FicWad

As you lay there, draped across the bed, face frozen in a portrait of fear, love, pain, I look down at my hands, covered in the horrible red stickiness.

That knife, the knife I had used earlier to make you a sandwich, the one plunged into your stomach. The one that left these horrible holes in you, the one that once seemed such an innocent piece of cutlery. The one that has my bloody fingerprints on it.

No-one, not even the guys I spend so much of my time with, my best friends, knew the pain in our relationship. They only saw the adoration in my eyes whenever I look at you, the love I feel for you, the way my face lights up when I see you.

They never saw the arguments, never saw you cry so hard you would give yourself a nosebleed you were that upset.

I’d made no secret of wanting to raise a family when the time was right, to be a father. But you told me from the start that you were infertile, and it never really bothered me.

But when your friends started to have kids, you felt left out. I bought you a pair of kittens to try and cheer you up, you really loved them, and I think it worked for a while.

But soon you were spiralling into depression again, begging me to leave you for someone that could fulfil my hopes of having a family, having horrible nightmares that left you shaking in the night. I tried everything I could to help you, to get you to smile, but nothing seemed to work, you hated yourself. Not even the prospect of adopting a child cheered you up.

And no you’re gone. Dead, deceased, passed on. No matter how hard I look at you, pleading you to sit up and smile at you, for the blood to disappear, it won’t. The saddest thing is that you just look asleep.

I was making you a cheese toasted sandwich, your favourite snack, when you ripped the knife out of my hand, slicing it slightly as you did so. You ran to our bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

I followed, desperately trying to calm you down through the door, but I was too late. By the time I had broken down the door, the knife was in your stomach, blood trickling down your side, blossoming onto the bed.

I tried persistently to stop the flow of your blood, and to stop you making it worse, but I failed.

You died in my arms, but I think you were happy in the end, I really hope so.

I don’t feel angry at you for doing it; I just wish that you hadn’t. I feel so empty, knowing that I’ll never hear you telling me a funny joke, laughing at me; I’ll never see you playing with your hair.

You did it because you wanted something you couldn’t have, a family. But in doing so, you ripped my heart out; I don’t think I can ever love again.

You were the only girl I ever truly loved, the only girl I’ll ever love.

Goodbye my angel, I’ll miss you forever.