I drink too much, and I had this girl, a beautiful girl. Her name, too painful to say; harsh to write it down, impossible to think about. I had this girl, but now I just drink too much.
It all began in happiness. She had these blue eyes and a smile that could end wars. Her hair was like a golden waterfall, falling away from her head. We were happy and the house was empty. No furniture, just a couple of white walls and a bed to sleep on. We were never unhappy. We cooked and we had sex, and we did those two things often.
I had a dream and she believed in it, because of her, I believed in it as well. Her dream was me. We laughed, we laughed through the night. No hour was ever wrong for us. We had wine and watched movies, and while others slept, we would laugh. I loved her smile, so full of life, capable of brightening the darkest hour. She was always smiling and I was never in the dark.
Sometimes we’d get dressed; we used to stay naked for days. We’d cook, and we’d listen to music, and we’d have sex. I used to chase her around the house, wrap my arms tight around her, and throw her into bed. She was mesmerized with my body, and there wasn’t a wrong time to have me. She wanted me, and she wanted me always. I loved her for that and I felt fulfilled.
Sometimes she would cry. She was very sensitive, and sad movies would sadden her. I liked how vulnerable she was. I wanted to protect her and be there for her. Tears would drop down her cheeks, as I held her tight and close; her tears running down my body, as she pressed against it.
Months passed, faded away into time. I had no idea what was happening in the world. My world was only her, and nothing else mattered. Months passed and she started to look ugly, annoying even. Her nakedness disturbed me, her happiness wouldn’t move me. The silence ruled the house and I had nothing more to say. Her body lost its color. The sex was shallow and meaningless, and her hugs suffocating. I had nothing, nothing to tell her.
On the last evening, I arrived earlier from work. Before I could go up the stairs, before I could look for my keys, find my keys, take them out of my pocket, and put one of them in the lock to turn the door wide open, I could hear her footsteps inside running towards the door.
As I pushed the door, she jumps out and strangles me – my neck wrapped by both her arms, her ties wrapping my waist, her happiness wrapping my heart. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t breathe. And there we stood, for what seemed like an eternity, her wrapped around me in the cold and dark hallway of our apartment. I looked into the living room and out the window, the leaves were brown and falling off the trees. I felt as if I was falling with them.
On the night of that very same day, she was sleeping on her side of the bed. She always moved a lot. She always tried to come to my side of the bed. But not that night, that night there was no movement at all. I remember being happy and relieved, at first, then I thought it was weird. I couldn’t hear her breath. There in the dark, I was searching for movement. I thought about sliding one of my hands to her side of the bed; she repulsed me. I was afraid, afraid of her hug, afraid of giving her hope. It was all in my mind, I thought, she was fine, sleeping as always. I lay there; awake, for hours, on my side, wondering, only inches apart, but miles away.
Morning came through the window. The light hit only upon my side and left her in the shadow. My head turned and that’s when I saw her. She was whiter, and motionless.
I raised my hand from under the sheets to touch her neck. It was cold and stiff. I shook her; nothing, no reaction. Stiff and cold and dead, all night. The light finally reached her side, and I saw that her eyes were still open; no life in them. They were bright and reflecting a past happiness; all she needed in life was me. Suddenly it hit me: no more running around naked, no more cooking, no more midnight strolls, no more sex, no more laughter, no more. I passed my hand over her face and those hopeful eyes shut down for good. She was in a different world now, and I thought about following her. I turned my head, reached for the phone, and called 911 instead.
I still live in the same house; yellow tape still crossing the door outside. But I’m inside, still no furniture, just me and the walls and the bed. Alone, naked, inside and out, drinking too much.
Submitted to ArtParasites by Hugo Crispim