She sits on her bed and stares at the phone, her body
rocking in time to the clock flicking past
The room is dark save the neon green glow of the digital clock. She jumps up and paces, knocking over a glass
"No. Stop it!" She mutters pushing up her sleeve and rubbing a would be tattoo. Her mind jumps in circles, whispering sweet words that only he used to say. She throws herself onto the bed and screams into the pillow. She her mind drifts back to the phone, replaying the sanitized voice "…Husband is dead…"
Her screams fade into sobs and she throws the pillow across the room. Several pictures fall, shattering on the polished wooden floor. She reaches for the empty bottle of vodka on her nightstand and throws it against their wedding picture. "You always had to be the FUCKING hero. Why couldn't you save your self for once?" The glass cracks, spreading outward in a spider web and ending at the wooden frame.
She ignores the still hanging wedding picture, too far gone for the moment to care. The shrill whine of the phone drives ice picks into her. She grabs the phone and slams into the receiver. The phone stops ringing, but she is past hearing, still listening to that God Damned voice saying Dead. "StopStopStopSTOP!!" Each word punctuated with the manic slamming of the phone.
The plastic casing on the phone cracks. Insane with emotion she rips the phone from the wall and throws at the sixth story apartment window. The glass explodes outward and the phone falls with muted shatter.
A macabre grin slides across her
lips and her eyes light upon the broken glass from the picture glittering on
the floor. She caresses the glass against her skin. A wordless moan oozes out
her mouth and she falls back starring at the ceiling. Her frenzied scramble
silenced. A flicker of something slithers through her mind in
this brief moment of serenity. And it's gone, save an idea. An Exodus.
Exodus. Her mind spins around this and clings to it like a life raft. She continues massaging the glass across her hips and flowing upwards and outlining her ribs. Twisting and rippling across her white cotton sheets in ecstasy. Shuddering, her back arches and she thrusts upwards writhing, rapture coursing in her veins. Sated she falls back, her body splayed across her sheets, glass clutched close to her breast as a small child hugs a teddy bear.
Pain. It blossoms across her blue eyes and she wakes. Arcing lacerations lace her chest and weave there way around her collarbone like a necklace. Silently she rises and gently molests her scabbing slashes in the mirror. Her reflection stares back gaunt and hollow eyed. Beautiful.
Entranced with her image she moves her hand away from her collarbone and traces the outline of her jaw, dripping her hand down the curve of her neck and across the swell of her breasts. She runs her nails through the drying blood pealing it up. She leans back against the wall and sighs, concentrating on the feeling of her fingers digging into the shallow incision and peeling back skin. Sluggishly, blood leaches out, welling around her fingers. She rubs it across her naked skin like massage oil. Sinking to her knees and moans.
Her eyes slide over the still hanging wedding picture. Her steady even breathing catches and chokes deep in the back of her throat. She wheezes his name through her throat, rolling over onto glass, grinding the glittering diamond bits into her skin. Her eyes stay fixated on their wedding picture frame, remembering. His laugh, his eyes, his smile. The way he kissed her, the way he always brought her flowers when she was hurt. The way they fought, the way he could throw her across the room, the way it felt to hit a wall.
She whimpers, curling into herself rocking violently, hoping
to recreate the exquisite bone jarring teeth rattling crunch. To long since she
had been broken. She rocks harder, throwing her self into the wall like a
psychotic rag doll. Harder and harder, she slams
herself into the wall, trying to bring him back. He hated it when she hurt
herself. He always came rushing in to stop her before she went too deep, or too
far. She kept up the fanatical slamming against the wall, unaware of the time,
hunger and the outside world. She was only conscious of the need to bring him
This deep driving need echoing through her body and rebounding in her skull left her gasping. That was it. She could feel him clawing at the metal box in the mortuary. He was alive. He was ALIVE!
She shot up and ran for her purse. I have to save him. She growled as she dug through her purse, throwing things across the room in her futile search. "Gotcha." She crowed when her hands closed around the keys. "Clothes…" she muttered reaching for some random garments that would cover all her scars, her searching hands lighted upon long black slacks and a black turtleneck.
She dresses, pulling the clothes roughly over her still bleeding body. She runs to the door and stops short to hunt down and shovel. "I'll save you." She mutters, chewing through her lip. Spade in hand she climbs into the car, throwing the spade across the back seat.
Driving was something he always did. No woman would ever drive him. He wouldn't ever let her
drive. She hoped he wouldn't be upset that she was driving now. This car was
She grips the leather steering wheel too tight as she rounds the corners to fast, eager to see him once more. "Soon," She whispered, her eyes locked on the rear view mirror, "Soon." The darkening sky thunders and rain explodes, send icy shards across the deserted roads and car.
She reaches the mortuary, pulling into employee only parking lot. It's an ugly rambling building covered in ivy and brick façade. Reaching into back, she grabs the shovel that has slid from the back seat to the floor. Her hands curl around the smooth wood, reminding her of the broom handle.
Her spine bows and then cracks with each successive hit of the broom. She's on her hands and knees, swaying violently. He's screaming at her and she begs for the pleasure of being beaten. She can see his face in the mirror. He's face is a twisted mask, leering blissfully and she can feel her shoulder blade's cracking ecstatically. Her eyes roll back into her head and she body shudders falling limply to the hard wooden floor. He keeps at it screaming…screaming something... Her ears aren't working...this is…nice, so much love cascading into her bruises. He loves her, so he breaks her.
She convulses violently dropping the shovel and hitting her head on the car's roof. She curses, glaring at the car's ceiling. She pulls the shovel slowly over the car's driver seat, careful not to scratch or hit the car.
The rain is still falling by the bucketful, she looks doubtfully out the window. All the rain will ruin the car's interior. He'll be so mad.
Steeling herself, she leaves the car, and runs to door. The door's locked. She looks toward the window and then the shovel. They will have buried him by now, right? She considers this, fingering a wet scab. She turns toward the cemetery, eyeing the concrete sculptures with disdain. "Are you out there?" She whispers, her voice cracks with the fear of not being able to find him. He was her master. She needed her master. She paces on the wet concrete step, her clothes doing little to protect her raw and bloody skin.
She nods her, head, reaffirming her decision, he's out there, and she can feel him. She turns toward the funeral home, walks toward a window and swings the shovel like a baseball bat. The windowpane shatters and showers over the plush carpet. She swings again, cracking the wooden brace that divided the window into quarters.
She weaves her body around the glass and into the room, the glass crunching beneath her feet. The room is dark and cold. She switches a light switch next to the broken window and surveys her surroundings.
She moves silently over to the desk on the other side of the room. The desk is dark and shiny in the light. She leans the shovel against the desk and searches for a burial list, for him. She flips open books and ledgers, scanning the pages for anything that mentions him.
"That's it!" She crows softly. She memorizes the plot number and leaves the room, taking her shovel with her.
The rain is still falling like shattered glass and the wind is blowing it almost sideways across the cemetery. She moves as if in a dream, ignoring the pain and her freshly bleeding skin. He is back and dominating her mind. She can do anything as long as he believes in her and he believes. She is running, following his call. She is almost delirious now. He's mad. He is screaming at her from the grave. He knows she can come faster. But she's almost there.
The stone looms godlike in her view. She flings herself at it, wrapping her arms around it. She trails her fingers across the engraved lettering, and gently massages the granite marker.
She stands, and the shovel is in her hands. She plants the shovel in the soft muddy dirt and pulls a shovelful out. And another. Another shovelful follows. The dirt pile grows with the shovelfuls of dirt and melts in the bone chilling rain. The dirt oozes like chocolate sauce down the dirt pile and runs into the grave pooling around her feet. The grave is filling back up, faster then she can empty it. She digs faster, throwing dirt manically over her shoulder.
Her back and shoulders burn like napalm, dripping across her shoulder blades and through her spine.
"Just one more…" she tells her self,"…Just one more…" and she repeats her mantra for each shovel of dirt. Her shovel thunks dully on the metal coffin lid. Her frantic digging speeds up and becomes spastic. Her shoulders and back jerk and twitch sending her sliding on the slick metal surface. She drops the shovel and pinwheels her arms wildly, grabbing at the weak water sodden dirt walls, desperate to catch her balance. The walls quake and collapse slowly inwards. She falls and smashes into the mud and dirt that has slid back into the grave.
She gasps and chokes, rolling over. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her heartbeats in time, tattooing its rhythm into her ribcage. She sits up on her knees and breathes, slowing her rapid breathing. "Be calm," she tells her self," Be calm." She stands and she's holding the shovel again. She doesn't remember picking it up.
He's been waiting patiently. She had forgotten about him when she slipped. He was yelling again. "How could you forget about me?!" he howls. She quakes and shivers on against the crumbling dirt walls. Her eyes sparkle with tears and she slips down until she is lying on the coffin lid and screaming. And her voice is cracking desirously. She loves him, she could never forget him.