*August 26, 2010*
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"You thought you were protecting me? My father could die tomorrow, Rina."
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"I have of late—but wherefore I know not—lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises"
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"Why can't you see it, huh? She wants your soul like she wanted Spencer's, and she will destroy you."
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"What is this quintessence of dust?"
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"No, it's another lie. Why should I believe you?"
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"Man delights not me—no, nor woman neither"
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"I wish I killed her, Rina."
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"To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream"
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"You don't need to worry about Katherine. I won't."
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"For in that sleep of death what dreams may come"
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"Maybe I never knew you. Katherine Miller, you're a stranger. I never saw you. I never loved you."
Nicholas's voice pounded my skull every night like a jackhammer, relentlessly crushing my brain into pulp. It echoed for hours into the following night until it was replaced by the voice in the next dream.
Every night, my dreams were different but the same. Dozens of memories were generated then distorted by the most painful words, each leaving only an impression of that day. Snippets of a dirty joke or the hue of his eyes when he woke up in the morning, or the groans he would make when eating my cake, all played and replayed there. In my dreams, his absence didn't haunt me. Nicholas still loved me. When I woke up, his hatred consumed me.
I choked through my tears in a cold sweat, searching blindly for my phone to hear his real voice. He wouldn't be so furious anymore in reality. I was certain of it.
Without exception, the call went straight to voicemail. For eleven nights, I heard his recorded message:
"This is Nicholas Phillips. Please leave a message after the beep, especially if you have lots and lots of money."
Then, the fury pierced my brain like a million needles. The sharp sound either became a whisper or a roar depending on the time of day. At night, it was a roar.
I wish I killed her, Rina.
I wish I killed her, Rina.
I wish I killed her, Rina.
I wish I killed her, Rina.
I wish I killed her, Rina.
On Sunday, I heard him ponder about death all day. "To die, to sleep; to sleep: perchance to dream." My heart fell out of my chest at the sound and repetition of those words, "to die." He wouldn't suffer Hamlet's fate. I would save him.
Stumbling out of bed that morning, I yanked on my jeans and t-shirt, imagining his face grow at ease when I arrived at the penthouse.
I would save him.
YOU ARE READING
Quietus - Book III
RomanceHe left her hollow, her essence: shredded and consumed by madness. Trying to cope with Nicholas's absence, Katherine seeks him in her dreams, memories of their love tying her fractured identity into a precarious bundle. She thinks she can cope in th...
