I imagined your bones would be hollow, delicate like a baby bird. You hid behind the library bookshelves, your nose concealed by the pages of some paperback novel you were enthralled in. You were lonely, I could see it. You came here everyday at the exact same time after school, you lingered for hours. And behind your eyes, I saw a shipwreck. I knew you wanted romance like in those stories you read, and I was willing to give it to you. I watched you and you didn't see me, until I made you see.
On my hands, your blood was pink. Pink like valentines and bottled perfume. You were crying. Was it happiness? It smeared the mascara you wore down your cheeks in an inky trail. I kissed away the traces and you moaned under me, your voice hitching as you tried to breathe. You had a broken rib, I felt it with my fingers. I bound your pale wrists with cord and held you up straight, like a gorgeous china doll on display.
The tears made your eyes look blue and bright, like ocean water. It reminded me of the first one, the one who loved me and who I laid in the bathtub filled with ice cubes. I don't remember hearing that one cry like you do. Her body was frozen and cold when I touched her, and when I was done she didn't wake up. Dead, like you will be too.