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“Maybe I should just jump like you,” I said and swallowed my fourth glass. “But you haven’t jumped, have you? No. Instead, you’re there, teetering on the edge just like me. Waiting...waiting to leave it all behind.”
The stronger alcohol took effect quicker. Maybe that’s why people usually sipped on it as opposed to guzzling, but I needed to forget. Forget…I was always trying to forget, but that was no longer possible. I refilled the glass, my eyes wandered toward the darkened hallway.
The time to forget was no more. I put the empty glass down on the marble bar top and stormed into the kitchen. I yanked a knife from the block. I turned the blade over in my hand, staring as metal caught the gleam of the light. My gazed returned to the hallway, and I took off in a sprint. I threw open the door, and flicked on the switch, flooding the space with light.
The bed. I’d loved that bed. The silk tufted headboard was soft and luxurious. But more importantly, he couldn’t tie me to it. Not that it mattered. He always found ways to control and restrain me. Even being dead hadn’t changed that. My legs were heavy as I moved toward the bed. The light green down comforter looked so inviting. So serene.
I let out a guttural scream, and plunged the knife into the comforter, gutting it with one angry swipe. Feathers erupted into the air. The more I stabbed, the more they flew free, bursting out of their confinement, and floated down around me with angelic grace. Tears poured from my eyes, and my breathing got heavier as I continued the attack.
Another plunge to kill the memories.
I brought the knife down with force to kill the lies.
Straight through the bedding, into the mattress to kill my pain.
I screamed with each strike, freeing the darkness that I could no longer contain.
I stumbled back. My loud deep breaths filled my ears. The comforter, the pillows, and the headboard were all destroyed. They lay in shambles, like my life, but the anger still burned deep within me. My eyes went to the closet door, his closet door. The knife fell from my hand as I took slow steps toward it.
I opened the door and took a deep inhale. “You can’t live here anymore,” I whispered, looking around his neatly organized space.
I grabbed handfuls of clothes, hangers and all, and carried them out of the closet, down the hall. I fumbled with the front door, my actions clumsy, but I managed to fling it open. I tossed the clothes onto the cobblestone driveway before storming back into the house for more. With each new load, the urgency to get his stuff out of the house grew. The weight upon my shoulders lifted.
Tears continued to stream down my face. I wiped at them with the back of my hand as I stood in front of the pile in the driveway, drinking the scotch directly from the bottle. My head spun, and my stomach rolled. I poured the remaining contents of the bottle onto the pile of clothes then threw it, shattering the bottle into a million pieces.
I looked up at the sky. The blues became red as the day came to an end. The sun didn’t hold on to the past. Each day was a new one. I needed to be the same.
I ran back inside directly to the bar, gathering up as many bottles of wine that I could hold. Then I rummaged through the drawers until I found the fire starter. Running back outside, I threw the bottles around the pile of clothing until it and the driveway was covered. The lighter fabri
cs stained red. Angry swipes to my cheeks cleared away the remaining tears. The time for crying was no more. I clicked the button on the starter and held it to the clothes. Instant flames shot to life. I stumbled back.
I stumbled back into the house to retrieve one of the Chardonnays I hadn’t grabbed. After opening it, I went back outside, and sat on the steps. My body swayed to the mesmerizing rhythmic motion of the flames. They danced, growing in their mission to consume everything. I took a long, slow drink of the wine. It tasted sweet. Clean. New. A smile stretched across my face before I stood and threw the nearly full bottle into the fire. I drew in an excited, sharp breath when the flames shot up in spectacular fashion. I danced around in circles, welcoming the heat from the flames. A warm embrace. Dizzy. I stopped. My gaze landed on the garage. In my haste, I’d left my bay door open. I staggered inside, hitting the button on the wall, I opened the other three doors. Light flooded the space. His cars.
“You can’t stay here!” I yelled at them. Letting out another scream, I ripped the covers off. I needed….I needed...the toolbox. I grabbed it off the shelf, and emptied the contents onto the floor in search of what I was after. The hammer.
“I’m not yours!” I swung at the window of the driver’s side door, and the glass on his Jag shattered in splendid fashion. “You did this to me!” I swung again, hitting the windshield.
I kept swinging. All the windows were shattered. The sideview mirrors—one was off, one barely held on. The hammer fell from my hands, clamoring loudly as it hit the concrete floor. My chest heaved. Glass crunched under my feet on my journey back into the house. I grabbed another bottle of wine, and headed back outside.
In the distance, I heard the sirens and I rocked to their odd rhythm. Flashing lights highlighted the darkness as the sirens got closer. Police and fire engines were at my gate.
“Ma’am, open the gate,” one called out to me.
I leaned back to watch the smoke rise before I pushed myself up from my seated position and walked into the house to hit the button.
“Good evening, fellas” I greeted cheerily as they worked to get their equipment set up to put out the fire. The firemen ignored me, but two officers approached me.
“Officers, would you care for a drink?” I asked, holding up the half-drained bottle, and then started giggling.
The firefighters made quick work of extinguishing the already dying flames.
“Ma’am, how much have you had to drink?” One of the officers inquired.
I cocked my head to the side. “Justa glass or two,” I replied, trying to keep a straight face before turning the bottle up to my lips.
“Ma’am, did you do this?” he asked, pointing to the now pile of wet, burned ash in my driveway.
“If I say yes, will you use the handcuffs? He never used cuffs…”
