Alexander's Disappearance

03

       "No..." I whispered. I crouched down to get a good look before holding his shoulders. I shook him. "Alex? Alex?"

        I looked down at the puddle of blood that continued to expand ever so slightly as if it wanted to reach my toes. Perhaps my mind was playing tricks on me but it seemed as if they were rapidly expanding when I stared at it, hoping that it reached me to get my feet dirty. For the first time, I prayed. I don't believe in a higher power, but I prayed. I prayed, but I don't think anyone answered because I knew he was dead. Emotions took over me as I stood up. Alexander was my husband. I loved him. Even if I threatened to shoot him, in the end, I didn't. Why? Because Alexander and I were still close to each other. I valued his life.

       The staff was sleeping around this time, and I prayed they didn't hear our argument. Once the police come, I would be the main suspect. My life would be over. How many years would they give me? Ten, twenty, twenty-five years? Or more? I could buy my way to five, but I'd rather be free. Maybe I didn't love him enough because with his lifeless body lying here in front of me, I only thought about myself. However, there was nothing I could do to revive him. He had no pulse when I bent down and placed two fingers on his pulse point. All my thoughts fogged up my ability to rationalize. I thought of calling the police or an ambulance, but with the looks of it, no one could help him out now. His soul has already left his body. 

       He looked quite peaceful except for his eyes. His eyes were shut as if he was wincing. The rest of his body had shut down and will never get up again. I was slightly hyperventilating as I stared at his body, but I didn't look away. He was always in good shape. Standing up, Alexander was around seven inches taller than me. Forty-three years of age and still active. That was one thing I admired about Alexander. He cared about his health and well-being. Some people let loose because they're old and suffer from health issues and diseases. He enjoyed running on the treadmill in our gym and enjoyed doing cardio. I did Pilates in the second last room down the hall on the right from upstairs. We were quite an active couple. We both went hiking when the weather was nice, but we mainly hiked because it was his idea. I usually disliked hiking. I was always paranoid about ticks.  

       Well, at least now I don't have to go hiking.

       I don't know how long I was looking at him, but the puddle of blood was getting wider, and for the first time, I didn't know what to do. I couldn't just let him rot in the room, and I couldn't call someone because I'd go to jail. 

        Slowly, I sat on the edge of the bed and just stared at the body.

       This corpse had a lot of memories with me. The corpse laughed with me, the corpse was naked at one point—giving me oral as my legs were spread open and my mouth panting. The corpse was once standing on its feet, protecting me from the rest of the world... yet I couldn't protect him. Either way, he cheated on me. The best thing I could do was to protect his reputation. Besides, if the police found out I knew about Alexander's affair, I already knew my career would be over. The smell of blood woke me up, and I immediately got up and started caring for his body.

      After dragging his body out of the room, I quickly pulled the black trash bag out of its packaging. My tears were already dried as I stuffed the corpse inside the bag. This would do for now. I wasn't thinking. I couldn't think. The only time I was thinking was when I was thinking about something irrelevant. Anything. Anything that could get my mind off this event. I tried my best to tie the bag. I'd get rid of it in the morning, I told myself.

      I didn't even eat dinner. I was a terrible, emotional mess. Of course, I'd be irrational. I made a note not to tell anyone what happened—not even Priya. If my parents called, I'd cry and weep as if I wasn't the one who killed him. Either way, it wasn't my fault. It was an accident. But I'd still be charged with third-degree murder, and I had too much potential to go to jail. If anything, I had a gun. I'd shoot myself. I had nothing else to live for, did I? What were my goals? Writing? Having a high-positional marketing job? What did I want to do, really? After stuffing his body in the closet in the other room, I made my way to get the bucket and the mop.