To Be Obscure

| CH. 23

 2001

*

Nothing brought me down to Earth more than the taste of her skin. In the summers, Charlotte was sweet, like the darkest plums ripened by the sun. In the winters, she clung to my body for heat, and when she'd sweat, the salt of her kept me awake.

I had never loved anyone the way I loved her, never cherished another soul the way I did hers.

She was the gift of life within my everlasting existence. With her, I remained constant in a world full of inconsistencies. Charlotte was the beauty of my darkness, the light of my moon. I wanted nothing more than to love her until our souls faded like candles, for she was my ever-burning flame.

These thoughts should have been the memories that powered my sleeping mind. Memories of her smile dripping into stunning dreams. To feel her hand on my skin again. To touch her, have her, kiss her once more.

I missed her.

Instead, I dreamt of the night I'd left. The one day I regretted the most.

I stood in the center of that living room, in between the black leather couches separating our yells. I couldn't recall the hour, but I knew it was late. Late enough that all the bars had closed; that was the only reason I had returned home. I didn't return for her, or the condo we shared, no. I was selfish, unconcerned about that part of my life. She'd hated me then, and I thought it'd be easier if she never saw my face.

"Three nights," Charlotte screamed. Her hands dug into the back of the couch for support. Her eyes, red from crying, blinked away tears, and her heart—my heart—hammered away in her chest. "You haven't been home in three nights!

My hair was cut short, and small waves slapped against my forehead as I slid my fingers through it. I was drunk, beyond drunk. There was no money in my pockets because I'd given it to the bars. My last drink cost me my gold watch; the same watch Charlotte had bought me for one of my many birthdays.

With a sniff, I looked around our dark living room and at the pictures that covered the walls. We were happy once. "It's not like you'd want me home. If you say you did, you'd be lying."

"I was worried sick!" She threw a couch pillow at my face. "Who am I supposed to call if you go missing? The police?"

I dropped down on the opposite couch, the alcohol sinking further into my blood. The room spun as she picked up the table lamp in her hands. I watched it as it crashed down on the floor, thrown in rage. I laughed. Why did I laugh?

"You could call them if you wanted, my love, but what good are they?" I licked my lips. "Fucking pigs can't find me for the men I've killed, what makes you think they'd find me at a bar?"

"Why do I worry? I hate you!" Another pillow flew at me, this one hitting my stomach. "I can't stand you!"

I closed my eyes, allowing my head to lean back against the back of the couch. "Yes, yes, you say it all the time. I'm the vile demon who stole your virtue. God, may he cast me to hell where I belong."

Her fingers were suddenly on my chin, yanking my face towards hers. I opened my eyes to see hers full of light, bright as the lamp she had destroyed. Her lips pulled down into a frown that sullied her gorgeous face.

Gently, I touched her shoulder, but she hit me.

"You only think of yourself," she hissed. "It's all you've ever done."

Inebriated and amused, I cupped her face in return. "Would you mind telling me what else I've done wrong? You do it so well."

She slapped me. Hard. I felt my lip split at the corner. The heat of blood slid down my face. Yet, I held my smirk firm as I looked into her bright, yellow eyes.