OBSESSIVE

kill

needless to say, you ran back to me,
sobbing hysterical waterfalls upon
my shoulder, clutching your stomach
and screaming white-noise over and over.

"why why why?!"

guilt rotted my insides until
i could almost feel apologetic
for what i did, and some nights i
was sorry, as you sank into the
jaws of depression. depression
was killing you. there were times,
weeks, when you didn't see the sunshine
at all. not a single ray. no hope.

except that bloody child that
swelled your stomach inch by inch,
until you reach three months and a noticeable
bump grows like a tumour. reminder
of matthew, reminder to me he was intimately
inside you,

violating you.

"it's okay skye. it's okay."

"it's not. it's not. declan, it's not.
it will never be okay again, i'm
better-"

"don't say it skye. skye, don't."

"if i was dead."

i clutched you to my heart,
crushing your frail shoulders
to my vast acres of chest.
i pleaded for you to eat most days.

and then the scars appeared up your
arm. i stared at you, my mouth
agape, and as your eyes flooded
with tears, i pulled you close
and whispered, "don't do this
to yourself."

my mother took pity on
you, and let you sleepover
when i felt it was too dangerous
to leave you alone. which was
torturously often.

even my brother was piteous,
and let you sleep in his double
bed as he and his problematic fiancé of the past few years, were
evicted to the faded
sofa.

you would scream in your sleep,
sweating, crying for matthew.

matthew's dead. it was a suicide.
it was fucking murder.

seeing you like that, i didn't even
imagine how heartbreaking it would be.

the reality was worse anyway.
too afraid to fall asleep worrying
that maybe you'd take swigs
from bleach. end your beautiful
life. so i'd crawl into bed
with you. watching you
breathe was sweet relief and
painstaking torture.
i touched your stomach too, spreading
my fingers across the developing
child.

i'd never hurt you. never again.
that's what i told myself.

inevitably, there's a reason
i'm writing the truth to you.

i never wanted to hurt
you. believe me.

my brother and his fiancé moved
out on my 20th birthday, and with
your mother's permission,
we made my house your home.

by this time you were at least
able to feign smiles.

he still haunted your hollow
heart though. god.

i guess i should just shut up about
your pain and tell you what i did.

after all, i was your final injury.
i realise now everything i did
made you miserable. sorry isn't enough.

so it was the afterparty
the night after
my brother's wedding,
in a high-rise block of apartments
specially rented for celebrations.

glitter rained from the ceiling,
dazzling and glinting like mystical
gems, as people danced wildly
in a hubbub and buzz of alcohol
intoxicated hearts.

laughter.

and soft glowing smiles,
as you whispered in my ear,
"he looks so happy."

i glanced over to my brother
and nodded. he had his
firm hands on his newly wife,
slow-dancing to a fast
beat. they should have appeared
prude, ridiculous, silly.

they just looked sweetly
infatuated.

you reached out for my hand,
hot sparks dancing from my
fingertips and i realise a
tear shimmers down from
your almond eyes.

"skye?" i ask quietly.

"it's nothing."

"skye-"

"declan, i'm so happy you're
my best friend after all these
years."

i smile gently and tuck a strand
of your blonde hair behind your
perfectly curved ear. i tilted your
chin up, looking at your lips like
thin flower petals. they were rosy,
flushed.

"let's go out to the balcony."
i said gently.

"okay." you agreed.

i dragged you out through stained-glass
floor-to-ceiling windows.

the air was sticky in that holidaying humid
night-air way. late may. my breathing
hitched, as your thumb stroked
over my hand.

i study your expression
carefully, your dewy eyes,
those freckles like star-spangled
galaxies upon normal skin hues.

you stared back at me. curious.

i struggled not to press you up against
the wall. rip you open and
steal your thudding heart.

i took a deep breath.

and press my lips against yours.

fuck.

it felt...

destined.

but i felt you struggle,
and you pulled back
with horror, slamming your
innocent hands against my chest.

"what the fuck?" you demanded,
tears threatening to spill.

you always cry. you always cry!

i look at you puzzled. hurt.

"why did you do that?"

"because i love you."

you wrenched yourself
from my arms,
aghast, agape.

anger flickered
across your face and

pure disgust

which made me furious
lost OBSESSED WITH THAT LOOK!!

i was so driven with the
urge to hit you as you
walked further away from me.

angry. shocked.

disgusted,

and you kept walking away
each step causing me to grow
from melancholy, rejected

to seething anger.

which,

in turn, sealed the tragedy
that comes next.