Status: Complete!
Lips of Deceit
Sorry for the Things I've Done
A pattern. That's what it was. A pattern of deceit.
His relationship was built on a foundation of lies. Every day, he played a game of Jenga, waiting for the lie that would cause his relationship to fall apart. But he was good. Too good. The words left his lips without the slightest hint that they were false. His expression remained honest and sincere. Even his eyes would never betray him.
So he awoke on a day like any other day in the life of Brian Haner Jr., lead guitarist of Avenged Sevenfold and playboy extraordinaire. A silky strand of hair tickled his skin. He looked down at the beautiful face of a stranger, sleeping peacefully.
Something's different. He knew it in the very depths of his soul, the very core of his being.
He slid out from under the covers, being careful not to disturb the girl. He pulled on the jeans that had been hastily discarded the night before. Digging out a partially crushed pack of cigarettes and his cell, he walked out onto the balcony.
He lit a cigarette and stared out over the city. Why did today feel different? Why did his stomach feel unsettled?
Call her. The thought crept into his brain, unbidden, unwanted. He couldn't call her! The very idea of it was insane. And yet...
Brian scrolled through his list of contacts, coming to a halt on her name. Emma.
He closed his eyes and her image came to him. Those beautiful blue-green eyes, framed with long lashes; that flawless sun-kissed skin; her wavy white-blond hair; her lips...
Brian again felt the odd sensation in his stomach. He opened his eyes. He needed to hear her voice.
Pitching away his cigarette, he selected her number. It rang five times before she answered. "Hello?" she mumbled sleepily.
"Hey, baby," he said. "I'm sorry to wake you. I...just really needed to talk to you."
"What's wrong?" she demanded, worried. She no longer sounded the least bit sleepy.
"Nothing. I--" he broke off. What in the hell was wrong with him? He couldn't bring himself to say it, to lie and assure her that her world was still perfect.
Oh, God.
His next sentence left him against his will: "I slept with someone last night."
He heard her sharp intake of breath. There was a long silence, during which he listened to the sound of his own heartbeat. Finally, she spoke. "Who?"
"I don't know exactly," he replied, gritting his teeth. "We went to the bar and got pretty fucking wasted and...I think she's one of the bartenders."
The silence again stretched.
"Emma, baby, I'm so--"
"Don't!" she cut in. She sighed. "We'll talk about his when you get home tonight. You are still coming home, right?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Okay. I'll see you later." She hung up without waiting for him to say goodbye.
Brian snapped his cell shut. What did I just do?
"Morning," a voice purred behind him, and he felt hands sliding up his bare back.
He spun around, knocking her hands away. "Get out."
The girl stared at him. "What?"
"Get. The fuck. Out."
She drew back and slapped him, then stalked back into the room. Brian didn't move until he heard the door slam. With the coast clear, he went inside and began packing.
**********
Brian fidgeted the entire ride from the airport to the house he and Emma shared.
Jimmy noticed. "Dude, calm down!" He laughed. "What, the bartender last night didn't satiate you?"
Brian didn't say anything. The mention of the bartender had brought with it that sensation in his stomach once again.
They pulled into his driveway. Brian seized his bags from the backseat, called a quick "See ya" over his shoulder, and hurried to the front door. He found that it was already unlocked.
"Emma!" he shouted, dropping his bags by the door. "I'm home!"
There was no answer. Brian frowned. He checked the kitchen and the living room, to no avail.
"Em!" He quickly ascended the stairs. "Em, baby, I'm sorry, okay? I was drunk, I didn't know what I was..." he trailed off as he stepped into their bedroom.
She was under the covers, her white-blond hair spread across her pillow, her eyes closed. Brian recalled the face of the bartender that morning, sleeping peacefully next to him.
"Em?" He approached the bed, his heart picking up its pace. He knew she'd heard him yelling. He knew she'd heard him. Unless...
"Emma, baby."
She hadn't moved. Not even the slightest twitch. Brian gripped the blankets, which were pulled up to her chin. He licked his suddenly dry lips. His hands were shaking. Taking a deep breath, he yanked the blankets off of her.
A cry escaped him at the sight that met his eyes.
She was in his favorite purple lace teddy and matching panties, laying on sheets the color of snow. Splashes of bright red marred the pure white of the sheets. Emma's wrists and hands were smeared with blood that was already dry and brown. The incisions on her wrists were neat and very deep. She'd bled out quickly.
"Em." Brian crawled onto the bed and gathered her into his arms, burying his face in her hair and sobbing brokenheartedly. It was several more minutes before he noticed the piece of paper on the nightstand. He snatched it up, desperate for an answer.
Brian,
Your admission this morning only confirmed what I already knew. You have been unfaithful to me ever since the day we met. I tried to convince myself that I was just being paranoid, that you'd given me no reason not to trust you, and I was able to, for a while. I lied to myself because I loved you so much more than I loved myself. I did everything to be with you, gave up everything to be with you, and you betrayed me. I can't live with that knowledge. I can't survive an endless number of days stretching ahead of me in which I have to live knowing how little my love meant to you and how that eternal love was unrequited.
Yours Always,
Emma
Brian read the words two or three times before they truly sank in. He gazed at Emma's face, perhaps even more lovely in death, and he realized what that feeling in his stomach had been.
Shame. Shame for all of the things he'd done to Emma over the years. And now that shame had transformed into something so much worse: guilt.
Brian stumbled to the bathroom and collapsed in the floor, vomiting into the toilet. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and trudged back into the bedroom. He climbed onto the bed and snuggled close to her, holding her tightly. He couldn't bring himself to call 911. They'd only take her away from him.
He closed his eyes. Maybe if he went to sleep, he'd wake up and this would all have been a nightmare. He'd wake up to find his precious Emma sleeping peacefully next to him...
His relationship was built on a foundation of lies. Every day, he played a game of Jenga, waiting for the lie that would cause his relationship to fall apart. But he was good. Too good. The words left his lips without the slightest hint that they were false. His expression remained honest and sincere. Even his eyes would never betray him.
So he awoke on a day like any other day in the life of Brian Haner Jr., lead guitarist of Avenged Sevenfold and playboy extraordinaire. A silky strand of hair tickled his skin. He looked down at the beautiful face of a stranger, sleeping peacefully.
Something's different. He knew it in the very depths of his soul, the very core of his being.
He slid out from under the covers, being careful not to disturb the girl. He pulled on the jeans that had been hastily discarded the night before. Digging out a partially crushed pack of cigarettes and his cell, he walked out onto the balcony.
He lit a cigarette and stared out over the city. Why did today feel different? Why did his stomach feel unsettled?
Call her. The thought crept into his brain, unbidden, unwanted. He couldn't call her! The very idea of it was insane. And yet...
Brian scrolled through his list of contacts, coming to a halt on her name. Emma.
He closed his eyes and her image came to him. Those beautiful blue-green eyes, framed with long lashes; that flawless sun-kissed skin; her wavy white-blond hair; her lips...
Brian again felt the odd sensation in his stomach. He opened his eyes. He needed to hear her voice.
Pitching away his cigarette, he selected her number. It rang five times before she answered. "Hello?" she mumbled sleepily.
"Hey, baby," he said. "I'm sorry to wake you. I...just really needed to talk to you."
"What's wrong?" she demanded, worried. She no longer sounded the least bit sleepy.
"Nothing. I--" he broke off. What in the hell was wrong with him? He couldn't bring himself to say it, to lie and assure her that her world was still perfect.
Oh, God.
His next sentence left him against his will: "I slept with someone last night."
He heard her sharp intake of breath. There was a long silence, during which he listened to the sound of his own heartbeat. Finally, she spoke. "Who?"
"I don't know exactly," he replied, gritting his teeth. "We went to the bar and got pretty fucking wasted and...I think she's one of the bartenders."
The silence again stretched.
"Emma, baby, I'm so--"
"Don't!" she cut in. She sighed. "We'll talk about his when you get home tonight. You are still coming home, right?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Okay. I'll see you later." She hung up without waiting for him to say goodbye.
Brian snapped his cell shut. What did I just do?
"Morning," a voice purred behind him, and he felt hands sliding up his bare back.
He spun around, knocking her hands away. "Get out."
The girl stared at him. "What?"
"Get. The fuck. Out."
She drew back and slapped him, then stalked back into the room. Brian didn't move until he heard the door slam. With the coast clear, he went inside and began packing.
**********
Brian fidgeted the entire ride from the airport to the house he and Emma shared.
Jimmy noticed. "Dude, calm down!" He laughed. "What, the bartender last night didn't satiate you?"
Brian didn't say anything. The mention of the bartender had brought with it that sensation in his stomach once again.
They pulled into his driveway. Brian seized his bags from the backseat, called a quick "See ya" over his shoulder, and hurried to the front door. He found that it was already unlocked.
"Emma!" he shouted, dropping his bags by the door. "I'm home!"
There was no answer. Brian frowned. He checked the kitchen and the living room, to no avail.
"Em!" He quickly ascended the stairs. "Em, baby, I'm sorry, okay? I was drunk, I didn't know what I was..." he trailed off as he stepped into their bedroom.
She was under the covers, her white-blond hair spread across her pillow, her eyes closed. Brian recalled the face of the bartender that morning, sleeping peacefully next to him.
"Em?" He approached the bed, his heart picking up its pace. He knew she'd heard him yelling. He knew she'd heard him. Unless...
"Emma, baby."
She hadn't moved. Not even the slightest twitch. Brian gripped the blankets, which were pulled up to her chin. He licked his suddenly dry lips. His hands were shaking. Taking a deep breath, he yanked the blankets off of her.
A cry escaped him at the sight that met his eyes.
She was in his favorite purple lace teddy and matching panties, laying on sheets the color of snow. Splashes of bright red marred the pure white of the sheets. Emma's wrists and hands were smeared with blood that was already dry and brown. The incisions on her wrists were neat and very deep. She'd bled out quickly.
"Em." Brian crawled onto the bed and gathered her into his arms, burying his face in her hair and sobbing brokenheartedly. It was several more minutes before he noticed the piece of paper on the nightstand. He snatched it up, desperate for an answer.
Brian,
Your admission this morning only confirmed what I already knew. You have been unfaithful to me ever since the day we met. I tried to convince myself that I was just being paranoid, that you'd given me no reason not to trust you, and I was able to, for a while. I lied to myself because I loved you so much more than I loved myself. I did everything to be with you, gave up everything to be with you, and you betrayed me. I can't live with that knowledge. I can't survive an endless number of days stretching ahead of me in which I have to live knowing how little my love meant to you and how that eternal love was unrequited.
Yours Always,
Emma
Brian read the words two or three times before they truly sank in. He gazed at Emma's face, perhaps even more lovely in death, and he realized what that feeling in his stomach had been.
Shame. Shame for all of the things he'd done to Emma over the years. And now that shame had transformed into something so much worse: guilt.
Brian stumbled to the bathroom and collapsed in the floor, vomiting into the toilet. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and trudged back into the bedroom. He climbed onto the bed and snuggled close to her, holding her tightly. He couldn't bring himself to call 911. They'd only take her away from him.
He closed his eyes. Maybe if he went to sleep, he'd wake up and this would all have been a nightmare. He'd wake up to find his precious Emma sleeping peacefully next to him...