Pandemonium

***

It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark.

And the farther I got from the edge of the ravine, the drier the blood on my palms became.

It wasn't ideal to tuck my bloodied palms into my puffer jacket pockets because I'd be contaminating it, and as much as it would be odd to say, I rather loved the jacket and wouldn't want to have to dispose of it.

Funny, I thought. That was my worry when I had just brutally murdered the love of my life. Funny how that was my worry now that Owen was dead.

Or, more accurately, now that I'd killed him.

He was the love of my life, the one person who stood by me and respected my decisions. When my mother died after three hopeless years of being in a coma, all of the subsequent responsibilities fell on me. But Owen was there, ever supportive, ever ready to shoulder my burden.

I practically ran to our car parked on the edge of the road just before the dirt path I was just on, the car in which I'd coerced Owen to take a walk with me. As I buckled my seatbelt and turned on the heater, staining the surfaces with patches of still-fresh blood, flashes of the conversation played out before me on the windscreen, almost as though I was watching it happen again in real-time.

"Lily, you know it makes no sense to walk in this weather," Owen had said in an exasperated tone, his hands digging deeper into his puffer jacket pockets.

A wave of anger had run down my spine. "Of course it makes sense, Owen," I had said through gritted teeth. "Why drive all the way here if you're just going to sit in the car?"

He had glanced at my general direction, still not meeting my eye, just as he hadn't been able to in the past few days. "Forecast says to expect snow," he had murmured.

Another hot wave of anger, another grit of my teeth. I had been dangerously close to dislocating my already aching jaw, and yet, I steeled my nerves and narrated to Owen in slow, emphatic wordings like you would to a clueless child, why it would be in our best interest to just take a walk.

As the curtains closed on the scene, a pang of guilt hit my chest and I balled my hands into fists on my lap. I should have been speeding back on the highway to town before the temperature plunged further and the sky got darker, but guilt froze me to the seat. Should I check on him? I wondered. I could report the case, tell them it was an accident. They could help him, maybe…

An eternity could've passed while I sat unmoving in the car, then the pinkish orange sky abruptly gave way to a light navy shade. Thoughts somersaulted in my head, shoving and pushing for a chance to get to the finish line, to the front of my mind, but I paid them no attention. A thought kept banging on my head so loudly that a dull headache made its entrance in my skull. The thought was a question I really wanted an answer to, an answer I needed to see.

Was Owen really dead?

I mean, maybe he deserved it, and sure, I had bashed his head and neck repeatedly with his makeshift hiking stick, and I was almost positive the 30-meter drop to the bottom of the ravine was a sure gateway to the underworld, but I had to be certain. If he suddenly walked into the house tonight or tomorrow morning, and nodded his greeting at me like he'd been doing lately, that would have me running to the nearest temple in search of an exorcist, and I hated feeling paranoid.

Coming to a decision, my hands fumbled with the door handle, and just as I got out, about to retrace my steps onto the dirt path, I heard a clank beside my boot and looked down to it. It was Owen's keychain, a miniature framed photo of us on our first year relationship anniversary. I squatted and palmed the keychain, looking painfully at our smiling eyes and grinning lips. And just when I thought the pain would split my chest open, I turned to back of the keychain, and my heart froze instantly.

Lily, the love of my life, it said.

All regret and guilt and uncertainty in me died as I saw that, then I tossed the keychain into the car through the partially open door, hearing a loud thud on whatever surface it found itself on, then got back in and revved the engine.

He deserved to die, I told myself. And this time, my inner voice was cold and firm as it uttered the words.

***

Flicking on the lights in our apartment was something I hadn't done in a long time, if ever.

I never had to do that, you see, because I was almost never the one to get home early. As I glanced at my bloodied hands retreating from the switch, the action struck me as foreign, and I was baffled as to why doing such an action felt out of place.

I walked briskly to our shared bathroom, eager to cleanse myself of my sins and turn in for a very long night. I practically tore my clothes off and shoved them into the washer, then I stepped in the shower and paused. I had never felt this free whenever I showered with Owen around. Might as well take my time with it.

I stepped out, stumbling a bit, and turned on the hot water in the large bath, another foreign object I had rarely used. It occured to me just how much of a stranger I had been all these years, and worse of all, in a unit I had fully paid for. My teeth went to work grinding and gritting, and my feet found the bath floor just as the water filled the tub. As I scrubbed the blood off my hands and face, hot tears filled my eyes.

Owen, that prick!

He truly deserved to die. I found myself irritated that I hadn't banged him harder, hadn't totally destroyed his skull and that foul mass of tissue and muscle it had been shielding. I should've stepped on him repeatedly for good measure too, I thought, maybe broken a rib or an arm or both. Owen deserved to be crushed in every place that made me come to loathe him, but I scrubbed harder, scolding myself for being too soft, for killing him too nicely.

The redder the bath water got, the faster my tears fell until I couldn't tell which was from where. I distinctly felt my arms stinging and getting warmer, but I scrubbed regardless. Anything to wipe of Owen's existence. Anything to cleanse my body of the love he coated me with. Anything to be free.

I scrubbed and scrubbed, then I sank below the bloody water and screamed as loud as I could. A hundred bubbles floated out of my mouth, chasing the surface of the liquid like hungry sharks to a treat. I screamed once more, enjoying the scenery. The sting on my arms were roaring now, but I wouldn't acknowledge them. On my third scream, it felt as though a gigantic hammer had fallen through hundreds of feet and landed on my skull. Still, I gathered all my hatred and love and screamed once more. Owen was gone, or I believed he was, but his love still ran hot in and on my body, a love I abhorred with my life.

The thundering in my head intensified until I no longer found it in me to scream. But that was no problem, because I was going to be cleansed perfectly soon. I smiled to myself, then formed muffled words I knew would be my last.

"I'm free."

THE END… OR IS IT?