A Broken Heart Mended
by Josephine Hong
I looked at the bloody knife in my hand. I checked my own hands. Bloody. Shit, I have to seriously wash my hands like crazy. Watching all those CSI shows taught me a lot. First step is to not touch his lifeless body. Second, dump everything I touched into the sea, that includes the blood-soaked clothes I'm wearing, the steak knife I stabbed him with seven times (I was unconciously counting in my mind) and the cloth I'm going to wipe my prints off with.
Mental note: Remember to check the floor for traces of hair, fibres or shoeprints. Oh no, speaking of shoeprints, I have to throw away my new Adidas now. Darn, it's such a waste.
I'm just standing here looking at his lifeless body while all these thoughts run though my mind. I killed him. Hah. I eventually killed him. After all those fantasies of strangling and torturing him, it came to this. A sharp stab on his chest (hopefully I stabbed him directly in the heart), a smile creeped in and it felt good. I pulled out the knife as he fell to the floor and like impulse stabbed him again in the chest, just in case I missed his heart.
I pulled out the knife again from his already breathless body. I stabbed him again. And again. And again. And again. And again. I really don't want to miss his heart.
Maybe I should stab him again, just in case. No, stop, no more, you don't have time. I look at the digital clock on the wall behind me, 12.45 am. It only took 23 minutes for me to do the good deed.
He came in through the door 23 minutes ago. I had the knife ready in my hands. I didn't mean to use it. I just wanted to scare him. I just wanted to threaten him. I just wanted him to think that I was crazy and deranged so he wouldn't dare leave me. Emotions just came over me, the way it does to everyone. Now I understand how murderers can be so cruel. I understand.
12.46 am. I've been staring at the clock for a minute now. Time's a wasted. Get a move on. I carefully step out of my Adidas and manoeuvre myself towards the kitchen avoiding the blood on the floor. Remember to throw socks away, fibres are definitely going to fly around.
I grab a big black trash bag. While dumping all the things which could lead your death to me, I'm thinking that it should be you in the trash bag. That's what you are to me now, trash. I realise you are useless to me now, being dead and all. You can't love me anymore, I can't love you anymore. You're no good now, used goods even. Twenty five minutes ago, you were my everything, I'd die for you, I'd kill for you. I guess I proved the latter.
Before I walk out of the house, I turn back into the living room that he's lying in and scan the room from top to bottom. I'm making sure I don't forget anything. I take one last look at his handsome face. He looks pale. I smile.
I was waiting for him at the restaurant we always go to. The restaurant we go to countless times. The waiters and waitresses even remember our names.
'He'll be here, don't worry,' one of them said. I gave her a fake smile. 'He's never late,' I thought to myself.
Then there he was, walking in with that prostitute, hand in hand. I went to high school with her, a cheerleader who got round the basketball team. He did it on purpose. He wants me to call it off. That coward. No guts to break it off with me, he had to bring in the big guns, or the big jugs I should say.
I walked past you crying. I knew you didn't care. You wouldn't comfort me in any way, you wouldn't try to make excuses. You would have just looked at me, feeling the guilt for breaking my heart. Yes, I know that you do feel guilty. You have to feel guilty, you should and you must.
One last look at his lifeless body and I walk away. I smile to myself. I have a chance of getting away with this. And I don't even feel guilty. The image of your lifeless body is forever etched in my mind. It'll remind me of the best times of my life, those happy moments I spent with you. It'll remind me of how satisfying it is in the end, that is taking your life.
