Masks

April 4th

Everyone seems to think what I did was premeditated- meticulously planned and plotted since last December. This simply isn't true. I'll tell you like I've told everyone else- if I'd known I'd be plunging a knife into her rib-cage that night, I probably would've brought gloves at least.

Thinking back, there's many things I might have done a bit differently. Being such a fan of true crime, you would think I would have been more efficient in the cleanup process at least. My interests in the macabre were fed to the jury repeatedly during the trial and they devoured it like swine. I remember looking several of them directly into their unwavering, expressionless eyes as their mouths twisted with hunger. I could almost see the saliva dripping from their snouts.

The prosecution had called it "a crime of passion" and when I ruminate over the little, careless mistakes in my actions this is especially comforting. Every time I find myself visualizing the way I'd dipped my hands in their blood, pooling around their lifeless bodies like a sticky, crimson aura I'm able to forgive myself. When I pressed my palms into those gray walls in their bedroom I can shrug off the sinking feeling in my stomach. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, I swear. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to brighten up those plain, unadorned walls. Honestly, that's one of the things that had shocked me the most when they invited me in that night. Not a single piece of art? No tapestry draped over the darker corners of the living room? It really was a shame; she'd always been such a talented decorator. Our apartment had been her canvas.

I'd come home to some new potted plant that I couldn't pronounce the name of more times than I could say. Whenever we visited the flea markets and thrift stores that we had made a habit of frequenting on Saturday mornings, she had never come home without some new treasure. I had told her that eventually our modest one-bedroom apartment would run out of space and she'd always just smile knowingly.

There was such light. Windows were everywhere, displaying the world in vivid detail. There was a balcony overlooking the park and we spent many summer evenings drinking cheap wine and listening to the children playing below. I would drape my arms around her and we'd observe the world like ghosts.

Time passed more slowly at night. Reality underwent a shift when the stars emerged and the fabric of what it meant to exist was pulled away from us and into the air. Some nights I felt like we'd never leave that spot, eternally staring. The endless void that was the absence of the sun robbed us of breath and the best thing of all was that we found we didn't need it. It was like we lived in the clouds. I swear if you had placed your ear against the sun-kissed walls at just the right time of day, you could have heard the place's heartbeat reverberating from within. She used to follow me from room to room as I went about my mundane daily activities. I'd get up to go to the bathroom and wouldn't get far before I heard her feet behind me. When I finally asked her why one day, she said she didn't want to miss me. She said that if the Earth suddenly opened up and swallowed me whole, she didn't want to miss the chance to jump in headfirst after me.

I had loved her for it.