Cursed.

You were beautiful.

From the very second our eyes connected, a warm current passed through me and my stomach was so fluttery that I was weak in the knees. You were an angel. Your hair was a long shimmering scarlet waterfall that framed your heart-shaped face. Your eyes were soft and soulful, a shade of azure so deep I thought I was staring into another world, and you had full, supple lips like satin.

Though I didn't know your name, I felt as if I were in love with you already. Your demeanor was mesmerizing, mysterious. Enthralling. At night I would lie in my bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark, reflecting upon the mystifying sentiments that lapped over me like ocean waves, as comforting as they were novel, as puzzling as they were exciting. My nights were sleepless, as you preoccupied my thoughts day and night. It was love. It had to be. There was no other way to describe the way you made me feel; how my reveries of you drove me to insanity at times. There could be no other way to define the overactive stirring of butterflies in my stomach when you looked into my eyes, so poignant yet subtle was your gaze that I felt as if you were scrutinizing my soul.

You said your name was Ruth.

Ruth, with a throaty, quiet voice.
Ruth, with the wistful face of an angel, and the sinuous body of a goddess.
Ruth, who was everywhere I went, who echoed in my mind.
Ruth, who was so far out of my league.

It was some time until I could recover my voice. Rhys. My name was Rhys Williams. I remember feeling so geeky and shy. I remember the way you bashfully downcast your eyes, and it was that moment that I knew that this incredible sensation that I felt, you felt also.

We could feel the beginning of something new, like the dawning of the day rising from the night.

That was three years ago, and henceforth, I still feel the same way about you that I did then. Even now, the littlest things- your impish, charismatic smile, the brush of your tender lips against mine- still make my heart race.

Three years later, I still love you with an overwhelming, crippling splendor that makes me feel like an awkward teenage boy at times. These years with you, Ruth, were filled with incredible experiences that I shared with you, that I relived over and over, staring at my ceiling at night for hours on end, conjuring upon the blissful moments.

And I want you back.

Teardrops quickly stream down your countenance. Your face is a mask of pain that, I'm sure, mirrored mine. I hated to see you cry. "No," you whispered. "No, no, no, no, no..." the mantra faded to silence. I try to reach for your hand, try to comfort you, but you pull away. You erupt into a downpour of tears. "Why?" you cried. "What happened? What did I do? Rhys, I fucking love you. I wanted to calm you down; I wanted to pour forth all of my fears of one day waking up forsaken by your love; I wanted to tell you that you did nothing, that nothing wrong had happened; that love alone wasn't enough in a relationship. And yet, I wanted to take it all back. I wanted to cease your despair. But the words were caught in my throat, and I couldn't say anything at all no matter how much I willed to do so.

Oh, Ruth, I was scared. So unbelievingly scared. I've never felt this way about any one else before. I was afraid to love. Afraid to feel anything at all. I was afraid what might happen to me if that love was torn away. Afraid to feel that throbbing heartache if it evaporated one day, leaving me an empty shell, leaving me bared of the breathtaking, profound sentiments that set my soul afire, leaving me to feel dejected. I feared to be bereft of your love. I sought to steel myself from you to save future suffering.

But I was foolish, too.

In the restless nights that followed our separation, it was then that I discovered with a fresh ache how horribly wrong I was. Letting you go was the biggest mistake of my life. I came to realize that our parting felt so much worse than I anticipated. I could never hope to brace myself from the anguish. I feel the ache now. I never expected the absence of your love to be so painful. I never knew how vital to me your tenderness was. My world has grown stark and grey without you. I long for the trivial things that made my life complete; the faint scent of rose on your skin; when you stood upon the tips of your toes to catch my kiss; the feeling of your body cuddling against mine; the glimmer in your sapphire eyes when you prize me with one of your stunning smiles.

And now I'm wretchedly alone. There's no one there to hold me tight, no one to kiss me back, no one to awake with to the cry of morning larks, to the spellbinding sunrise. I'm alone. Alone with the echo of your laughter, the endearing words you whispered, still ringing in my ears long afterwards. Alone with years of invaluable nostalgia that haunt me profusely.

I feel hollow. Meaningless. Before, I never understood what the phrase 'my other half' meant. Now, in the early hours of one of my endless strings of sleepless nights, I discover the implication. Ruth, you were my other half. You were my better half. Without you I feel torn away, I feel less than human. I forgot what happiness really felt like. I could fake it all I liked with the ecstasy, but never again would I hold the true feeling, the feeling that wisped away in the moonlight. The feeling that I'd taken for granted. And I took you for granted, Ruth. And it feels like, as we went our separate ways, you took my heart with me.

And I know I hurt you when I said those hateful words. I could feel with a cringing twinge the lacerations I inflicted upon you, leaving scars that might never fade. Leaving scars on myself that will always remain fresh every time I see something that reminds me of you. Every tick of the mocking clock counting down my days away. I caused so much suffering that I could never look at you again. The second the words left my mouth I regretted it; you immediately burst into a volley of tears. I made a fatal error, something that I could never make up. The pain I caused you would dull, but would never be irreversible. The suffering that I earned pervaded me. My retrospections were laced with misery, and I lament for you endlessly. And though gazing at you would consequence to grief, I can't help but do so, torturing myself with what is and what will never be. In a different lifetime, I can remember how drastically different it was, how I felt when I first told you that I loved you with insatiable passion I can never hope to fathom. You made me feel as if I was floating on cloud nine.

The road was deserted, excluding my lone red Jeep skimming across the countryside that stretched on indefinitely. The afternoon was coming to an end, and large cumulus clouds that floated in the air were stained shades of violent red, soft pink, and lavender. Wildflowers grow farther than the eye can see on either side of the road. As I train the steering wheel with my left hand, my right hand slipped over and clasped around yours. You squeeze it lightly. Taking my eyes off of the road for a second, I glance over to you and smiled. Squeezing back, I told you that I loved you. "The feeling's mutual, babe," you say, grinning, making me feel like a dork and making me feel special at the same time. And it just felt... yellow.

And I'm watching you from afar right now, as I regress, a soda in my hand that I occasionally subconsciously sip from. There are traces of vodka in it. It was enough to abate some of the desolation, but nowhere near enough to even be buzzed. Ruth, you look so gorgeous in your prom dress; it was a black, floor-length evening gown, form-fitting and strapless. Your lips are painted carnage red, and your glossy ginger hair falls loosely to your shoulders. You're with him. Your date. Our school's football team's fullback. I'm seeing green.

I snap out of my trance when suddenly, you and James ensue into an argument. I'm too far away to grasp any of the words, but I see you two disperse into the crowd. Grabbing another soda, I follow you discreetly, but lose you in the throng of people soon after. Looking around, I spot Chaise, a friend, and his date. I hailed him.

"Hey, dude, have you seen Ruth around?" I try to ask casually.

Amused, he smiled. "When will you ever learn to let go?"

"Never," I replied with sardonic amusement.

"Fair enough." Chaise pointed to the stairwell leading to the rooftop. "They went up there."

I thanked him quickly and waded through the crowd, advancing to the stairwell. I scale up, my hand supported on the wooded handrail, hastily maneuvering around the high school drunks passed out along the way. After about three flights, I make it to the top. The night is balmy and the sky is salted with millions of distant stars. Far off I hear the faint rumble of an oncoming storm. Seconds after stepping out to the roof, I spot you and James, still in your spat, near the edge of the roof. Without the din of the crowd, I could catch wisps of the conversation.

"...I can't believe..."

"...You're being ridiculous..."

"...Drinking too much..."

"..Enough's enough..."

"...Upsetting me..."

James puts a hand on your shoulder, but you shrug him off and stalk away. James runs sluggishly- obviously drunk- and grabs your arm and yanks you hard to turn to him. He growls something to you, and anger flashes across your face.

"...Hurting me. Let go..."

Before I know what I'm doing, I discard the can of Cheerwine and vodka and I approach the football player. "Let her go," I growled to James. He pivoted around.

"Ge' lost, Williams." His breath reeked of alcohol.

"Not until you leave Ruth alone," I replied coolly.

"I sai' fuck off," he mumbled, his words slurring slightly.

"No."

You gave me a pleading look, that I-can-handle-it look you used to give me sometimes. I shake my head, unremitting.

"Thi' i' nun o' your business," James said, his face scrounge up in annoyance.

"I'm making it my business." I squared my shoulders.

"Rhys, please," you beg.

"No, Ruth, I can't let you stay around this shithead anymore. He's smashed."

"No."

"At least let me take you home."

"No. Leave me alone. I can deal with this." You turn around defiantly, arms cross, and run to the opposite end of the building. I feel a light breeze brush against my face, and then a light sprinkle of rain falls from the darkened abyss above us.

"Ruth!" James and I call out in unison.

You suddenly snap around. "Look," you said, your voice strained and fatigued with distress, "Why can't you just leave me alone?" And I can feel something's change. A barrier's snapped. You've finally broken. I'm seeing your raw demeanor of misery and suffering, the demeanor from that cursed night, coming back to life this cursed night, the demeanor well-hidden under precariously-arranged layers. You're so beautifully broken.

"Ruthie..." I'm suddenly with you, holding you close; it's been the first time in months since I've held you. "I...I-."

"Save it, Rhys. You've done enough damage. Go home." Your voice is hushed. Tense. It starts to rain a bit harder.

"Ruth, you need to understand," I pleaded, the words from before that I was at a loss to acquire now rushing forth. I didn't want to let you go. "I was wrong; I was scared like you wouldn't believe. I-."

"Stop," you sob, "Just. Stop. Okay?" You force the words out. I sway as a powerful gust of wind rushes westward. The trees dance, their leaves shaking.

"I can't let you go, Ruth. I fucked up bad, I know. I spent these past four months paying the penance for it. I can't go on like this, Ruthie." I'm almost in tears. "I've been living a nightmare all of this time, and I can't wake up." I grasp your hands; they feel so small enclosed in mine. "Wake me up, Ruth, wake me up-."

You can't take it anymore. The layers fall away. You're bared. Nothing left to hide. Emotions pour out so obviously I don't know how we can tolerate all of this wretchedness. And then I realize that we truly can't. That we're like bombs, triggered to explode. Compulsive. And in your indistinct torment, you push me. I misplace my footing and fall back into oblivion.

Everything happened in a sudden blur.

I felt myself... Falling... Falling... One story, two stories, eleven stories flash by faster that the speed of light. And yet I felt suspended in time, frozen in everlasting horror that didn't end, that would never end, like a hall of distorted mirrors, twisted and perverse, and I'm lost in a maze of terror, the sky folding in, and I'm spinning, and I'm confused, and I'm scared; a whole new type of fear, and I'm paralyzed, eyes wide, waiting, stomach knotting, waiting for the collision to end it all. Thirteenth story- fourteenth story-.

There was an explosion of a kaleidoscope of color behind my eyeballs as I struck the ground with a sickening crack. Everything was still. There was silence. The grass was clammy and cold, so cold, so hushed and noiseless, numb and chilling; I feel it seeping into my flesh.

I can't feel my spine. I can't feel anything. I'm immobile. My brain feels puréed.

From the ground, through watery eyes, I see your red satin pumps hurrying towards me. I had no idea how long I've been lying on grass. It felt like centuries. It felt like milliseconds. I hear crying, distant; my senses are so warped and muddled that I can barely distinguish anything. You are at my side in moments, getting to your knees to look at me at eye-level. You're a disheveled torrent, looking alarmed, eyes wild, like a horse's.

"No, no, no, no, no. Rhys, I'm so sorry." You're crying. "So.... Sorry... I-I...Oh, God, no." Your shoulders are shaking and your eyes are bleary as you scrub the crystal teardrops away. "We were too close to the edge... Too close. I never meant to..." You're interrupted by the shudder of your weep.

My mouth opens. I struggle to upwell the words stuck in my throat. Nothing comes out. My eyes roll up to look at you, to let you know that I'm listening. That I love you. That I knew that you felt so immeasurably abject. That I should have let you and James be.

Your pulchritudinous face is close. I smell roses. "Get up," you plead. "Please. Don't do this to me. I don't know what I would do if you were... were..." like a grenade you detonate and erupt into tears. "For the sake of God, Rhys, get up."

Rhys... Who was that...? It takes a moment for it to register in my mind that she was talking to me. I tried to get to my feet, though my body wouldn't yield to move. I felt disjointed, like it wasn't really me lying, broken, on the grass. Like I was a bystander, watching, unable to assist.

"Ruth..." I finally manage to mumble. "I...I can't feel my legs."

"Oh, God." Your mascara is running, running all over your angelic face like vulgar black tears. Your weeping becomes a furious thunderstorm. It is then that I become aware of the light drizzle suddenly exploding into a thick shower of rain, accommodating your mask of grief.

James face swims into view. His face looks ashen; pale and hollow. Over the duet of the howl of the storm and the howl of your cry, I can barely make out his words. "Oh, shit...shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit." the whispering chant is ghostly; he seemed sincerely horror-stricken. I'm almost satisfied.

I force my neck to turn thirty degrees to face you once more. Your eyes are an electric, fiery cerulean blue, pulsing and glowing with each tremor of angst. The blood is drained from your face. And still those bloodshed red lips, still lush, illuminated in the darkness. You're glowing, Ruth, like a real angel does. Glowing from the inside. Radiating light, evading the darkness. I need to remember your face. I need to remember that face I fell in love with three years before. I need to remember everything.

Somehow, I find the strength to incline my head. Our noses brush. Our lips immediately collide. It was mournful, deep, loving and everything that I could never say melded together in smooth currents. Everything and nothing was said. I could taste the impact of an ultimate farewell. I didn't want it to end.

You cradle the back of my neck to keep me close. "Rhys, God, don't leave me. Whatever you do, don't fucking leave me..."

I drop back to the ground, feeling stimulated, but slipping fast. "Ruthie..." My throat feels strangled. Completing the sentence seems like mission: impossible. "I... I...lo...love..."

"I know," you whisper quickly, dolefully. "Right back atcha, love." A fresh storm of tears follow suit. Your lipstick is smudged... No, its running. Dripping down your face. No, wait; it's not your lipstick. It's my blood. I would tell you to wipe it off, but the energy to form words was beyond my ability.

Black spots are appearing in the edge of my vision. They multiply fast, faster, taking over my eyesight. Soon, I can barely see you. I'm desperate to catch some last precious details. Fading out. Your face, your face... I need to see your face.

And as you slipped away from my perception, I felt the faint kiss of death ebb away the pain... And there was no more. And there was nothing; there was darkness, and cold, and sweet, incredible nothingness. And it felt so nice, so good, like a dip into a pool of seclusion, like a numbing injection stirring my veins.

The last thing I ever heard was the sound of you sobbing my name as the ambulance serenaded the night away.