Time to Kill
I lay here pretending that, if I stick my ass out far enough, it will touch her’s and she’d giggle and tell me “Stop! Go to bed”. She would pretend to be annoyed just so that I’d turn around and grasp her ribs with my hand while sarcastically saying “Awww, did I make you mad”, and squeezing until she would squeal, laugh and eventually hit me back. Sometimes she’d fight back and end up on top of me, and sometimes I’d end up on top of her.
I can’t sleep. The adrenaline is still coursing through my veins as I lay under my sweat-drenched blanket. I usually have a very simple, specific, way of falling asleep when I am by myself; I start off on my right side until I start feeling really tired, then I roll around to my left and that usually does the trick, very easy. Not tonight. I’ve been tossing and turning for about three hours and as much as I know I need this sleep, I just can’t trick myself into a rem cycle. I haven’t slept for over 36 hours and I just can’t force my brain to slow down right now.
On nights like this I would turn on the television as she would lay next to me. We had an older television in our room (that I salvaged from a nearby swap meet) and depending on what I decided to watch, the volume would need to be adjusted. If I was watching something where people were screaming, I’d turn the volume down so as not to wake her. Then, as the actors started talking softly, I’d creep the volume back up. I had it down to a science. I suspect I did a decent job because I never once woke her up from her slumber. Then again, she was always a very deep sleeper.
All of this thinking is making me physically sick to my stomach. I can literally smell the sweat, spewing from my pores. As I stand up, in the dark, all the blood rushes from my head and I feel dizzy and a bit queasy. A feeling of sickness starts to come over me as I quickly jolt to the bathroom.
She used to take care of me when I was sick or when I drank too much. She had a warm heart and a decent soul and always treated me with love and understanding. She was non-judgemental and supportive. She used to make our house, this house, homely by doing small things like watering the plants and organizing our mail. She was very feminine and pleasing to be around in general. She had a very specific smell to her, kind of floral. It wasn’t too strong but you’d get a whiff of it everytime she’d walk past.
It’s been two days since I’ve changed my wardrobe and I can still smell her on my clothes.
Her blood is still under my finger nails. Her body is beside me, in the bathtub.
My plan was to get a good nights rest and leave in the morning. If I leave now, in the middle of the night, it would be very suspicious. My neighbors would hear my garage door opening and hear me packing the remains of my life into my small, black Volvo. All that I’m taking is three cases of water, three boxes of food and one small suitcase that I used to use for business travel. I have a larger suit case but I love this smaller suit case. It was perfect for short trips and the inside of it was perfectly setup to hold all your toiletries. Just the right amount of zipper pockets inside.
I cant leave now but my body is too anxious to sit still. After I finish vomiting I look down at her, I wonder about my own life. What it will be like? How long it will last? I suppose it’s too late to care what happens. The rigor mortis has came and went. She looks pale but somewhat natural. To be honest, she looks quite peaceful. Almost happy. In a weird way, the sight of her gives me hope.
