What Still Breath

Okay, so I didn’t tell her.

Well, you wouldn’t have either. With her starlit eyes and sun kissed lips. The way she never looks at you directly, but gazes at you from the corners of her eyes. The same corners where there are lurking angels and demons alike. The way her hair moves and caresses her own face; grazing her pointed nose and round cheek bones.

She sat down with me that day. The day when whispered secrets were too loud and touching skin to skin would burn a piece of your soul. Her lips twitched and moved, spelling the words from her mind; from her heart. She leaned so close that my face grew red with the heat and my chest became an oven; baking my innards.

She told me about herself that day. She told me about her lackluster family and tarnished self esteem. She told me about her know-nothing friends and her careless lovers. She told me that I was the only one she could talk to. The only one who really mattered. She told me that she loved me.

I’d like to think it all started then.

That feeling. Feeling of hope? Friendship? Pride? Control? Lust? Love? I didn’t really know, and I don’t remember anymore. It was just a flying sensation. Or was it falling? The air rushing past you and your heart leaping into your throat; choking the screams and the words you never intended to say. It makes you dizzy and keeps you awake at night. Whispering her name into the shadows. Hoping she will hear you and feel the same.

I began to stand nearer to her. Breathing her in until there was little left of her to function. I would touch her as well. A shoulder, a hip, the edge of her face. I would kiss her numb lips until they bled. She was a drug that I couldn’t get enough of. She made my chest swell and my steps larger. That day she gave her secrets, was the day in which I began to control her. I held her heart in my timid grasp.

And I squeezed the life out of it.

It is rather hard to do that. To hurt a person with their own love; with their own heart. It takes time and relentlessness. I forced her to my presence and ordered her like a slave. She could not move, think, or feel outside of my will. It was wonderful and terrible. I owned her soul and she would only gaze at me with her dimmed eyes. The demons laughing and the angels dying.

At first, I never really intended to hurt her; just tease her. Pull at her heart strings every time she upset me, or just annoyed me. I told her how much I did for her. How much I cared for her. I used that stupid word ‘love’ so many times. It charmed her, pacified her. Then she would come to my arms and I would hold her so tight she couldn’t breathe.

Did I ever realize my mistake? My carelessness. Did I ever see the consequences of my actions? Did I repent and stop my slow torment? The torturing of a human heart? No. Such actions cannot be seen until much later. When you wake up in the morning and see that she is dead on the bed sheets beside you. See her still-red blood make such beautiful designs. How her essence coats you and makes you sweat in the heat. And how her cold, tearless eyes stare up at you greedily; the demons eating the tattered shreds of her soul.

I wanted to say something to her. Anything. To fill the gap that seemed to have appeared. I wanted to tell her that I loved her, that I only did it because I cared for her. But such lovely words do not tempt a corpse. Her agape mouth was laughing at me. And I knew that I had to tell her something real.

But what was real about me? That I was a cruel, heartless creature whom could not be allowed into existence? That I was only a mere human whose heart was devoured by evil? That I was weak to the power of control? But such phrases seem hollow and insecure. Only hanging by the threads they were born on. I guess there was only one thing that I knew was real.

I thought she was beautiful.

I remembered it then. How I first saw her. An empty canvas to be painted on. How I wanted to leave my precious mark upon her and see how glorious she could become. I wanted to mold her with my potter’s hands. To pull and pound her into a specimen of true elegance.

And even after I scarred her and beat her, it wasn’t enough. I had somehow knew there was more beauty to begotten. More that wasn’t seen. What I didn’t realize at first, and even then, was that I had killed that splendor. And in my frenzy to perfect her, I had killed it forever.

That loveliness existed in the beginning. The plainness of being a white sheet and a shapeless form. The pureness of innocence and trust. It was crushed in my haste. The white angels in the corners of her eyes. The round cheeks and pointed nose. They were gone now.

I reached out and touched the sunken cheeks, the bones protruding from them. I guess I had starved her at one point; or merely forgot to tell her to eat. The nose was smashed now, the blood congealing on the broken fixture. Her eyes stared openly at me, the stars gone. Her unfastened lips were cracked and painted red with her own blood.

I slowly took her hands then. I think I was crying too, but my vision wasn’t blurred. The cold tears must have escaped without notice. Running down my neck, trying to find the non-existent warmth in my chest. I slowly unwrapped her stiff fingers and gave her what belonged to her. And that I had stolen without thought.

I closed her fingers over her heart.

And I kissed her goodbye. So you see? I couldn’t say it to her. I couldn’t tell her how beautiful she was. Call it an excuse that saying it to a deaf body would be useless. But I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t admit how much I destroyed her. I could only leave.

As I stepped into the night, I stood for a second on the frozen ground. The fresh dew making a false reflection of snow. The shadows surrounded me then, pressing in for a closer look. I whispered her name to them, until it become a mindless chant; hoping she could hear me.

And feel the same.