• Perfect Perfection


    The darkness of the bedroom was suffocating. It was strange to think of such a large room with a term like that, but that was the only way to describe it. Terrifying may also work. Either way, I couldn’t breathe. The shadows seemed to be sucking all the air right out of my lungs. I was on my bed, gasping, gulping the nonexistent oxygen. Was I dying? Yes. But for now I still lived. Or maybe I was imagining it all. Who can really tell?

    I covered my face with my hands, sobbing and pleading. With who? No one. I just figured that it was something that needed to be done. There had to be someone that could help me if my cry was heard. Who? I don’t know. I don’t have the answers for these questions and maybe I never will.

    The darkness that surrounds me, that haunts me, it keeps me from peace of mind. I lied there awake, eyes staring though strangely not seeing a thing except for the ceiling that seemed so far away. A void. It was going to crush me. Or consume me. It doesn’t matter, though. What am I to this world? Just another person. What would my death mean to this world? Nothing. Who would care if I just suddenly…wasn’t anymore? Maybe my family, though that was hard to judge. I hadn’t spoken with them in years. Hadn’t seen them in years. But no matter. I didn’t need them. When I died, it would come as a relief.

    I closed my eyes, almost wishing that the answers that I sought might be written on the inside of my eyelids, but alas, again I was left without response, no reply. Just silence, emptiness, the black depths of my mind. I willed sleep to come, to consume me. I didn’t want to have to lie there thinking. Unconsciousness could take that away for at least a moment. Though at times, I even feared sleep. It was almost as if I didn’t exist anymore. I didn’t dream. I hadn’t dreamed in years.

    But maybe…

    I could feel myself drifting off, and I was both thankful and upset. When unconsciousness finally took over my body, it was only gratitude that was left…but then the dream came.

    ~


    Blood. That is what I notice. All the horrible, scarlet blood. It covers everything, stains everything. The ground, the wall, me, him. Who’s is it? Who is the one dying from the loss of blood? It’s him, it must me. I feel no pain; it cannot be my own. But no, my throat. Oh God, my throat. So much blood. It does hurt; it’s burning me. Stop it, stop it.

    My fingers clutch at the gaping wound, trying to close it, to seal it back in place, but it’s hopeless. And I’m bleeding. The scarlet liquid falls, stains my clothes, his hands. Who is he? I do not know, but I hate him. Hate him more than anything else. More than my family, more than the darkness that lives in my room. More than my lonely existence. Why do I hate him? Because it’s my blood. Mine. It should be his. He should die. Die, die, die. I hate him. I hate you, damn it.

    He smiles at me, pale lips twisting upwards. His crystal eyes sparkle and I can’t help but admire his beauty. I reach out and touch his face. His skin is so cold, so smooth, so perfect. I want him. I need him. He will complete my life. He takes my hand in his and kisses my palm. His lips are soft and sweet. His eyes are still shining as he watches me.

    I love him. I love him and I hate him. How can it be both ways?

    He leans closer to me, the sweet scent of his breath brushing across my face. He drags his fingers through my hair. I close my eyes and press myself against him, my blood getting all over his clothes. He doesn’t seem to care though, and I don’t care. Because I love him. I love him because he’s the perfection in my hell. He’s the warmth in the damn cold that is my existence. I need him because of this or else I might fade away.

    But I’m bleeding.

    I’m dying.

    He’s killing me.

    He bends down and kisses the cut on my throat, blood staining his perfect lips. I don’t care. I would do anything for him. He smiles at me again. Oh God, he is so beautiful.

    We kiss.

    ~


    I woke up. My cheeks were wet. Tears. I had been crying in my sleep. Crying for him. I sat up in my bed, staring at the darkness and the faces that I imagined within it. I felt faint; the world was twisting, spinning, turning in crazy circles. I stumbled out of the bed, falling to the floor in a heap. The shadows reached for me, but I pushed them back. I couldn’t die just then. I had to wait. Wait for him. He would come for me, I was sure of it. He loved me. And I loved him.

    I can’t hold on. My life, my life is slipping away. I can’t breathe. I can’t see. Oh God, please help me. Not yet. Oh, please, please, please.

    The door creaked and swung open. He was there. My perfect perfection. He smiled his perfect smile and knelt down beside me, gently touching my tearstained cheek with his fingertips.

    “Goodbye,” he said.

    And I died.