Collection of story ideas I may or may not make into a full book.
This book contains sexual content and explicit language. Reader discretion is advised.
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Beyonce Knowles
I sink into the warm water, hoping it'll wash away the heaviness, but it doesn't. My tears just mix with the bubbles, and I can't seem to stop crying.
Everything feels too much-too hard. I don't know how I got here, how things fell apart like this.
"I can't do this anymore," I murmur, barely hearing my own voice. I'm exhausted, just worn out from pretending I'm okay when I'm far from it.
I close my eyes, trying to shut out the darkness that's pressing in on me. It's like there's no light left, no escape.
"No one would miss me," I say to myself, even though deep down, I know that's not true. But right now, it feels real-like the only thing that makes sense.
I push myself out of the tub, my movements slow and heavy. I grab a towel, barely noticing the water dripping from me as I head to the closet. I don't even think twice before I open the safe and pull out the gun.
It's cold and heavy in my hands, but it feels like the only thing that makes sense. I walk over to the dining table and sit down, grabbing a piece of paper.
My hand shakes as I start writing, but I manage to get the words out. It's short, not much to say. I sign it, wiping away a tear that falls on the ink.
I load the gun, the sound echoing in the quiet room. It's loud, too loud, but it doesn't matter. I bring it up to my chin, my whole body trembling. I'm scared, but I'm also just done. I don't have anything left.
Just as I start to squeeze the trigger, the doorbell rings. My heart skips a beat, and I lower the gun, confused. Who could be here right now?
I set the gun down, still shaking, and get up. I wipe my face, trying to pull myself together as I head to the door. My hand hovers over the knob for a second before I open it.
Standing there is a woman, shorter than me, with jet-black hair that catches the light. She's got this glow around her, like she's not entirely real. She smiles at me, this warm, kind smile, and hands me a bouquet of flowers.
I just stand there, staring at her, not sure what to say. How did she know to come here now, of all times?
"You're right on time," I whisper, my voice cracking. My eyes fill with tears again, but they don't feel as heavy this time.
She doesn't say anything, just keeps smiling. She reaches out and touches my hand, and the moment she does, I feel this wave of peace wash over me.
It's like everything that's been weighing me down just lifts a little. My heart, which was racing a minute ago, starts to calm down.
She gives me the flowers, and when she touches my hand again, it feels like she's giving me some of her strength. I don't know who she is, but I can't help but feel like she's here for a reason.
She turns and walks away, leaving me standing there in the doorway, holding the flowers and feeling something I haven't felt in a long time-hope.
I close the door, leaning against it as I take a deep breath. The weight isn't gone, but it's lighter.
I walk back to the table, pick up the gun, and unload it, the bullet clattering onto the table.
I lock the gun back in the safe, my breathing still shaky, but now there's something new-a determination to keep going, even if just for tonight. I look at the note I wrote and tear it up, watching the pieces fall into the trash.
As I stand there, the warmth of her touch still lingering on my hand, I whisper to myself, "Angel of mine."
