Sophie and Ross were slumped lazily on the couch like most Friday nights. Most of their friends were probably out partying but they preferred each other's company - just the two of them, in a dream-like state on the sofa, doing nothing but whittling away the hours. But they were happy; incredibly. They were only young but their love was as strong, as indestructible as a couple that had been married for decades. They were getting married soon, and couldn't be more joyous.
As was the portrait of many evenings prior to this, the young lovers were cradling each other: Sophie's limbs and Ross' limbs were intertwined so that at first glance it was if they were one body. They were inseparable. However, Ross seemed slightly less infused tonight; he had been quieter than normal all evening. It was a cold September evening and a storm had broken out in the thick navy sky outside. If anything, they should've been huddling closer tonight. Sophie had turned the lights right down - she loved the intimacy and excitement of a storm. She could've led there for hours with him, in total and utter silence, just listening and dreaming...
"Are you Ok?" she asked, looking up from her usal position of Ross' chest, up into his dark eyes.
"What?" She had caught him off guard. He cleared his throat and swallowed, bringing some moisture back after having not spoken for hours.
"It's just you seem a little quiet, that's all."
"Oh. I've got a bit of a headache."
"One of your migraines?"
"No, worse than that." He brought his hand up to his head, rubbing his left eye wearily. Sophie sat up, bringing herself to his height. His eyes were huge and dark. She thought he must've had a fever coming.
"Shall I ring a doctor?"
"No, don't be daft. It's nothing."
"Well, I'll get you a drink."
She kissed him quickly on the lips and headed next door to the kitchen. Ross sat up straight, perching on the edge of the couch, rubbing his eyes harder. He looked up to the TV and it was spinning - he felt awful. It wasn't like the migraines he'd had in the past. It was as if colossal hands were pressing at the sides of his head with all their might. Soon it would unrelentingly pop like a blister and splatter Sophie's lovely wallpaper.
His head was getting worse and worse. He hated being ill, as most people probably did, but for Ross he felt incapable, useless. He was angry at himself. His head was pounding like a drum - a drum that was taunting him, building up faster and faster until Ross reached his breaking point. He spied Sophie through the serving hatch and suddenly felt a huge surge of hate for her, hate for everything. His temper boiled over and he roared, scraping the contents of the mantelpiece onto the patterned carpet floor: his glasses, his pills, Sophie's clock, their photos. He was in a fit of rage and he wasn't going to stop at taking it out on inanimate objects.
Sophie was now stood in the living room doorway, with a face that could make a man made out of stone cry. She was helpless and stunned by his actions. What was worse was the look he was now giving her. His eyes were huge and venomous - he wasn't looking at her with the tender, affection and love that she had gotten use to. Now it was filled with anger, scorn and hate. This man she had fell so deeply in love now terrified her and she would've rather been anywhere than in the same proximity as him.
She had no idea what was happening or why, but she didn't have time to question. She began speaking, but her voice was lost in the roars of the hatred. Ross grabbed her by the throat, lifted her up to the ceiling and launched her across onto the dining room table opposite. He had a sudden strength of something that wasn't human. Something had changed within him. Sophie, in a crumpled heap so different to the one at the beginning of the evening, tentatively scrambled up, bleeding, snivelling, and pleading.
"Ross, please," she begged, although the person she was talking to wasn't Ross anymore.
He stormed back up to her, once again snatching at her shoulders and tossing her to the other side of the room. He snarled, sardonically enjoying himself. He realised that he had never hurt anyone before, not even so much as a punch. This uncontrollable power was completely new to him but he knew now he would never look back. He pulled her back up, as she insisted on still breathing (albeit in small, quick, uneven breaths) and, pulling her by the hair he had run his hands through just minutes before, forced her through the window. He felt the arousing power at the sound of glass embedding itself into her skull. He checked. He was done. She was done.
He surveyed the ruins around him. He was still in this possessive psychotic state but there was also a small niggling part inside him that knew he had to get away. He, still in his half dream-like state, darted for the front door and ran into the stormy mist. He didn't know where he was running but something in him was directing him far, far away from his previous life. He ran and ran and ran and by the time whatever it was had worn off, he had no idea where he was, how he got there and all his memories of his pathetic girlfriend Sophie had vanished, like him, into the night.
