The SRC Tales.

I loved Strephen.

I really did.

Or maybe infatuation was more of the correct word. Strephen and I were like a dream. A spring dream. A spring break love affair. He was just as obsessed with me as I was about him. We were a match made in a perfect little spring day heaven. 

Though maybe my string bikini and tanned skin helped a little.

His muscles and how amazing his body looked when he wore those black and red swim trunks is what drove me to even talk to him. 

Those were the days when Ice cream, snow cones, and water balloons were the best delightful presences in my life. 

He made it that way. He made me happy and joyful. He made that spring that best of all.

Robin on the other hand, was a little sprinkle of nature. He felt like the joy of catching a falling leaf.

How you anticipate catching it and when you do, you feel giddy and pleased, and you want to treasure it so you can feel lucky that you caught it.

His laughter was like the rustle of leaves in a cool fall breeze, so relaxing and calming.

His hair was a chestnut brown with flecks of orange in it. He had this ginger brown thing going on.

It reminded me of the changing leaves in the fall. Maybe that is why I fell for him, it was after all, the fall season when we started to date. 

He made me feel so loved and nurtured, so well rested and relaxed. It was so easy with him. Hardly any effort at all.

Our relationship was as soft as a leaf landing perfectly on your palm.

And it was perfect. It was magnificent even. Not one fight ever escalated between us. 

But then there was Strephen.

He was my first love that spring . And then he was gone, I couldn't help but yearn for him too.

I'd often wonder if he hadn't gotten murdered the end of summer, would I have still developed those feelings for Robin? 

And If Robin hadn't gotten murdered at the end of fall would I have even met Colin? 

Oh Colin, with his gray eyes, that tiny blue frost that settled deep in his irises.

The perfectly sculpted dark eyebrows. His ever pink lips. His perfect porcelain white skin. And his straight ebony black hair... 

He seemed so perfect, and he was pretty as an icicle. If you'd look at him you'd assume you could predict his whole life.

He seemed so transparent, but he wasn't. He was so hard to figure out. So sullen sometimes.

The times he would laugh felt wonderful, though those were rare.

His normal laugh would feel like icicles cracking. His laugh seemed so menacing but at the same time alluring enough to want to hear it over and over. He was like poison. His personality was so fascinating.

Sometimes he'd be sullen or sometimes he'd be mad. Sometimes he'd be sad or sometimes he'd be neutral. He was rarely happy.

I'd ask him numerous times if he truly did enjoy being with me.

He'd always say to me that I was like a blanket of snow, so perfectly pretty and that though it may seem like he wasn't happy, he was.

I was never sure nor unsure of his true emotions. 

It was always cold when I would go to his house. He never would clear the icicles off his roof, never would try to clean the snow off his drive-way, and never would turn on the heaters. He liked it like that. 

He adored the winter. In some ways he was winter. He was like my winter. His true adoration was the night.

His personality changed a lot during the days, he'd have very short emotions. But the nights he was always the same. He'd one true emotion that would last very long.

He had a frosted personality.

So hurt, and betrayed by his mother who'd abandoned him. He was always nostalgic and remorseful during the night. I was always there to comfort him.

Those were the days I felt certain he really did like me, needed me even.

I'd wondered what made him do what he did. Why he'd leave me when we just were starting out. Why he'd do that to himself. 

I'd always known he was very capable of it, but I'd never dream he'd do it. 

He did it to himself. With just one rope and a ceiling with a hook on it. 

His life had ended, right there on that rope, thrashing while his neck turned a blue color. As the blood drained from his face, as his lungs tightened and he couldn't breath any longer. 

I'd like to think that if I were there he wouldn't have thought about it.

But I wasn't there, I was home. It was midnight and I was sound asleep while he strangled himself on that rope. 

It was only a day after he'd passed away when the cops came to me. 

They told me why he did it. 

How it involved me. 

And how he was so overcome with guilt that he killed himself. 

It was him who killed Strephen, him who murdered Robin. Him who murdered himself.

He did it because he loved me. 

Or so that's what his suicidal note had said.