The rain is falling hard tonight. The sound is so deafening you can’t hear anything else. To me it’s exhilarating. It gives me a sense of cleansing; a way to get rid of all the shit. The rain washes over me, making everything have clarity, which wasn’t there prior. The world seems so pure, untouched, easy, simple. Life is easier to manage; no anger; no frustration; no stress. Everything has washed away. The rain flows over me. It takes it all with it, washes it down the street. Peace.
On nights like this, I watch the river flow off me, down the street, and it is red. The blood, like the rain, never stops flowing. The blood is warmer than the rain. It sticks to you. It is not easily washed away. It does not matter how long I stand there in the rain; the blood never washes off. It seems to increase with each drop from the sky. It covers every inch of me. It runs through my eyes, like the river over the rocks, pooling in the corners. I am blinded. It stings. The cruel reminders of that night. The dreams, nightmares, roll in with the sound of rain hitting the roof. The preferred visions would be Stella coming to me, her sweet smile, smelling of the ocean. The blood is all that is left of my dreams of her. The blood that coated me for days haunts me.
The night Stella left this world, is the horror that keeps me distant from everything. I can never trust what I believe to be true. Your world can be shaken to its core, change all your perspectives, all that you thought was reality turns out to be obscured in truth. This lesson changes you to the core of your soul, it’s what makes you who you are, how you are perceived is no longer there. You lose all of who you are.
Stella’s murder changed everything, the way I talk, the way I breathe, the way I fuck. Hell, even the way I piss. I don’t speak as though I am a carefree boy, with nothing to lose. My language is more precise, more educated, more descriptive. There has to be no room for interpretation. The words have to be clear; present; polished. I have to know there is nothing that can be interrupted as weakness. Anything that can allow an individual to believe that night can ever happen again. I could have never taken a life; but that can no longer be said. The hell of that night will never happen again. I will kill to make sure it does not. Be damned the consequences of the action.
The responsibility of Stella’s death was not mine. There is no possibility that I could have ever harmed her. The vision of her opening her apartment door, blowing me a kiss, and closing the door is in my dreams every night. Sometimes, I scoop her up, take her to my apartment, and she is still alive. Stella is beside me, walking through this life, enjoying the rain with me. There is no blood.
The night Stella closed the door and her eyes for the last time; was the night mine opened. The night of custody, the brutality of guilt, the night my body, soul, and life changed forever. The scars, the physical changes, are a daily reminder of all that was lost that night. The retribution placed upon me that night, would have been justified if I was truly the monster under the bed.
The monster under the bed, came from behind, came from far away; for his own retribution, his payment for betrayal. My monsters did not know of the true killer of Stella. When my monsters broke through my freedom, took my innocence, took my trust, the monster was heading back to under his bed. There would be no brutality for him, he garnished me that privilege. The monster was cunning and more brutal then any of my monsters. He believed he was free to do his will and rejoiced in the pleasure of it. However, no matter the planning, he didn’t know one element, the man he made that night. The man made with his will; through his rejoice, the man he created would see him to his end.
To be continued...........
