The Horror of Our Love

Maria will always be the darkness in my life and my greatest betrayer, but the truth isn't quite what some think. What made her such a horrible human being wasn't the depths of her cruelty, it was her ability to make you love her, and accept the things she did to you.

She sought out those young and vulnerable, and already damaged. In their torn innocence, they were easy to cling to the first authority figure that came there way, and told them they were loved. Unquestioning, they accepted her, even when her true intentions manifested. She craved that god like power, to shape a human being, to have such an impact on the development of a life. And in our eyes, she was a god, and we cherished her as such.

It took her to show me the truth behind all god like beings, all authority, revealing the power struggle present in very aspect of human interaction.

I used to think she is what taught me how to love, but it is her that truly taught me how to hate.

“Where do you think we go when we die, what do you suppose it’s like?”Her gentle charming tone danced around, filling the spaces of the hushed, modest lounging room of her flat, her hands still down, resting in her lap, her eyes far from mine, they were attentive to the outside confines of the window, peering down at the uproar of people going about their day. She took great pleasure in setting herself upon a chair to survey with hawk eyes at all the people, scattering about like petrified vermin, squirming under her gaze as if her glare sent such fear into there heart, they scattered like ants. She was a predator, moistening her lips at her prey, nearly salivating. I always thought that hunger in her eyes, when locked against mine, was love. But that was her game, it was the hunt. Always alert for the next meal.

I was hit with silence, pondering about how I should go about answering such a question. It was spoken as if it was a small talk kind of matter, her tone as flat as a " Hows the weather? " Kind of inquiry. Not to mention, I couldn’t pick up on what direction she was heading in, was it her wanting a certain answer from me, or was she indeed curious of my place on the subject? It was always hard to tell with her. I held my tongue, still rolling the different choices in my head. I knew for certain for what I believed, but I was uncertain I wanted to play along, it just felt like another game.

“Jeffery," she barked. " don’t ignore me, I’ve asked you something.” I drew my eyes to her; her back bare in the dress she wore, exposing the sea of freckles laying on her shoulders. Her long auburn hair was held up ever so neatly in a bun. It was perfect, no stray hairs, nothing out of shape. She was perfection, and nothing but perfection was worthy in her eyes.

I swallowed the nervous ball in my throat, pushing it down into the cravens of my chest so I could speak. Then cleared my throat, I grew a bit anxious of revealing my response. The fear she struck in all those around her was a trance, it was impossible to escape, even now. All these years, and I still cower under her word, she still held that leash on me. I hate myself for it, and I hate her more because of that, it is her I should place the blame on.

“Nowhere.” I spoke in a calm, crisp tone. She turned her head, resting those sapphire eyes on me. Such beauty, jems for eyes, porcelain for skin; Cheek bones sculpted by gods. It was almost unfathomable. Her age was apparent nowhere on her face, or skin.

“What?” Her expression fell into a confused sneer, eyes narrowed on me. What truly angered her, not understanding my answer, or the lack of fear in my voice, she had come so accustomed to?

“I don’t think we go anywhere at all, Maria.” I made sure to speak her name in spite, as I will forever.

“Is that so? “Her look softened as she turned her attention back to the window.. ”I'm still unsure if I understand what you are trying to say, Jeff. ” My stomach clenched the moment she called me that, I tried my best not to express that reaction with my body, but I know better than to think she needed to even look at me to know how it made me feel.

“We go nowhere. When we die, I believe it’s just as before we were born. Nothing. Just nothing, nowhere. The absence of existence.” I stood up from my seat, putting myself by her side, looking out the glass with her, watching all the faces come and pass. I realized that I was higher than her in that moment. It felt uncomfortable, that switch of positions.

“Morbid as always. Makes more sense than a kingdom among the clouds, I suppose.”

“ Morbid is the world we live in. ” There were words deep in the back of my throat, begging to be spoken. Anger, I wanted to spill. How dare she call me morbid? She was the one to make me open my eyes to how the world really was, maybe that's why it made her feel that way. I was the only one to ever see the truth of her, and I'd like to believe it made her feel less powerful. I kept my composer, breaking like that would give her nothing but pleasure .

We sat there, watching the lives pass us, busy men and restless women, for awhile. The whole time, I could only wondering what was going through her mind.

She tilted her head, looking up at me with a petite smile. She gazed for a moment or two, trying to get the words out from under her tongue. The lower lid of her eyes illuminated, tears began to bloom. Her lip quivered at the cold contact against her temple, and she at last spoke. “I’m sorry, Jeffery.” I smiled.

I grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. " Can't say I'm supersized that you've stooped this low. ” She began to weep and shake, and she yanked her head from my grasp, and hanged her head as I lowered the blinds. The room fell dim and all could be heard was her loud sobbing, perhaps a small number of mumbled apologizes and pleas. Even I knew it was just as hallow and fake as her life. The sounds only added to the burning in my chest, the rage bubbling in my gut. She threw her head up, she opened her mouth to scream in rage at me, she was cut off before she could even begin.

The gunshot was clean, making its way right through the other side of her head. The red river of blood gushed, and then trickled from the wound. It was warm against my face, rolling down my skin. Her body slumped, and I watched as it gradually slid from the chair. I stood over her, examining the pale, lifeless body. The blood stained the white dress hugging against her skin, as it ran down like a river, and those bright eyes that would shine were a dull haze, the light ripped from them. the way eyes looked when life was gone had such an signature look, you didn't have to see before to identify it.

I knelled to her height; her back against the bottom of the chair, and her head slouched to the right. Her legs were sprawled on the wooden floor of our flat. I leaned in close to her ear, " I've lost my faith in a god, but I still hope some kind of justice exists outside of this world, and hell is real, and you finally pay for the things you've done." I whispered, before turning my father's pistol on myself.