Title: Goodbye
Summary: One word; no explanation. Just one note.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: i only own the storlyine.
One word; no explanation.
One note; not even a signature to go along with it.
Just a tilted, messy cursive to identify it as hers.
He looks around. The front of the apartment is roped off with yellow crime tape. Technically, he's not supposed to be there. But the rules don't matter now. Nothing matters now.
He steps into the room. Brass tries to block his view. It's too late though. He's already seen. And he knows that this last image of her will haunt him forever.
Her hair is fanned out around her head. His gaze follows her body down. Her soft, ivory skin is paler than usual. It looks almost iridescent against the backdrop of red that surrounds her.
The sun breaks through the window, reflecting off a metallic object, and momentarily blinding him. He glances around the room until his eyes land on the culprit. A small silver kitchen knife, lying innocently by her side.
He owns that same knife, and he's sure that millions of other Americans do as well. In millions of homes across the country, there are people using the same knife to make breakfast.
Using the same knife to slice through their bagels, the way that she sliced through her skin. The same knife which, for millions of people, shimmers with the glow of butter; for her, it shimmers with drops of dried blood.
His stomach turns, and he races out of the room, barely making it to the kitchen before violently retching into the sink. He turns on the faucet to rinse his mouth out before sliding down to the floor. He rests his head on his hands, brushing his sweat out of his eyes.
He lifts his head up from his hands, and his gaze falls on a scrap of paper lying on the floor. Before he even picks it up, he knows what it is.
"Goodbye," is all it says.
One word; no explanation.
- THE END -