You should hide your things better. Hide your messages. 0-0-0-0 isn’t a good password. It was easy. Work? You had work. Sure. You had to stay behind. Until 11PM? Sure. You had to “help the boss”? Sure. But you never were good at this. Good at lying. I didn’t have to look far. Your body told me. Told me that you had something. Something to hide. Something secret. Kept secret from me. So I looked. I looked for something. Something different. Something unusual. And I found it.
I was ‘asleep’. Asleep when you came home. You were so quiet. Or so you thought. I heard your guilty footsteps. You slithered up the stairs and snuck into our room. You tried to be silent. But, you were clumsy. As usual. You slipped into our bed. You thought that I was asleep. You thought I didn’t hear. That I didn’t know. You were relieved, weren’t you? But I knew. I knew everything. You should hide your things better.
I woke up. You weren’t next to me. You were gone. Gone somewhere. Where? I heard you. Cooking, downstairs in the kitchen. So, I got dressed. Came downstairs. Like normal. Like nothing was wrong. I ate your food. Your bland, tasteless food. But I ‘enjoyed’ it. It was ‘good’. You said you had to go to work. That it was “going to be a late night”. Again? “Again”. I smiled. “Okay, honey. Don’t come home too late”. You kissed me. A fleeting warmth on my cheek. You picked up your laptop, your wallet, your phone, your keys, and you left. You left me at home. Alone. You should hide your things better.
I padded sluggishly to our bathroom. Water stains plagued the shower door. Wasn’t it your turn to clean it? Typical. I brushed my teeth. Tried to cleanse my mouth of your food. Disgusting. How did I find someone like you? Someone so utterly hopeless? I looked at my face. Dark circles. I caked my face in makeup. But, it didn’t help. Didn’t help mask the agony you caused. Look what you’ve done to me.
I locked the door. Walked towards our garage. You took the good car today. Typical. I unlocked the remaining car. I opened the door. Realigned the mirror. Made sure everything was right before I left. There wasn’t much traffic. Not like you’d care. My boss told me that I had to show a new employee around the workplace. She was maybe twenty. Blonde. A pretty one. Maybe you’d like her. I taught her about the job. She thanked me. No worries. I returned to my confined cubicle. A mountain of papers glared at me from my desk and demanded my attention. But I ignored them. I checked your Facebook. Searched through your profile. And I saw it. Us in Sydney, your arms constricted around me. And I hated it. I hated the picture. I hated you. Look what you’ve done to me.
I came back home. Back to an empty house. I turned on all of the lights. Illuminating the darkness. The darkness you left behind. 6 o’clock. I was starving. So I prepared dinner. A meal that you wouldn’t be joining me for. Dinner for one. So I ate. Alone. I cried. My tears were sweet with pain. Don’t worry. I did the dishes for you. Put them away into the cabinet. Made sure they were dry. You don’t have to thank me. It’s my job to clean up your mess. I know. Look what you’ve done to me.
I waited. Waited for you to come home. Home from ‘work’. Waited for you to sneak back into our bed. The bed I kept warm for you. I waited. Waited for you to fall asleep. For you to slip into oblivion. I got up. Quietly. Took your phone. 0-0-0-0. Checked your messages. There she was. You were busy, weren’t you? I grabbed your keys. The keys to the better car. Unlocked the door. And I looked. Looked closely. For something. Something out of place. I found it. A pair of glasses. Petite, elegant glasses. Not mine, or yours. I locked the car. Came back into our house. Look what you’ve done to me.
I found the keys to the drawer. The keys to your gun. You should hide your things better.
I shot you. I shot you in the head. I shot you with your gun. You were sleeping. So peacefully. But, you didn’t deserve peace. After I pulled the trigger, you bled. You bled all over your pillow. Even after you died, you were a mess. I took the gun. Reloaded it. Pointed it at you. Again. And shot you. I shot you. I shot you. I shot you. You leaked everywhere. Leaked your sinful crimson blood. Contaminated our mattress. I smiled. I did it. I ended it. Ended you. But I wasn’t done. It wasn’t over just yet. Look what you’ve done to me.
Your limp body lay in our bed. I stared at you for what seemed to be hours. I took a deep breath and sighed. My mind was racing with a stream of endless thoughts. Too many thoughts all blurred into a conglomeration of noise. A single question kept carving incessantly at my consciousness. Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why did I shoot you? Why did I reload the gun and shoot you four more times? Why? Because I wanted revenge? Because you betrayed me? Because I wanted you to suffer like I did? But, you didn’t suffer. I couldn’t let you suffer. Why? I was weak. Why? Because… Why? Because I still loved you. Why? Look what you’ve done to me.
