The Vulture
The car grew cold as I sat with my keys in hand. I checked my phone again, making sure I got there at the time she had told me to come. My face was freshly shaven after she told me she hated my teenage facial hair, and I covered myself with that expensive cologne my mother gave me for my birthday. My frozen hand knocked on the apartment door, trying to wipe the pathetic smile off my face.
“Hey,” she said, looking down at her feet. She looked up at me with puffy, red eyes and gave me a loving embrace. Covering me with soft kisses, she told me she wanted to get back together. She was mine again, and I was the luckiest man on earth.
No, it didn’t go like that. I’m lying. It went more like this:
“Hey!” She greeted me so happy it made me sick. We had just broken up, and her happy eyes glistened in the morning light. “You want some?” She held out her coffee mug, red lipstick stains lining the rim.
She eyed me down me as I sipped the bitter drink, her sweet lips giggling at my aversion to coffee. She always did this thing where her big eyes would stick onto me, craving me. She would piece together my eyes, my hair, my skin; tracing the veins pulsing at the sight of her. I wondered why she looked at me that way but didn’t want to be my girlfriend, or why she wore that shirt that hugged her in all the right places when she told me she just wanted to be friends.
Her presence was torture.
It all started a month ago. She had gotten up for a drink and I glanced over at her phone as a text from Alex appeared. Jealousy raged inside me, why had she never told me about an Alex? Before I could think of more disastrous reasons why Alex texted her, she walked into the room.
“Hey babe, Alex texted you.” I said it flatly, wanting to see her reaction.
Her hands immediately latched onto her phone, “how do you know?”
“I just looked at your phone.”
“Don’t look at my phone, you creep.” She teased me, still looking down at Alex’s text.
I didn’t laugh, why did she have to make everything a joke? “Who is he, Babe?”
“No one. Leave it alone.” Her eyes pierced through me, eyeing me like a bit of food.
Later that night, I stared at my dark ceiling, my tired eyes wide open. I texted her about it, knowing I would be able to sleep once she answered who he was. She admitted she had been cheating on me. She kept avoiding the questions I knew I would hate the answer to. Is he better than me? Did you ever love me?
When I told her I still wanted to make things work, she let out the longest, deepest sigh. She always had a long list of reasons and excuses why we couldn’t see each other. When I asked her if we could still be friends she hestitatly agreed. Alone in her apartment, I knew she only wanted one thing, but at least it was something. She flew into the bedroom and I subserviently followed.
The second I walked into her room, my body sunk to the floor. I took a deep breath and tried to find my balance. The walls hunched over me as she casually laid herself on those familiar sheets, I darted to the bathroom. My hands frantically locked the door, I planted myself in front of the toilet. Puke, as red as her perfectly painted nails, rose up and out of my throat. My throat bubbled and burnt as if fiery beetles ran through my skin. I groaned for help as flashing pain shot through my chest. I turned to the mirror to see my chafed mouth and stretched-out skin, revealing the muscle underneath. The deformed face staring back at me screamed as it saw two slashes on my chest. The bathroom spun around me as my body hit the floor.
The door swung open to reveal my dreamy woman. The daylight glowed behind her in the ill-lit bathroom. Her angel-like figure looked down at me as lit-up dust danced around her like stars in the night sky. She knelt herself over me and kissed the tears off my aching face. Her delicate hands ran across my chest and dug into my skin. Talons ripped me open, right where the slashes had been. I tore apart, gushing all over her shiny floor, but I couldn’t stop kissing her rosy lips.
She reached inside me and her gorey hand came back out with my beating heart. The heart pumped blood all over us, leaving the walls with the same splatter marks as when she helped me paint my grandfather’s fence. She had insisted on helping me with the task. She showed up with overalls cut into shorts, so short I hoped my grandfather wouldn’t see her in them. We had just started dating, the flirtatious tones and grabs kept me on edge. The air around me was so sparkly. We were both standing on the same dry grass, under the same hot July sun. Knowing that I existed in the same world as this woman filled me with joy. The bathroom grew warm and my eyes closed shut to meet God.
I blinked.
I was back in her room, her body painted elegantly on her white sheets. Her clean, bloodless hands caressed my put-together face. Behind the bathroom door that watched us kiss, the floors were clean, and the walls lacked red splatter. She had taken my heart, leaving the crime scene spotless.
