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Stained Red

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And I know that an apology of any degree would never serve justice for what I have done to you and I pray to God that I am banished to an eternity in Hell, far away from you.

Other / Romance
Age Rating:

Stained Red

As I stand here and think about you and all the hell I'd put you through, I wonder, was it worth it? Was any of it worth it? I thought about this a lot while I was in prison. I didn't have much else to do while I was in there, you know? A cynical laugh escapes my lips. No, I don’t suppose you would know.

Eight years ago today, we stood on this beach as rivals. The turquoise ocean was at my back, yet I could see it softly reflected in your eyes. I remember the way the hot sand squished between my toes and how the salty sea cooled the tops of my feet. The rush I felt as I gripped my sword tight and braced myself was incredible. It was that day that I was determined to finally defeat you.
In an instant, our wooden swords began to clash and clack under the midday sun. I guarded hit after hit, yet I was being worn down. I could tell by your expression that you saw I was losing momentum. A newfound fire burned within you as you picked up speed. I was too slow. You landed a hit. I remember seeing the crimson liquid soiling the pure white sand and being overwhelmed with a dizzy sensation. I got up and wiped away the blood spilling from my forehead down to my cheek. As quickly as I could, I fell back into stance and pretended like nothing was wrong. But you knew something was amiss and knocked the sword from my hands, dropping your own.
You took me into your arms and held me. You were worried you’d actually hurt me. I remember the sound of your voice and the feel of your hot breath as you cooed in my ear that you were sorry and that you would never hit me again. It took me by surprise when you ripped your shirt to use as a temporary bandage. You knew you'd get in trouble with your mother; she'd just bought you that shirt. But you didn't care. You were always like that. You were always thinking of me.

I stand here today, alone, because of a foolish mistake I made. Today the clouds are as black as my mood and the water is grey and restless, swelling up high and crashing upon the shore. Yet I cannot help but think of you. As of late, you are the only thing that ever crosses my mind. I’ve come to realize that you are the only person that I have ever, and will ever love. And because you trusted me with everything, you are no longer here.

Seven years ago today, we stood on this beach, in this very spot, as lovers. That night, the stars shimmered and twinkled especially for us. I remember the way the silvery moonlight reflected off your skin; you were truly heaven-sent. When you entered me for the first time, the same scarlet blood that had been spilled time and time again stained the pristine, white sand once more. You gingerly asked me if I was okay and of course, I told you that I was. I never admitted how much it stung. I didn't want you to stop; I wanted to make you happy. And God...I remember how well our bodies moved in sync with one another after I built up a tolerance to the pain. We panted, we moaned, we called out one another's names for that short period of time. You came first. I remember how warm your seed was as it spilled into me; your expression was less than beautiful; it was funny. I’d never admit it, but in the moment, I almost laughed. It was perfect. Everything about our first time was perfect. I didn’t even care if I got to finish; all I cared about was seeing your smile. We were both so happy.
We cuddled, lying nude on the beach, for what felt like hours and seconds all at the same time. Later that night, you surprised me with a promise ring and a starfruit. We shared it; the taste of it was candy-sweet. I can still picture the juice running down our faces and the brilliance in your eyes as we gobbled up every last morsel. We spent the night sharing honey kisses and vowing our lives to one another. I thought that we would be together forever.

Yet today, I stand here on this lonely beach without you. And God I know that it's because of me that you're no longer here. The stars don't twinkle anymore; they don't shine their bright light like they used to. I think they miss you. Another dark chortle escapes my lips; that's a silly notion. Stars can’t miss people. I look up at the grey sky and my lips curl ever-so-slightly upward. Maybe it's not so silly. Maybe they do miss you as much as I do, perhaps even more.
My eyes wander from the stormy sky to the choppy water. I run my fingers through my hair, frustrated, curling them around the long locks. Fuck! I know that a simple apology will never suffice for what I did to you, my love. I look down at the ring you gave to me and shake my head, sadly. Promises don't mean much; I am a no-good liar and the dirty thief that stole your life.

Six years ago today, standing on this beach, I felt so very alone. My mother had succumbed to an illness which claimed her life. So much pain and bitterness of different sorts coursed through my body, my mind, my soul; I was completely lost and didn't know what to do, where to go, or who to turn to. I refused to leave the island to live with my godfather because I refused to leave you. You were all that I had left. I wish you hadn't gone out of town that week. But you had no idea.
I close my eyes and bite my bottom lip, fighting back the salty tears threatening to spill to the white sand below.
In the same spot that I had promised my life to you, I tasted my first drop of alcohol. And a couple days later, though I myself had always disapproved of it, I allowed our redheaded friend to persuade me to smoke my first bowl. I remember how wonderful I felt for the first time since I found Mom’s lifeless body curled up on the kitchen floor. I was I relaxed without you and your support; I was so tired of being weak. And while I was high, I felt strong, like I could take on whatever shit the world decided to throw at me. Without anyone. Without you. At least, that was until I came down from the high. Our redheaded friend had already gone missing, leaving me feeling abandoned and alone, weak and helpless. Yet I still couldn't bring myself to call you when I needed you most; I didn't want to interrupt your family vacation and force you to come running home to rescue me. Instead, I took out my pocket knife and held out my wrist, allowing the cool metal to slice through my soft flesh. The sappy, scarlet fluid stained the sand, my clothes and my skin. I recall curling up into fetal position and bawling my eyes out until the break of dawn, feeling cold and so very alone.

Both of my wrists are now completely covered in self-inflicted imperfections. I know you told me not to cut myself but no matter what you said, I did it.
"I love you," I quietly say and look up to the sky. "And I'm sorry." If you were here today, I know you'd tell me that I should've called you. You told me that a lot. Had I just done that, I probably wouldn't have gotten us into this damned mess.

Five years ago today, I sat on this beach with my red-haired, tattooed friend. He had discovered yet another new drug. Just above his elbow, he had me tie off a piece of rubber tubing as tightly as I could get it to go. His vein bulged out of his arm and I watched as he stuck a syringe into it and slowly injected the chemical into his body. It was my turn next. I was a little scared, but, after all of the other things I’d tried, I thought I needed this. I was a fool. At the time, nothing could’ve made me feel better. I was king of the world. Brian left shortly thereafter, though I did not take notice. I was much too distracted with how I felt, with my racing thoughts and with watching the ocean.

One day, you came down to the shoreline while I was shooting up and asked me what the hell I thought I was doing. I looked at you through drunken, glossy eyes and explained to you that I was trying to find the happiness that you couldn't provide for me. Disgusted, you looked at the empty fifth of whiskey at my feet and I vaguely recall your outrage. You asked me if I had been hanging out with Brian again and I told you that it was none of your fucking business who I hung out with. You took a swing at me. I tried to avoid it, but found that I couldn't keep my balance and began to stumble; you nailed me square in the jaw and down I went. I asked you why you hit me and you told me that I made you sick.
My tube was stained red. My clothes were stained red. The white sand all around was also splattered with red stains.
As you stomped toward the dock, you stopped, turned around and yelled at me not to bother coming home that night because you couldn't stand how I smelled. That statement stung me like no other; you always had your nose buried into my neck, telling me how wonderful I smelled. But I was far too drunk, far too high, far too emotional, far too gone to move or to even respond. Instead, I allowed silent, frustrated tears to roll down my bloodied, bruised cheeks and stared up into the cerulean sky.
I remember how I ran my fingers over the cold, smooth metal of our promise ring. It was long after you were gone and my high was barely dwindling. I realized how badly I had fucked up. But I couldn't help repeating my actions. I was addicted.

I am now standing on the shoreline where you beat me senseless. Looking back on it now, I fucking deserved every last fist you threw at me, every bruise you left on my body, every tear in my skin. I was a fucking stupid asshole. God before I had fallen into the heavy drugs and alcohol, we had plans to be married and adopt children as our own. Before I had fallen into that terrible shit hole of a place, we had rented an apartment together. We made passionate love every night. I made you breakfast every morning before you had to go to go to work. But, by far, the thing I missed most was how much we loved each other, how much you loved me.
I still love you today, but I know that I don't deserve having the pleasure of loving you. I wish so badly that you had never loved me, never given your trust to me. I never deserved it. You would still be here today, had you never loved me.

Four years ago today, I stood right here, spitefully over your dead body. I remember, just minutes prior to pulling the trigger on that Smith and Wesson, I had been snorting up that sweet, white powder. I truly believed that it gave me more happiness you ever had. All you did was nag at me about this and that and about how I shouldn't be hanging out with Brian and how he was a terrible influence over me and how I needed to get some help. But I believed that Brian and his magic substances brought me more happiness than I had ever felt in my entire life. And you were trying to take that away; you were trying to take away the greatest happiness I had ever experienced.
I was fucking delusional.

As I recall, you followed me down to the shoreline again, trying to stop me for the fifth time that week. You approached me soon after I was thoroughly high. You came at me with your fist again. In my mind, you were a fucking monster. I had prepared myself for this, you see. I knew you were going to try to stop me and I was sick and tired of it. You told me that there was no way that I would ever shoot you, to just hand over the gun. And you trusted me to do so.

I vividly remember the look of terror in your eyes and the explosion ringing out across the water as I pulled the trigger the first time. It hit your shoulder. You fell to your knees, gripping the wound, crying out in pain, and begging me to stop. I asked you if you were still going to fucking control me and you replied that you would never, ever ask anything of me again. You said you would leave me alone for the rest of my life if that was what I wanted. You told me you only came because you loved me. I called you a liar and shot you in the stomach. You fell completely to the ground, begging me to help you, begging me for mercy. Tears ran down your cheeks, blood out of the corner of your mouth. I told you to shut the fuck up, but you kept pleading for me to help you, to get a doctor for you, to call an ambulance. I couldn't stand the sound of your voice and shot you again, screaming at you to shut up. You still would not quiet; you were gasping for air like a fish out of water. I tossed the gun to the side and took out the pocket knife that, ironically, you had given to me to defend myself.
I recall the terror in your eyes as I told you that my blood would no longer be the only thing to stain my knife. I remember the way my lips curled up into an evil smile as I stabbed you in the middle of your chest and tore downward. For good measure, I dragged the knife across your throat. I made sure you were dead.
You were fucking dead.
Minutes, maybe hours later, when I realized what the fuck I had just done, I immediately sobered up and held your cold, lifeless body in my arms. I kissed your lips and screamed and shouted your name; I wanted you to come back. I wished for life to come back into your body and for you to stand up and grin a silly grin and tell me that you were just kidding and that it was time to go home. And it never happened.

It's Valentine's Day, love. And I have been completely sober for four whole years now. Brian somehow came up with enough money to bail me out of jail. I couldn't believe it when I heard the news that I would be leaving the cold, bricked jail cell. I couldn’t believe that Brian would bail me out. He said he felt bad about what happened and that he wanted to make amends with me. I invited him here.
Today I stand on this stained beach over Brian's dead body. I killed him without a second thought. It was the only way to make amends. My clothes are soaked in his blood, my skin stained the color of his hair. I smile wryly, looking up to the sky. I kick Brian's lifeless body and walk barefoot to the shoreline. I throw the Colt, my weapon of choice, as far as I can out into the choppy, grey water.

My eyes tear up again as I pick up a rose I had brought for you. It was white once. I painted it red with Brian’s blood. Quietly, I set the stained rose in the wake and watch as the water pulls it out into the ocean. Attached to it, there is a tag with your name scrawled across it and a very short love message. It is my gift for you, Roy. You had always loved the sea, always wanted to sail it, so it is completely appropriate to send this gift to you via the ocean, is it not?

It finally begins raining. It is the moment that I've been waiting for. I slip on the promise ring and I finally let the tears fall and run down my flushed cheeks. "Roy, I love you more than anyone or anything in the entire world, the entire universe. And I fucking know that an apology of any degree would never serve justice for what I have done to you and I pray to God that I am banished to an eternity in Hell, far away from you. I absolutely do not deserve to see your beautiful face.

"I have stained this beach many times with my own blood, once with Brian's and once with yours. It is time that I soil it for the last time, Roy. It is finally time for me to pay retribution to you. It is time for me to say goodbye to this world and move to the next. And I know that if you were alive today, you would argue with me and tell me how stupid it was that I was going to kill myself because of a mistake. You'd tell me to repent for my actions; I know you would. You were always so righteous like that."

I pause for a brief moment and wipe the snot from my face. I look down at the silver ring and a single teardrop lands on it, forming a perfect dome. I glance up to the sky and frown, feeling a blazing rage building up inside of me. "Why the hell did you trust me?! What good did it come to? Why did you trust me at the end? Why didn't you just back away? Why did you follow me? I wasn't myself and you of all people should've known it!" I drop to my knees and cry.
I look up again, hoping to see your beautiful face. Of course I don't because that's a silly notion. "You loved me and stayed with me until the very end, begging me to get help. You loved me more than anything and in return, I murdered you. But you, you loved me so much that you were killed for it."

I fold my hands in prayer and close my eyes, bowing my head. "God, I pray to you that in the next life, if there is one, I am tortured for all of the sins that I have committed. I do not want your forgiveness. I do not want your love. I deserve nothing. I pray to you, Lord, that if there is another life after this, to never see Roy, to never meet him, to never have the chance to hurt him again. Amen."

I look back up to the sky and hold my arms out wide, letting the tiny, cold raindrops hit my body. I close my eyes and imagine you standing before me. "Roy, I want you to know that I am very sorry and that I love you more than anyone else. This is my final gift to you. It is the only thing I have to give."

I tremble as these words are spoken. Once more, I drop to my knees on the pure, white sand and pull a gun from my pocket. It was the same one I had killed you with. I had hid it from authorities in our secret spot. I was incredibly relieved to find that they never found it. As I hold the gun to the side of my head, a wry smile crosses my lips.

"I love you, Roy. Goodbye."

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