The trailer smelled like vodka. He smelled like vodka. His bed smelled like her perfume, the only trace of her that still lingered in the trailer (and perhaps the memories of them too).
His trailer was like a bookcase and the people—or to be frank, the girls—that have ever entered were like books. Some of them were just left to stand idly on the piece of wood before being thrown out, some of which he flipped through the pages once or twice before discarding them out of disregard. But there was one book that was left to stay on the bookcase. It was a book with a missing cover page and a broken spine, its pages yellow with some of them even torn or missing. A normal person would not find it worth the keep but he did. He read the contents more than the times he read all the other books combined and he never stopped reading. He tried so hard to pry himself off the poor book but it was seemingly impossible for but it was simply irresistible. She was irresistible.
As he stood in front of the full-length mirror, he sneered at the appearance of the male before him. Ridiculous was the word to describe his appearance. He had messy brown hair that dangled down to cover his forehead and a pair of eyes so dead. The man was as lonesome as the street the trailer was on and just as soulless. Insane was the word to describe his mind. No one would willingly go around planting bullets into people like it was not a big deal. No one would find excitement in setting places on fire. Then he realised he was criticising none else but himself. He had a million and one flaws and he could fall asleep counting them. It still had not dawned upon him that she had accepted every single one of them and he was stupid enough to say he did not want her. He knew and accepted the fact that he would go back to her soon enough.
The club was in full swing as the music blasted from the speakers. It was deafening but it still did not manage to block out a certain man’s voice, telling her he loved her. She was ninety nine per cent sure she was going drunk as he was nowhere near her to tell her such a thing. But maybe she was not just drunk, maybe she was insane. She was insane for loving a cold-blooded creature who revels in killing. Now she was just scared that he would not be there anymore to kiss the scars and cover the bruises that grazed the surface of her wrecked heart. She was afraid that whenever she was reminded of what they used to be, the scars would open up again and the tears would pour out.
She stood at a corner of the noisy, accompanied by nothing more than a bottle of vodka (and could be her memories of them too). Alcohol, she realised, was useless. It failed terribly at erasing the footprints he made on the surface of her heart and the memories of them left in her mind. Alcohol was a bad companion in short. She wanted a trusted companion like him. No, she needed him. At that moment as she thought of him, she swore she saw him standing in front of her, unmoving and silent. He had his hands in his pockets and his eyes staring at her, boring holes into her soul, taking the air from her lungs and stopping the beating of her heart, letting her knees wobble and her hands tremble. But in a blink of an eye he was gone faster than her sanity. There was something reeling her to him and she knew she would end up giving up in this game of ignorance.
And when dawn broke, they were back in each other’s embrace, forgetting about everything else that existed. All they thought of was the folly of trying to forget the other. With every second treasured, all they did was hope that time would stop for them as if the universe was made for them.
For the days that came, they stuck together through the thick and thin. They were back to being Bonnie and Clyde, setting places on fire, shooting bullets through the hearts of the tainted and loving each other more than ever. He held her hand as they ran from the dreaded sirens and from the rest of the world. It was them against the world.
He read her like an open book and she breathed in his scent as if she was taking her last breaths. Though death travels closer towards them as each second passed, they swore to love the other even when police cars surround them, or when they have had a bullet in their skull, or when they hang helpless on a noose.
The day dawned bright and early as he stepped out of the trailer. The soft breeze greeted him with a caress on his cheeks. For a reason, something seemed out of place that day but could not put a finger on what it was. He let the bad thoughts die. Without a second thought he set off to find his next target, leaving her behind without a single goodbye for he was sure he would be back to give her another goodnight kiss that night. His steps were somewhat heavier and reluctance could be heard with every click of his heels. There was a weight dragging him down but he kept on walking.
But that night itself, with the moon and stars as witnesses of the gory scene, Death captured him.
That night, she sat by the entrance of the trailer, counting the stars in the sky as she waited for him to return. The breeze was strong but his strong arms were not wrapped around her frail body as she was left cold and waiting. Her eyelids felt heavy and fatigue was overtaking her body but she refused to close her eyes, not before seeing him. She still needed to breathe in his scent and get her goodnight kiss. Little did she know that he was not going to come back and that she would spend the rest of the nights in lonesome, waiting for someone who left without a single goodbye.
She waited and waited until dawn broke again and he still was not there.
Her eyes grew heavier and her eyes closed as she fell asleep leaning against the door. She was still waiting patiently with half her heart was gone and part of her life crumbling.
If only she could talk to the stars, she would have let the tears fall freely as she desperately inhale the last of his scent. Right now, she should be mourning, not waiting.
(After all, their love story was the epitome of tragic.)
