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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.
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.”
“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.”
“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.
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