, in the middle of this room. Living in the past and thinking all those thoughts that come to your mind when life just isn’t going quite the way you thought it would. My gaze wanders and my fingertips brush over the outside of the book. It feels scratchy and worn, it’s basically falling apart. I don’t even know what it’s about, so why is this book so important to me?

The answer is painfully simple: him. Happier days. Memories. I think back to the warmth of his skin, his smile, his laugh, those big owl eyes of his, the way they would change to different shades of green from time to time for no apparent reason. It’s been so long, too long, since I’ve been able to look at him in that way. I hadn’t bothered taking in these details – let alone admiring them – for a while and now I can’t. Never again.

I remember our first kiss, it’s all coming back to me now, how we were in my room. Both of us were so drunk and so innocently happy – my God, have I ever been so carefree since that day? All I can think of is that moment when I turned around and it felt like the tension between us was crackling. He looked into my eyes and I sobered up in the instant before our lips met. Two waves crashing together in a moment of complete and utter want. The days – no, weeks! – passed by in a flash. I think back to the hours lazily spent in my bedroom with our limbs and hands intertwined. There was such an absence of worry, of sadness.

The tables began to turn after that between us. He would meet up with his friends but he didn’t realise they were not good for him. I told him. I tried to warn him they would get into his head, that they would come between us but he didn’t listen. So, I had to resort to other measures. He hadn’t cared for a while whether I was happy or not but I forgave him, because I knew eventually he would understand. It didn’t take long, soon enough it was just me and him. Just us two against the world, I wasn’t alone anymore and neither was he. Nobody could even begin to understand us like we did each other. We were perfect and we didn’t need anybody to tell us that, so why bother with other people? I didn’t need them in my life, our life. I made him realise that nobody else would give him what I did. Safety, comfort, utter bliss and most importantly, a home filled with pure love.

I feel my eyes burn with unwept tears. Physically I am completely here, but poof my flame has vanished, leaving me numb and cold inside. I had hoped that things would return to normal again, but this time it didn’t. Dark memories begin to flood my brain. I’ve managed to keep them locked up for so long. Tucked away in the deep dark corners of my mind where I never look. But now I have gone too far down memory lane and there is no turning back. “How did it come to this?” I whisper, but I am greeted by silence. There is no one here to talk to - not anymore. I look around the rest of this kitchen and notice how different it all looks. I’m not in our home, in our kitchen. I’m somewhere else entirely but I can’t focus on these things right now, instead I see us in different stages of fighting, frozen images of him, of me, of us. “Stop it!” I cry, closing my eyes, but the images won’t stop appearing. There is no way I can prevent this from happening.

There, where the oven should be, he first confessed to me that he felt different, he wasn’t in love anymore.

Over by the counter, me stumbling around, trying to focus and desperately holding on to him, wanting him to hold me again, to go back to when we were happy.

Him, lashing out at me, I was trying to kiss him but he kept pushing me back, tearing out strands of my hair. Me, crying out in pain. I touch a hand to my head now, but there are no scars. I have only one thing to remember him by. The book.

I feel a wetness on my cheeks, a shortness of breath. It hurts. It hurts so much, this agonizing pain in my chest. It feels like I’m unable to breathe. Why is this happening all over again? Why am I being forced to live through all of this? I grip the book harder in my hands. I’m trying to steady myself, trying to prepare for the memory that is coming and will torture my heart the most. My vision blurs as I see it happen.

We were at home, like I should be. It smells like cafeteria food here, cheap and mass-produced, nothing like the warm scent of home-cooked meals for two that filled our kitchen. My heart was pounding, just like it is now. The only difference? The book in my hand wasn’t stained in my memory. I’m standing in the middle of a kitchen, but it isn’t the right one, it isn’t ours. It’s bigger, but there are no small details hinting at the people who come here. I hate this kitchen, there are no memories here. No memories of me and my love. My mind urges me to imagine how our kitchen looked. This ugly, colourless room is replaced and begins to look like the place I’m supposed to be in-our kitchen at home. I was standing across from him. In the middle of the room. I can imagine what I must have looked like through his eyes. I was a mess. Black streaks running down my cheeks; my eyes tinged red and my fists were clenched around Botany, while my mouth was open, mid-scream. That’s when the last memory changes from frozen in time to real-life motion picture. It begins with me hearing myself scream at him.

“What is wrong with you? You’re jeopardising the only thing that can give you true happiness!”

“No, I can’t do this any longer.”

“Baby, you know that nobody else will, nobody else can, ever love you.”

“Stop it! Stop doing this, I deserve more than this! For God’s sake leave, please.”

“Why are you lying to yourself?”

“No, I will not let you do this to me again. I want you out of my life. Forever.”

Silence filled the room. My brain was trying to form words, but all that came out was a strangled cry. Why? Why would he say such a thing, after all I did was to protect him and help him? I loved him! I still do. I will never stop loving him.

I had to make sure he wouldn’t leave me; it was a mistake and I knew if only I could get him to see then he would stop. We would be happy again. I never meant for it to escalate that much, how could I have known that it would end that way?

I began to howl and sobs racked my body. His eyes widened as my weeping turned into laughter and I finally saw a way out of this absurd situation. My grip on the book tightened and I looked up through the strands of hair that had fallen into my face. I kept my eyes locked onto his as I slowly moved towards him, keeping my gaze innocent and trying to conceal my intentions. All I let him see was the hurt he had caused by his words and my unwavering love for him. I could see my reflection in his eyes and I knew he must have believed me. I even believed myself for a second. I lifted my left hand and stroked his face, I felt myself well up again at the thought of what I had to do. His eyes were rimmed with unwept tears; it was as if he knew what was going to happen but had accepted it to be the only way out of our situation. I let my hand glide over the stubble of his beard. Took in the details of his face once more. His eyes, surrounded by those ridiculously long lashes. His lips, so kissable I couldn’t resist letting mine land on his one more time. I relished feeling the softness of them pressed against mine and as our last kiss ended and he began to pull away from me once more, my right hand, as if acting on its own, slammed the book into his temple. He staggered back and, dropping the book to the floor, I used his unsteady stance to push him back. As he fell towards the one of the cupboards, I took his head between my hands and used all my strength to hit it against one of the corners. There was an audible crack followed by a sickening noise that must have been his skull caving into his brain. I screamed and let his, now limp, body fall from my hands. It slid to the floor, leaving a smear of blood on the cupboard door. I knelt - no, dropped- to the floor, as all the adrenaline left me. All I could do was stare at the small pool of red liquid beginning to spread beneath him. I slid a hand under his heavy head, trying to stop the bleeding somehow. I felt the indent and pulled back as if I had been bitten. Pressing a hand to my mouth, I let out a cry of pure anguish at what had just happened. The metallic smell of his blood filled my nose and I felt bile rise in my throat. I turned away to vomit and tried to scrub my face clean with my other hand, but it was too late, the smell had been burned into my memory, forever. I looked at his eyes, wide-open but unseeing and I knew, I knew right then and there, that the embers that had still been red and glowing inside him, had now died forever.

Later, the police knocked on our door. The neighbours had called them because they had heard us fighting. I barely managed to let them in, I was just so tired, so endlessly tired. They immediately saw the blood covering my chest and stormed in. And that was that. I don’t know where he’s buried. I wasn’t allowed to go to his funeral, I wasn’t allowed to say goodbye. I clench the book in my hands and hold it close to my heart. I wish I could be with him again but I know that one day soon we will be reunited.

Winchester Winds

A Flashing Glimpse of Happiness

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