Crow
Crow slowly walked a hand across the table to the glass in front of him. Holding the bottle in the other hand he poured himself a relatively full glass of rum. He wanted to drown his sorrows and not remember what had happened. It was still vivid in his mind, replaying the events over and over in his head; plates crashing, food from them tossed on the floor, the candles had been tipped burning holes in the tablecloth in front of him. He just wanted to forget what he had done, but the more he drank the more detailed the painful memories became.
The fragrance of his partner overwhelmed him as he took his next gulp of rum. Why was this happening to him? Why did she do it? He would never think of her in the same way again. She was his angel, the sunshine on an otherwise cloudy day, not any more. She had betrayed his trust, and that was unforgivable. If only she hadn't told me, then none of this would have happened. We could have gone on living our lives as if nothing had changed, as if we still loved each other, as if she hadn't been unfaithful.
The rum was running out now, this was his second bottle and he didn't have anymore left on the table. The fragments of plate that were scattered in his path didn't bother him as they crunched under his bare and now throbbing feet. He didn't care about anything anymore. Upon reaching the diminishing liqueur cabinet he looked over at his girlfriend, who was in the next room. He couldn't see her before, he hadn't wanted to. She looked so peaceful curled up on the floor.
With the new found confidence the alcohol had embedded in him he walked slowly and saddeningly over to where she lie, he sat on the couch looking down at her back over his knees. She didn't stir or show any recognition that he was in the room. Why am I not good enough for her? He pondered this thought, and that of his lack of alcohol for a while. After a short time he put the empty bottle of rum he had with him down next to his ankle. He got up off the couch and stepped over his girlfriends huddled form, he sat down on the other side of her and looked into her eyes. He began to cry as he picked up her hand and held it. It was cold against his warm shaking fingers, he couldn't keep a grip for long due to the slipperiness of the blood that was now slowly seeping from her wrists once more.
She didn't have to do this to herself, he hadn't been that mad, they should have talked about what had happened instead of fighting about it. A lot of things had been said that were really not felt by either of them. They would not have been the same after this ordeal, but she should have still been living. All she had wanted was for him to understand and forgive, but he could not do that. He had flown into a rage turning their dinner onto the floor. Burning candles, the now broken plates, and cutlery were thrown out of the way as he yelled at her, she yelled back and then went away into the room where she lie now. She had left a note with only four words on it
'I still love you'.
This is all she had to write and all she had wanted to write. As he looked at the note he remembered telling her that he didn't love her. It wasn't true but she didn't know that. He picked up the knife that she had used on herself and quickly slashed it along his wrists. He lay himself down next to her, his blood now adding to hers. As he drifted from consciousness he put his arm around her and whispered in her ear
'I still love you too'.