DARK DEEDS

36

CANDLE BURNS ME even in her death. Even in hell where she dines with the devils; her wicked wick is set ablaze.

Through the thunderstorm, I hear her cackles. She haunts and taunts me with the words I most avoided:

“Because you always ruin it. Candle would have never ruined it all for me.
You are bad luck.”

Over and over those words repeat themselves like a broken record. It drives me nuts, so nuts that I lose a screw and scream.

Scream for something or someone. Someone who never comes. Someone who left me all alone.

Salvatore.

He is supposed to be a savior. Yet he does not save me from the nightmares or the memories of those ghostly pale, mangling heads of his family.

Their looks torment me, their scent chokes me. Their voices scream at me. “TELL THE TRUTH. Tell the truth. Tell the truth.”

“No. No. No.” I scream over and over, trapped in the horrors of my mind. I attempt to wake up but fail. I make another attempt but this time ultimately breaking through.

My eyes open to the burning, bright light of the quiet hotel room. It is morning now and the storm is over.

Well, at least the one outside is. The one in my mind is neverending.

I sit up on the bed covered in my own sweat. I look to my side, then around the room but there is still no sign of Salvatore.

I wonder where he stormed off to last night after saying all those horrible things to me.

I try not to think about it but catch myself crying all over again like a silly little girl with silly little hopes. I really thought that a man like Salvatore could love me.

I laugh in tears at how ridiculous that sounds even to me. He uses girls like me. He has proven that time and time again by leaving after being done with me.

Maybe if I’d kept my mouth shut he would have stay.

Maybe if I had not brought up Candle he would have stay.

Maybe if I was much ‘prettier’ and not ‘stooping below basic’ he would have stayed. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

It is always like that with him. When will it ever end? 

A knock comes at the door, interrupting my thinking. I quickly wipe my tears before I say, “Come in.”

It comes out weak, and hoarse like I am fighting for air. Nevertheless, the person at the other end of the door hears, before they poke their head into the room.

It is that guard. Despite standing at the door for the whole night, he looks to be in much better shape than me.

“Good morning, miss.” He greets, bowing his head respectfully.  “Breakfast is ready. Shall I have them bring it up here or will you go down there?”

In as much as it would be lovely to remain wallowing in self pity, and seething in self loathing up here, I think it would be best that I go out and have breakfast with actual people. Not just the voices in my head. It might even cheer me up.