the emptiness :: l.s.

Part Six: His Somber Silhouette Dances For Me

Sometimes I wish that I could have left the memories I truly loathe where I had left Louis to continue to die and decay, down in our basement. Yes, I know. It is a bit harsh to say, but it's completely true. I have been seeing him everywhere and I have only one wish; for it to end. I can't handle the things that are, now, happening.

He's everywhere. I hear his voice, his voice that almost isn't his. That voice doesn't belong to him. It's so dead and unhappy, lifeless, and I want him back. I see him everywhere, wether it be in shops, malls, or the very pub that now has caution tape wrapped aound it, and I have come to a new realization of myself.

I miss Louis. I miss him so much, and I now know that none of this is his fault. All of it is mine, all mine. I love him and I want him back. I want him in my arms, for him to whisper sweet nothings in my ear, just as he would before, sometimes kissing my cheek in the longrun. I am not a killer, and I hate who I am. I just wish I would've woken up to his sweet body cuddling into mine, instead of out from under the blankets, on the far end, his body touching the wall that was just as cold as his dead body was. My heart is aching and so are my eyes from the tears that they can't stop from producing. It hurts. Even though for others, this would be a nightmare, but I would have felt better if he had died in my arms. So that I could have been touching him, before he left, instead of me touching the blade that had made him leave.

And now all I feel like doing is crying as I clutch the dirtied sheets of the Inn that I am currently trying to rest inisde, though it's so hard when Louis' voice is in my head, driving me into a deeper state of confusion and frustration and anger, all into a wadded ball of sadness.

Oh, forgive me, love. I can't go on knowing of the things that I have caused. And all I want is your forgiveness. I am begging. I know, I am pathetic, I know that I am crazy. I know all the wrongs in my body. I am a psychotic who loves the thing they killed.

I hope my life doesn't go on, because it can't without his hold. I can't. He is my home, my shelter. It is physically impossible to live without him, completely.

This can't be.

And though I need to get away and rest, I find myself fleeing, running from the Inn, out into the rain as it envelopes me, burning my skin with pure disconsolation. My eyes hurt as the empty screams from my throat fail to echo the town, only a pathetic wheeze escaping its prisoning. And though I shouldn't, I find myself in the yard of our home, falling to my knees, cries showering the already soaked grass.

But something is off, other than the fact that his dead body is lying deep underground, in the concrete walls. I see the exact silhouette I found at the pub. And though it was a split glance that I saw him, I know it is him. It's from the mocking laughs and the steady lean against my threshold.

He is only laughing as I cry. Why? Have I done something to him? Does he know?

I look up and just as I thought my eyes have already seen the worst things, I see the very knife I killed my beloved with nesting in his hands.

Have I been living in a complete lie, more than I thought?

Oh, tell me I'm forgiven, say you'll always be mine. Say that everything is over.

Tell me I'm fine.