Passionate Hate

I followed you to his house. I knew it all along; I just didn’t want to accept it. I step through the door and brandish my knife.

Walk through a posh looking hallway. It is a two storey house, obviously expensive. Pity really.

I can here you screams of pleasure emanating from up the stairs. They cut deep into my soul. I hate them. The sound of your moans remind me of a better place; years ago. I have just met you. We are having fun together. Shame really that you had to ruin it all.

I stay downstairs for hours. I just look up at you voice, and gently slice the flesh of my wrist. For hours on end. When one arm is too numb to feel the pain, I switch to the other. That’s it. I can’t take any more. Stop the cutting. Sit down. I am bleeding freely now, but I do not care.

I do not even notice when you have stopped your noises. I look at the clock. Twelve minutes past eleven. I have been waiting for my moment for over three hours. I slowly walk up the stairs. Silence. There are no other sounds except the ever growing hate in my chest.

I’m at the landing. The curtains are open. I look down at my arms. They are both crosshatched a deep crimson. I hold the bold knife up to my face. It is glinting red and silver in the pale moonlight. I look at it and smile. It would be fulfilling my destiny for me tonight.

I creep to the bedroom door and gently nudge it open with my free hand. I stare at your sleeping face. He snores loudly next to you. You are just peaceful, your chest rising and falling with obvious grace. I smile. Put the knife to his neck. Hate is a passion.

His throat slits with a silent gurgle. Blood pours from his severed veins, soaking the sheets redder than the hatred I have come to love. You do not stir. He is lying there, dead beside you. Breathing stops. His life ended when he first set eyes on you.

You are still sleeping. Silently, I move towards you, my heartbeat quickening to a pounding drum. The sense of hate is ruling my every other emotion.

I set my eyes on your beautifully soft face for one last time. Put my knife to your chest, holding it there, poised in the balance. I press down.

Blood rushes out of the wound. You do not have time to wake up. I broke your heart, just like you broke mine. Such a shame. I would do anything to have you back to your old self, me and you, picnics in the park, late night swimming in the lake, staying up all night in the summer making love. Well, whatever I thought love was at least. It turned out to be nothing more than a fake, just like you.

I step back. Observe the scene. Smile. You got yours, and he his. But what is it that I deserve? I did what I thought I had to, for my sake. The pain was too much, I loved you far too much for you to fathom, and you could love me the same way. I was too nice, too fragile. Too…human. I put to the knife to my own stomach. I can die now, happy. I will see you in hell, you lying, cheating whore. I can’t wait for the moment when I push the blade through my flesh, causing instant and agonizing death.

Three seconds for the tension to mount. Four seconds. Five. Six. Seve…

I stab. Total agony. I would have screamed, but I was already dead. Then, after the pain, after the blood had left my body, ordering my brain to shut down, there was nothing. Empty. Like you.

Hate is a passion. Hate is MY passion.

END