Bloody Love

Your tears pained me. Your sobs broke me. I could only hold you to keep myself sane at the sight. Maybe I wasn’t trying to keep sane. I was pretty sure I had already last that. I just wanted to keep you. You were mine and no one else’s. That’s what I wanted and that’s what I got. But, I didn’t want you to cry. He didn’t deserve your tears. He was a nobody, more of an actor. He didn’t love you. I did.

They showed up at my house that day, raising doubt in your mind. I comforted you, while the cops made themselves at home, two of them. They seemed relaxed in spite of why they were there, why they addressed me. The first cop spoke, his voice sounding like fat was blocking it.

“Have you ever been to Mr.Low’s house?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied simply. I didn’t have anything to hide for the most part.

“Yes?” you repeated out of shock. I couldn’t blame you. You knew I hated him with a passion and vice versa.

“So you recall forgetting your notebook there?” the second cop asked, his voice sounding like a cornered goose. He held up my three ringed, green notebook.

I nodded and said, “Yes. But, I wasn’t planning on getting it back anytime soon.”

“Because you hate Mr.Low?” the first cop asked, inferring.

“Yes,” I replied without a hitch.

“If you hated Mr.Low, what were you doing at his house?” the second cop spazzed out.

“To talk.”

“About what?” the two asked simultaneously.

“Stuff,” I said. It was personal stuff that I didn’t want to mention with you around.

“This is police business and you’re with holding important information. If you can’t cooperate with us, you’re looking at murder charges,” the first cop explained.

“What were the two of talking about?” the second cop repeated the question. “What was your relationship with Mr. Sean Low?”

“There was no relationship. I put up with him. He put up with me. We both hated each other for a common reason and we both dealt with each other for a common reason,” I explained.

“There have been witnesses that say the two of you argued a lot,” the first cop said in more of a question tone.

“Yes we did. It was all about Cameron and most of them got pretty wordy. “You happy now?” I asked irritated.

“Have you ever threatened Mr.Low in any of those arguments?” the second cop asked.

You almost seemed horrified at the interrogation. I could almost see the thought lines across your face and I could only imagine that you were trying to comprehend the fact that I might have killed him. I blew my breath out.

“They were heated arguments. I threatened him a couple of times. But, I would never do anything because it would hurt Cameron and I didn’t want that,” I said.

The police wrote down some information. They silently talked with each other as I tried to reassure you. The cops warned me that I was a possible suspect due to my aggravated background with him. They left. You gave me an appalled expression.

“The police suspect you,” you said with a gasp.

“Cameron, come on. You know I didn’t do it,” I assured.

“There’s no other possibility, is there?” you asked me. “You really hated him; like if he was falling of a bridge, you kick him so he’d fall faster.”

“It kinda hurts that you’re suggesting that I murdered your boyfriend,” I said. “That’s just ludicrous. I care about you too much to put you through something even close to what you’re going through right now.”

After a long pause, you said, “I guess you’re right.”

I gladly accepted your warmth against me as I cuddled you in my arms. It was how it should be. You calmed down after a while. The sad thing was that you knew I loved you. You just didn’t know I loved you enough to kill for you. The only thing that bothered me was that it seemed you didn’t love me as much, though you say you do.

Everyone that asked me about it after that day got the same answer. I didn’t kill him. Almost everyone believed me. From what I heard, the police were really focusing on a 5’ 10’’, white male, with size 11 boots. They were looking for my alter ego. I couldn’t believe my little charade had fooled them so well.

You were wary of me for a while. I couldn’t blame you. If the final suspect had been a white female who was five inches shorter than the suspected height and wore a size 7 shoe, I would be number one on the wanted list.

You cornered me the one day. I was at your house, helping you catch up on some chores. Your eyes were dark, somber. Your voice was low, almost a whisper. I could never forget the way stood, rigid in your spot, as if you didn’t want to get near me.

“I know you keep saying you didn’t, but I want you to look me right in the eyes and truthfully answer the question one last time,” you said.

I did what you wanted, what I knew wouldn’t upset you. I gazed upon your tired face. My eyes laid over yours. I took a calming breath, as if I would confess, and watched the sudden fear flash across your face a second before it disappeared. I told you the cold truth.

“I din not kill Sean,” I said, wondering how many more times I would have to say it.