Word of Caution: This story contains suicide, graphic descriptions of death, delinquency of a minor, language not suitable for young children, severe and vividly depictedangst, and an implied incestuous relationship. If you take offense to any number of these things, please do not proceed with reading this story. You have been given fair warning, any flames on the matter will be grotesquely disregarded.
End With You
I.
Your eyes are no longer eyes. They are marbles, black as night. They are shattered glass reflecting the light in different fragments. I see me, I see you. I see black and white. I see red. You don't see anything anymore.
The porcelain is stained. It's the only thought I really think. The others are all false thoughts. No matter how they scrub somehow I know it will never come clean. The paint is blackened, cherry red and royal purple. It spills down the sides, puddles on the ground. Water trickling to the floral tile below. I could bathe on the floor. You're drowning. Up to your chin drowning. For a moment, I want to save you. I want to pull you out, feel your naked body. I want to press my nose, my face, my lips to your bare flesh. I want to give you my breath and my life.
Are you cold, I want to ask.
I'm cold. My skin ripples, but I don't move. I'm too afraid. I don't want to disturb you, wake you from your dreams. You always told me that you wanted to dream.
For this moment, you are mine. You are entirely mine. If I speak, if I make a sound, I'll lose that moment. And then you'll be everyone else's. I can't bear that thought. I don't want to share you. So I stay silent and unmoving.
The soles of my bare feet are soaked. The water is ice freezing your veins. I watch the way your body lies, study the contours of your every muscle. I shift, there's a squish beneath my feet. I can almost hear my breathing.
I hate you, you would always say, I hate the way you make me feel so lost.
But now I'm the one that's lost. And you're the one that's made me feel that way. And I understand, why you hated me. Because I hate you now.
I can't feel you anymore. The hairs on my arms don't stand on end. I'm staring at you, but you're not there. I can tell. My body can tell. You're gone. You've been gone a long time.
The water floats your warmth to me. It brushes against my feet. It's fading. I can feel it fading, bright red wisps lingering against my skin.
I want to talk to you. Ask you why. You wouldn't answer. It doesn't matter. I know the answer anyways. It's useless to ask what I already know. It's a waste of time. That sort of thing always annoyed you. I had always annoyed you.
There are sounds, outside the door. Mom is yelling. She wants to know why the carpet is wet. I can't answer her. My voice is gone. You took it with your last breath.
I can see it, like a great gash, a gorge. The bronzed meat is splintered, purple and pink and white. What was once smooth and whole and perfect is now jagged and raw and flawed. The deep cut runs parallel to the thin blue road beneath your olive skin, and I follow that path with my eyes trailing up to your face. Your head rests against your shoulder, looking out at me. But you don't see me. The glimmering metal shines in my eye where it has come to lay beneath the water on the floral tile. It's been washed clean of its sins. I wonder if you have as well.
Your life is a thousand tiny diamonds on the bathroom floor.
The door opens behind me. The moment is gone. Mom is there, her words are echoes in the back of my brain. Otto is behind her. I can't hear mom screaming. I can't see Otto's eyes boring into you, can't hear him calling to me. You're no longer mine. It hurts so much. They're taking you away from me. Slowly and painfully ripping you from my possession. Now I know how you felt all those times when they took me away from you.
Just a little longer, I want to say to them. Let him be mine just a little longer. Leave us alone, leave me this moment. Leave him with me for a just a moment more.
I understand, I want to tell you, I understand now.
But I don't.
I really don't.