Wednesday, 31 August 2016

Home - A Short Story By Me

The following is a short story I wrote in 2014 when I suffered from insomnia and my bedtime was never before three in the morning.

It was during the not-so brightest period in my life and was inspired by Caress Your Soul by Sticky Fingers.

The reaction from my friends I went to Uni with for a short while after showing them was priceless.
So, I'll warn you now that it isn't the happiest nor positive story I have ever written. If you read it and are at all shocked/disgusted, don't say I didn't warn you.

Here goes:

My fingers were grasped tightly around her wrist. She didn't bother to wriggle or struggle from my pull as she stumbled behind me, but my anger didn't allow me to loosen my grip. I walked fast away from the music and out through the front door, into the chills of the cold night. "Where are you taking me?" She asked, her voice shaking. "Home. I'm taking you home".

I released my hand as we made it to the car parked under the street lights with the other party goers' cars. I walked to the drivers side and jumped in hastily. I slid the key in ignition, turned the car on and slipped on my seatbelt before realising she was still standing on the sidewalk. She stared into the tinted window at me, and I could tell she was contemplating whether or not to get in. Her hesitation jabbed my heart, joining the already hurt and anger that had found shelter there only moments ago.

She stood still for several moments before finally accompanying me. She was quiet the entire trip home; the low mutterings of the radio the only sound, apart from my heavy breathing. I knew her silence was a result of the guilt she felt; she knew she had done wrong. Wasn't the first time so you'd think she'd learn.

I parked into our driveway and walked to her door, opening it and providing my assistance for her to the house. I wrapped my arm around her and held her as she drunkenly walked inside. We avoided the few unpacked boxes in the hallway that had sat there since we moved in over a month ago and I lead her to our bedroom.

She slumped on the side of the bed and stared at the floor. I stood in front of her and watched her for what seemed like minutes before she whispered, "I'm sorry". I couldn't help it. The anger, jealousy and hurt exploded in a rush of adrenaline and she fell to the floor, the back of my hand stinging. Her hair was sprawled around her head as she leant on her hands and knees, her face buried between her arms and leaning on the wood. The strap of her black dress fell loose revealing her olive skin and her scapula bone that created a small bump on her upper back, giving me the strong urge to kiss it. Her body shook with the sound of her sobs and I fell to my knees beside her, feeling now also angry at myself for touching her like that. I always felt crap after I did.

I picked her up and pulled her to my chest, tears forming in my eyes while she cried into my shirt. "Please don't cry", my voice cracked. My fingers tangled in strands of her hair as I pulled her tightly to me, as if I were able to pull us close enough so that we would become insync; one; or tie our souls together for eternity. But she only cried more and my tears began to leak and fall on to the top of her head.

I pulled her away and in front of me, analysing her face and the mascara streaks that stained her cheeks and eyes. A drop of blood had begun to form on the corner of her mouth, and her hair was rustled and half wet from stray tears. Her sobbing calmed and she looked back at me. I slowly leaned in to her face and kissed and pulled away so gently and quickly her mouth where the blood had been a second ago.

"Why do you do this to me?" I asked frustrated, my fingers still intertwined in her hair. She closed her eyes and shook her head, more tears streaming from beneath her eye lids. "No, please stop crying. Please don't cry", I wiped the water from her face.
"We were just talking", she cried. The anger rushed back and I stood up, resisting the twitch of my hand and instead taking it out on our bedside lamp that now lied in pieces on the floor beside her. "Don't lie to me".
"I swear", she pleaded. "I love you".

I closed my eyes at the sweet sound of those words and stood motionless, being torn by the happiness of the statement and the jealousy that was overbearing. I slowly dropped back down to my knees and cupped her face in my hands, forcing her to look back at me. I lifted her face and pulled her lips to mine, kissing her hard with urgency. She kissed me back lightly and I could feel the passion that lacked on her side. I needed her but I knew; I could feel, she didn't need me the same way.

I tore my lips away and pressed my forehead to hers and said, "and I only hurt you because I love you". She nodded and continued to silently cry more, falling back into my chest. I dug my face into her hair and could smell her strawberry scented shampoo that intoxicated me. I slid my hand away from her across the wooden floorboards and gripped onto a sharp piece of the broken lamp that was still warm under my touch from the light bulb. She cried silently and I whispered for the last time, "I love you", my vision becoming blurry from my tears. I muffled her scream with my hand as blood poured from the stab wound in her back and I sobbed into her neck. She stopped moving and I lied next to her; the view and feel of her soothed the pain from the gash in my neck as our blood created a beautiful puddle around us, our blood coming together in a way I knew our souls never could.

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