Another quiet night

Your screams were masked under the sound of the radio.

Then it was still.
Not a noise.

The world spinning,
your mind racing,
Your hands trembling,
Your eyes closing,
Your stomach dropping,
Your heart stopping.

The quiet evening,
The loud murders.

The blood drenched shirt, of the man with the beautiful hazel eyes. The eyes you stared into as you screamed in panic, and pain as he cut you up.

That quiet night,
Your kitchen sink was your friend.
With each drip, with each drop.
Your pain was numbing.
Your vision was blurring,
And your clenched fist dropped.

His beauty was still imprinted in your mind. The cuts you felt throughout your body. The more you thought about it, the more numb you felt.

Though the beautiful man, his short chestnut hair, his amazing hazel eyes, is cotton candy like lips, the rasp in his voice. Oh how amazing he was.

Until that one quiet night.
That one quiet night where he told you were worthless.
That one quiet night where he told you that you'll be replaced.
That one quiet night where he told you that he will kill you.
That one quiet night where he wanted you gone.

Those many quiet nights where you cried yourself to sleep, thinking that you should die.
Thinking if there was another way out. There wasn't. There couldn't be.

He was perfect.
He is perfect.

Until that one fateful night.

That one fateful night where you were sitting listening to the radio.

"Nobody thinks what I think,
Nobody dreams when they blink
Think things on the brink of blasphemy
I'm my own shrink
Think things are after me, my catastrophe
I'm a kitchen sink,
You don't know what that means
Because a kitchen sink to you
Is not a kitchen sink to me, OK friend?
Are you searching for purpose?"

That fateful moment when he walks slowly behind you, he sits down looking up at you, lust in his eyes.

"Leave me alone
Leave me alone
Leave me alone
Leave me alone
Leave me alone
Leave me alone
Leave me alone"

The radio sang as your eyes closed and you sighed.

His hand wrapped around your wrist tugging you hard into the bathroom. His eyes filled with pain as he looked at you.

That fateful decision, where you decided to run. The leap of faith you made. Running away won't get you far, you fool.

The arms around your waist yanking you back, brought a gasp to you.

He grabbed your arm,
Pushed you down,
Took the words out from your mouth.

Leaving you,
On the floor,
Bleeding,
Crumpled and crying.
His uneasily decision to take the knife from the drawer brought knots to your stomach.

Watching his walk over to the sink a slight pep in his step brought wonder to your mind. Slowly crawling out of the bathroom and as far away as you could, you soon here the footsteps. Though that's not all, the trickles of water filled your ears.

Drip.
Drop.
Drip.
Drop.
Drip.
Drop.

It was the kitchen sink.

It was the final blow.
He was there.
One cut,
Two cut,
Three cut,
Four cut,
five cut,
Six cut,
seven cut,
eight cut,
nine cut,
ten cut.

Soon after, all you counted were the drips.

The last remaining moments you had, you looked at him, and how beautiful he looked in the dim light.

Though looking at him, you saw that he was a mess, his hair was frazzled, his shirt was drenched in your blood, his eyes were dull, and as soon as your eyes closed, you could feel him fill with remorse.

You could've saved yourself.
Could you?
Would you count the drips?
Or would you count the drops?
Would you count the cuts
Or would you count the lines; the bloodied lines.

Would you look into the eyes of your killer?
But then you'd just be looking at your self.

He was you.

***