kill

needless to say, you ran back to me,

sobbing hysterical waterfalls upon

my shoulder, clutching your stomach

and screaming white-noise over and over.

"why why why?!"

guilt rotted my insides until

i could almost feel apologetic

for what i did, and some nights i

was sorry, as you sank into the

jaws of depression. depression

was killing you. there were times,

weeks, when you didn't see the sunshine

at all. not a single ray. no hope.

except that bloody child that

swelled your stomach inch by inch,

until you reach three months and a noticeable

bump grows like a tumour. reminder

of matthew, reminder to me he was intimately

inside you,

violating you.

"it's okay skye. it's okay."

"it's not. it's not. declan, it's not.

it will never be okay again, i'm

better-"

"don't say it skye. skye, don't."

"if i was dead."

i clutched you to my heart,

crushing your frail shoulders

to my vast acres of chest.

i pleaded for you to eat most days.

and then the scars appeared up your

arm. i stared at you, my mouth

agape, and as your eyes flooded

with tears, i pulled you close

and whispered, "don't do this

to yourself."

my mother took pity on

you, and let you sleepover

when i felt it was too dangerous

to leave you alone. which was

torturously often.

even my brother was piteous,

and let you sleep in his double

bed as he and his problematic fiancé of the past few years, were

evicted to the faded

sofa.

you would scream in your sleep,

sweating, crying for matthew.

matthew's dead. it was a suicide.

it was fucking murder.

seeing you like that, i didn't even

imagine how heartbreaking it would be.

the reality was worse anyway.

too afraid to fall asleep worrying

that maybe you'd take swigs

from bleach. end your beautiful

life. so i'd crawl into bed

with you. watching you

breathe was sweet relief and

painstaking torture.

i touched your stomach too, spreading

my fingers across the developing

child.

i'd never hurt you. never again.

that's what i told myself.

inevitably, there's a reason

i'm writing the truth to you.

i never wanted to hurt

you. believe me.

my brother and his fiancé moved

out on my 20th birthday, and with

your mother's permission,

we made my house your home.

by this time you were at least

able to feign smiles.

he still haunted your hollow

heart though. god.

i guess i should just shut up about

your pain and tell you what i did.

after all, i was your final injury.

i realise now everything i did

made you miserable. sorry isn't enough.

so it was the afterparty

the night after

my brother's wedding,

in a high-rise block of apartments

specially rented for celebrations.

glitter rained from the ceiling,

dazzling and glinting like mystical

gems, as people danced wildly

in a hubbub and buzz of alcohol

intoxicated hearts.

laughter.

and soft glowing smiles,

as you whispered in my ear,

"he looks so happy."

i glanced over to my brother

and nodded. he had his

firm hands on his newly wife,

slow-dancing to a fast

beat. they should have appeared

prude, ridiculous, silly.

they just looked sweetly

infatuated.

you reached out for my hand,

hot sparks dancing from my

fingertips and i realise a

tear shimmers down from

your almond eyes.

"skye?" i ask quietly.

"it's nothing."

"skye-"

"declan, i'm so happy you're

my best friend after all these

years."

i smile gently and tuck a strand

of your blonde hair behind your

perfectly curved ear. i tilted your

chin up, looking at your lips like

thin flower petals. they were rosy,

flushed.

"let's go out to the balcony."

i said gently.

"okay." you agreed.

i dragged you out through stained-glass

floor-to-ceiling windows.

the air was sticky in that holidaying humid

night-air way. late may. my breathing

hitched, as your thumb stroked

over my hand.

i study your expression

carefully, your dewy eyes,

those freckles like star-spangled

galaxies upon normal skin hues.

you stared back at me. curious.

i struggled not to press you up against

the wall. rip you open and

steal your thudding heart.

i took a deep breath.

and press my lips against yours.

fuck.

it felt...

destined.

but i felt you struggle,

and you pulled back

with horror, slamming your

innocent hands against my chest.

"what the fuck?" you demanded,

tears threatening to spill.

you always cry. you always cry!

i look at you puzzled. hurt.

"why did you do that?"

"because i love you."

you wrenched yourself

from my arms,

aghast, agape.

anger flickered

across your face and

pure disgust

which made me furious

lost OBSESSED WITH THAT LOOK!!

i was so driven with the

urge to hit you as you

walked further away from me.

angry. shocked.

disgusted,

and you kept walking away

each step causing me to grow

from melancholy, rejected

to seething anger.

which,

in turn, sealed the tragedy

that comes next.