Cut (a short story)

This is a short story from within my book, “written” by the main female character.  I had forgotten that I put this story in my book and rediscovered it last night as I was editing.  It scared me a bit when I wrote this since I am normally a pretty happy-go-lucky writer.  I guess we all sometimes climb into the darker side of our brain.

 
Cut
By:  Carrie Leigh

She stood in front of the mirror, hairbrush in hand, one errant tear slowly finding a path down her cheek.  She woke up to bright sunshine but could not feel its warmth.  The clouds in her heart left a chill in her soul as hard and heavy as steel.  The words were replaying in her head, over and over again, like one his damned records that he was always listening too.  She had tried dragging him into the 21st century, but he remained staunch in his dedication to what he called “the beautiful music of white noise.”  She would have given anything to hear that white noise again instead of the cold voice that ripped her from sleep and shattered her world that morning.

“He’s gone,” she heard with heartless finality.

He was gone.  He’d left her when he promised that he never would.  He’d left her alone in a world filled with reminders of him, but she didn’t want reminders.  She wanted him.  She wanted him alive and well.  She wanted him beautiful and laughing.  She wanted his arms around her and her head on his strong chest.  She wanted to be with him.

Anger surged through her like a tidal wave as she hurled her hairbrush at the mirror, shattering the glass all around her.  Razor sharp shards rained down as her anger grew.  She screamed at the top of her lungs, painful broken shrieks, not caring who heard her.  She wanted everyone to hear her screaming, to feel her broken heart, to hear her pain.

She knew how he did it.  She didn’t even have to ask the voice on the other end of the phone.  He’d told her his plan on dark nights when the shadows crept into his eyes and his world dragged him under trying to drown him.  She thought she’d brought him out of the dark and never thought he’d actually go through with it.  She failed.  She knew it.  She failed him when he really needed her, and she knew there was only one way to get back to him, to pay for her ultimate failure.

Her voice was going hoarse as her anger and heartache continued to pour out in her anguished screams.  Her fingers tangled into her hair as she ripped and tore at it as hard as she could.  To feel that pain was better than feeling the pain in her shattered heart.  Shards of glass pierced her feet as she crossed the floor, throwing herself into one wall and then another.  Glass dug under her fingernails as she ripped at her hair.  Blood trickled from her hands and down her face and across the floor.  Blood poured from the cuts on her feet leaving a horrific trail that followed every move she made.  She caught a glimpse of herself in a small surviving piece of the mirror on the wall.

“Is this what he looked like last night?  Is this what became of his beautiful face after the bullet ripped through it?”

She knew that his injuries were far worse than anything some small shard of glass could do to her.  Her voice calmed.  Her bloody fingers slid from her hair.  She surveyed the damage to the mirror that lay in pieces all over the floor.  She knew what she was looking for.  She just had to find the perfect one.  Her racing heartbeat relaxed.  Her rage calmed.  Her heavy breathing slowed as she eyed the floor.  Then she spotted it shining back at her with answer to her broken heart.  It would silence the persistent voice that kept repeating those two hateful words.

“He’s gone.”

            “HE’S gone.”

                        “HE’S GONE!”

She stared at it as it reflected possibility and new hope.  She could see him again, beautiful and alive.  She could see the twinkle in his eye and hear his laughter.  She could feel the warmth and comfort of his arms.  She could see him waiting for her.   She could see him beckoning her to join him in that perfect piece of glass on the floor.  Its edges were as sharp as the edges of her shattered heart, but she knew that piece of glass could take away the agony that her heart-felt.

Slowly she bent down to pick it up.  It felt cold and heavy in her hand.  It felt as lifeless as he was.  She knew it would do the job perfectly.  Her mind cleared as blood still trickled from her fingers and dripped onto the stark white tile floor like warm spring rain.  She knew she would soon see him again and she smiled.

She lifted the perfect piece of glass in front of her face and she could see him again.  She could see him smiling at her with his arms open in an invitation to join him.  He was waiting for her to come to him.  She knew she had to go to him immediately.

The glass slid across her neck like a hot knife through butter.  Her precious, life-giving blood poured from her forming a red lake around her feet.  She quickly grew weak.  She fell to the floor as blood continued to flow from her neck.  She could see him in front of her as the perfect piece of glass fell from her hand.

She could see the look of horror on his face as he rushed to her, screaming her name.  Quickly he pressed a towel to her neck trying to stop the blood, trying to save her.

“I thought you were gone,” she whispered weakly.  “I was coming to meet you.”

“Meet me?  What are you talking about?  I never went anywhere.”

“I got a call this morning.  She told me that you were gone,” her whisper growing fainter.

Before he could say anything else he lost her.  He sat on the floor cradling her body in a lake of her life.  He stared at her, his heart shattered, disbelief on his face, and her head in his hands as an errant tear made a path down his cheek.

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