He sat in his basement, looking at some things from when she was still around. It killed him to do so. But she'd really been the one to kill him.
She was the lace to his leather, the spaghetti to his sauce. She completed him, but then took it all away thinking it wouldn't hurt. She dominated him in so many ways and he let her because he let her in and didn't want her to get away, to run away.
He met her on his sixth birthday. He had invited her twin brother to his party and she had come as well.
He wouldn't have said anything to her, especially after she kissed him, but she had also poured his Dr. pepper on his head. So he did what any six-year-old would have. He called her a poo-poo head.
She had then wrestled him to the ground. She left him there when her mother arrived. He felt
hatred towards her. He didn't think he wanted to see her again.
She had curves. Chipmunk cheeks. Full, rosy lips. Though, she was short and had bad posture.
His breathing quickened looking at her. No. He hated her. She hated him. Right?
To answer his question, he had walked over to her and said, "Would you go out with me?" It was
the first thought to slip into his mind.
She grinned flirtatiously. "Is that an offer or a mere question?"
Flustered, he could only manage to get the word "Offer," out of his mouth.
She laughed, then licked her upper lip. "I guess. As long as you pay."
She walked away. He watched her go When she reached the door, she turned and spoke. "Call
me. We'll work things out. I should hope you know the number."
He had a stupid grin on his face all that day.
Everything had been whirlwind. A week ago, he had given her an engagement ring, right here
where he sat now. Later that night, he got a call.
She had run away supposedly. She had left no note. No goodbyes. She hadn't even taken the
ring.
The phone rang. No one else was home. He ran up and answered it. It was his mother. "Taylor,
they found her by Route 72. She's gone."
He dropped the phone. He picked it up again. He spoke in a shaky voice, "Okay."
His mother spoke again. "That's not all. David.."
He threw down the phone, watching as it shattered when it hit the floor. He glanced at the kitchen
counter. A bottle of valium, and a sharpened knife.
He swallowed the valium with some orange juice. "This is because I let you under my skin."
He waited a few moments. Then he picked up the knife, slowly slicing his veins and skin in an odd
pattern. "This is to make it so you're not there anymore."
He admired his work of art. Such a beautiful color red was. That was why he loved it so much.
Love.
Darkness fell. There she was before him. His beautiful one. His little angel. His Xanthe. "Taylor,
I'm not letting you do this. Live on for me. It's not your time. Don't do this."
He embraced her. For the final time. "You're right. I guess. You can control me it seems.
Goodbye."
He closed his eyes. Pain coursed through his body. He racked his brain for details on what had
just happened, but the harder he thought, the more distant they became. He would forget it then.
Forever.
Xanthe cried herself to sleep in her own personal hell. She was soothed only by a small piece of
beige paper stained with red. The latest piece of art by the man she couldn't look in the eye, and
she didn't know why.
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