AN: this is a once shot for now unless I am encouraged to continue. Thanks for stopping by. I hope you enjoy it.

The confusion and hysteria is over. The cops have finally taken down the yellow crime scene tape from across the front door of the apartment upstairs...the apartment upstairs. I used to stand on the roof of the building opposite her window just to watch her. I'd watch her brush her hair before she went to bed. I'd watch her wash dishes after her company went home. With the hours ticking by, I'd climb up her fire escape and watch her sleep through the night counting her breaths with each rise and fall of her chest. Her breath was my life. Her pain was my torture. Her happiness was my pleasure. I saw my future in her eyes.

Unfortunately, I could never bring myself to speak to her. I could never shake off my inadequacies long enough to even try to approach her. I could never be worthy of her. I will never be worthy of her, not now. My muse was stolen from the world when he stepped into the picture.

It started out pleasantly, as most pretend relationships do, but things started to change ever so slowly. I watched, as her dancing eyes grew murky and lifeless. I watched as her easy smile disappeared as she learned never to look up. Her clothes got thicker and darker as her bruises grew larger. I'd hear her crying, but could not bring myself to do anything. I was a prisoner of my own cowardice.

So, the day the cops showed up and requested I let them into her apartment I knew I had murdered her. I opened the door and released the smell intoxicatingly thick and putrid. My world started moving in slow motion. I was a reluctant pawn being moved into position. The cops walked in first. I could not stop myself from following. The furnishings were overturned, and every inch of the floor was coated with a thick carpet of broken glass and shattered belongings. Trickles of crimson blood left a trail like breadcrumbs in a fairy story, and there she was. My beautiful nymph was sprawled across the couch. A knife's handle extended from her chest like a victor's flag. Her shattered teeth leaked blood from their stained enamel. Her small porcelain hands, swollen purple from being broken, displayed missing and shredded manicured nails.

I remember everything so clearly. I remember running to her. I remember holding her. I remember someone dragging me away as I hysterically screamed. Most of all, I remember her eyes. Those eyes I could get lost in; those eyes that held my future; they stared at the ceiling glassy, vacant and dead. I could have stopped him. I should have stopped him. My shy, impotent courage chained my will and my strength. I let him murder my Isabella.

Weeks have passed, although it seems like minutes, and the animal has been caught. Says a demon made him do it. I hope the demon rapes him to death in prison. I guess now it doesn't matter what I did or did not do, because she is gone, and there isn't anything I can do about it. I have thought of joining her, but no. I am even less worthy of her now than when she was alive. There is no telling where I would end up.

Now I have to go up the stairs back to that apartment, back to that horrible sight. I have to clean it up, and get it ready for a new tenant. Forcing my feet one step at a time, I drag my useless self back to the scene of my nightmare come true. In an effort to save my mind, I try to stop horrific visions with sweet memories.

First step – The warm stench of blood attacks my nostrils.
Second step – The faint smell of lavender when she passes by me after she has gotten her mail.
Third step – Her blood soaked hair against my face leaving the taste of her blood on my lips.
Fourth step – Her laughter as she played with the little girl from the fourth floor on the front stoop.

Battling memory with memory, I drudge up the stairs to face the result of my inabilities, to face my own damnation. Closer and closer until I find myself in front of her door.

Deep breath
Key in and turn
Exhale
Turn knob
Push

Hot stagnate air rushes me. Broken glass litters the floor, and the blood trail looks as fresh as the first time I saw it. My God, I can't do this. I know they took her away. I know she isn't here, but she is everywhere. She is in the moldy refrigerator food. She is in the rose printed curtains. She is in the picture window. She is everywhere. She is in everything. All around me, I feel her. I can't do this. I can't. How can I erase her from this place? All the scrubbing in the world and a fresh coat of paint could not even begin to do the job.

Walking into the bedroom, the only place not touched by the struggle, I lay on her bed. The silky softness of her comforter lulls me into a false sense of her arms. I imagine her lying next to me, skin touching skin. Feeling her softness close to me, looking into her deep brown eyes. Dreams, it's all unattainable dreams. Nothing will ever happen, not ever. Now I have to collect her things, and give her belongings to the owner for her family, and destroy all evidence evil occurred here. I want someone else to do it. I can't. I want someone else to wipe away the gore, pick up the clumps of her hair, and throw out the couch, but no. No one but me would understand; I need to be the one. I need to say good-bye to her, to my obsession.

"I understand."

Words coil inside my head. The voice comes out of the air from nowhere, from everywhere, as if the air itself spoke.

"I can ease your suffering, bring you peace, and give you your heart's most desired wish. All you have to do is ask. I've watched your suffering. I've seen the way you lusted after Isabella. You're so pathetic, standing outside her door, following her around, too much of a coward to talk to her. Sad, but entertaining. I've seen you kiss her a thousand times in dreams when you thought no one was watching. I've taken great pleasure in your private indiscretions Jacob."

Where was it coming from? My mind races as I search in vain. Laughing, the heavy voice taunts me. Covering my ears, I try to make it go away or at least make it stop. Stumbling back into the living room, I frantically scan the room for any signs of the voice's owner.

"Look behind you."

Turning around, I saw him. There on the sofa, on a patch of Isabella's blood, sat the most riveting man I had ever seen. But he was not a man. Something in his face gave it away, and the way he sat, not really sitting at all but perching the way a buzzard does on a dead tree branch. His body supported by the balls of his feet, and his long talon-like toes ripping into the fabric. Unruly honey-blond curls framed his delicately etched face, and his eyes stared at me, twin, dark opals, carved of ice, revealing nothing. Smiling, he rose and panic hit me like a wave of needles. Heart beating a thousand beats a second, I felt the urge to run, scream, do something, but my feet held fast to position.

"I lost her once too, but that was because I was too foolish to keep her with me. I should have known she could never be safe on her own."

Removing himself from the couch, he towered over my six-foot frame. Covered in an old black trench coat, only his pale, bare feet were visible. He smiled a crooked grin at me as he chuckled at my expression.

"What did you expect," he laughed, "an angel?"

Thanks so much for reading. Let me know if you think I should continue or not.

happy reading

michelle