Come to Me Quietly

Turning, I rushed down the hall, pushed through the throng of sweating bodies, and burst out the front door, gasping at the reprieve of the thick night air.

Pain hit me full force, as clearly as if my eyes were closed and I was living it all again, the day I destroyed everything, took my family’s joy, the day she’d died and taken my soul with her.

I don’t get to have this.

At eleven seventeen the next night, I finally put my key in the lock and turned the knob. I hadn’t come back to the apartment at all last night. Facing her after what I’d done felt impossible because I knew what I now had to do. There was no other way around it. I’d fucked it all up, ruined it, the way I always did, and now it was time to pay.

A deep ache clamored in my chest when I stepped through the door and into the low-lit apartment, the only illumination bleeding from the small light under the microwave in the kitchen. This would be the last time I’d enter it.

And honestly, it made me fucking sad because the last month had felt like something, like I wasn’t just existing, but there was some kind of purpose to it all.

Only I’d been deluding myself because I’d always known it’d come to this.

Most of all, this hurt because I was going to miss her.

Latching the door behind me, I took in the silence of the empty room. At the end of the hall, Christopher’s door sat wide open, the room vacant. The only sound in the apartment seeped from the thin walls of Aly’s bathroom, the dull hum of the shower telling me she stood under a steaming fall of water.

I rubbed at the soreness on my chest. Yeah. It was unbelievable just how much I was going to miss her.

I couldn’t help wondering what she was thinking. Was she hurting after what I’d done to her? After I’d left her standing there confused? Used? Because that’s what it had been, hadn’t it?

Me consumed with the way she made me feel, the way she filled up this fucking void in my chest like she belonged there. Me deceiving myself that for a few seconds it was okay.

But this was Aly. My Aly. And I’d used her because I wanted her so badly and because I’d never known anything that felt so good. Her presence was like this balm I didn’t understand, solace in the insufferable night.

So like the asshole I was, I’d taken.

I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. Shit. I was always fucking taking.

Guilt had eaten at me all night and day. I shouldn’t have touched her, shouldn’t have allowed her to touch me. Now it lingered on my mouth and swam in my spirit, the memory of her kiss.

Overpowering. Intoxicating. Too much.

The sickest part was that I wanted more. I had to get out of this apartment, out of this city, before all this shit caved in on us, before we imploded and there was nothing left of either of us.

The shower squealed as it was shut off, and the metal curtain rings screeched as they were pushed aside.

Thank God Christopher was gone. I wasn’t sure I could handle sitting on the couch beside him, acting as if everything was normal after everything had gone to shit, after I’d pinned his little sister to the wall, after my hands had been on her. He would fucking kill me if he knew what had gone down last night, and he had every right to. I wished he would. I deserved it.

Now I would give her an apology. Try to explain myself a little.

The hardest part was it seemed as if none of my reasons or explanations fit together because it felt like maybe Aly and I did. I heaved a breath through my pursed lips and shoved that dangerous thinking aside. Without a doubt, that wasn’t possible. I wasn’t made for anything but ruin.

I’d apologize the best I could and promise her I’d pack my shit; then she’d never have to see my sorry ass again.

Rustling echoed from her bathroom. A drawer opened and closed, and a cabinet door banged shut. I imagined her standing in front of the mirror, drying off, then slipping on those sleep shorts she always wore. How wrong was it that I was hoping so? That I wanted nothing more than to endure living through the sight of Aly dressed like that one more time?

That’d be the last thing I took with me – the memory of her kind face mixed with that body. The two combined made me dangerous for her to be around, and I was putting an end to it all.

I stopped outside the bathroom door and rested my forehead against the wood, listened to her subtle movements on the other side, and wished things were different than they were.

What I was getting ready to do was going to hurt worse than any conscious decision I’d ever made.