This was the only thing that kept me sane, preserving our past like a shrine to our love, surviving time and secluded from prying eyes. I’ve spent days and nights simply looking at the pictures, drawing hope from them.
A few feet separate us, the path paved with shattered dreams, broken hearts, and cutting memories.
“There are a more in our bedroom. Destroy them all. Level this house to the ground, but even the ashes will glow, scatteringfrail embers you can’t stomp out.” Conviction laces every word, which only infuriates her more.
“I’m going to bury you in it, Vian. Just watch me,” she grits out, her face reddening with wrath.
“Till death do us part. Remember?”
“I fucking remember because you tricked me into it,” she shouts, holding her head and not caring about the gun in her hand.
I point to my chest. “I? Oh, wife, let’s take some accountability, shall we?”
“Don’t you dare, asshole. And I am––”
I arch a brow, and she has the decency not to continue spitting bullshit. The marriage is genuine, like our love and her wayward thoughts.
“How much can you remember?” I ask, leaning against the wall, incredibly calm considering the precarious situation.
“I only got a session done, but it was enough to discover that you ruined my life.”
I expel a long sigh, the deep breath ringing with dejection. She wants to paint me as the villain so badly. I should be used to it, but it doesn’t hurt any less than the first time. It’s a self-protection mechanism, or maybe it’s simply easier for her mind.
She drops onto the sofa, staring into nothingness, while her gun hangs from her hand, pointing at the floor.
For long minutes, I watch her until I am afraid she slipped back into that part of her that’s impossible for me to reach.
I don’t think, I act, reaching for her.
Everything happens so fucking fast I can’t stop the spiral into a tragedy. The gun goes off, the bullet ringing through the air like a death sentence. I stumble back, clutching my stomach. A hole bursts open, bleeding in rivulets of red. So much blood soaks the black material and coats my fingers.
She shot me.
I guess she decided. It was the only choice because I wouldn’t have given her another.
“Don’t fucking burn this place down, or I will haunt your ass, Zara,” I groan, not mad at her, but strangely at ease. Maybe I’ll find some peace in the afterlife.
She remains frozen in place, the gun dropping from her hand and clattering to the floor with a thud that echoes the end.
Her eyes water as she stares at my hand pressing on the wound, covered in deep scarlet.
“Look at me, mi sol.” Slowly, she lifts her chin. “I’m not mad at you. It’s okay. I love you. Never forget that.”
“Liar,” she screams, the sound gut wrenching.
I fall to my knees, the blood loss weakening my legs, draining my life force with each second.
“One more kiss,” I whisper, craving her taste one last time so it can nourish my soul on the other side.
“Death will give you one. I’m not that merciful.”
She storms out, leaving me to die. And I want to. I yearn for it so badly that I lean back, staring at the ceiling.
I won’t grow old with her. I won’t see our children playing around.
I won’t have a future.
And that’s okay.
