The One Who Spilled His Blood

*Trigger warning, includes mental health, physical violence, alludes to self-harm*

I held my knees to my chest; that numb horror was creeping over me again; with the shadowy images of his blood, a shudder coursed through me leaving chills in its wake. I can hear voices saying my name, trying to break through the haze that has made me freeze, and go blind to the world; I feel another shudder rip through my body as I think about him. His pale skin, the way his green eyes had met mine zealously. How he had sacrificed so much to be with me. How quickly the night had turned nefarious Oliver's death had left a hole in my heart, one that could not be filled. Could never be fixed, it had left me broken. People were still trying to reach me. The agitation that came with an unexpected feeling of trepidation shuddered through me, the same feeling I had experienced that fatal night...

"Lilly." I think I know that voice, my little sister, Holly. "Lilly, please." Her little voice is so sweet, smooth, and innocent. I shy away from it, for it is all I want to, but cannot be. Besides, I still can't will myself to move.

"Go away." I finally manage to whimper. It brings me too much pain to think of them, to think of anyone I loved. It always ended badly, I could ignore my sister, but I couldn't deflect his thoughts of him. Then, there he was, that memory, bittersweet. It brought another moment of insanity. His voice sounded in my head.

Lilly, Lilly I think I have to tell you something, but it will make more sense this way. Oliver's gentle voice, his kind eyes. The memory seemed to punch me. I felt another sob shudder in my chest. Then, he leaned in closer. His words had become the ones I imagined and dreamed of for months after he had said them. I love you. He had breathed to me, so softly, his voice so kind, and then his lips had met mine, but that was months ago when I had first fallen for him. Now however, I would never feel his lips again. The gentle pressure, the warmth, the pleasure it would be to be near him now. I longed for it.

"Lilly!" This was not a voice I recognized, it was harsh and sharp, maybe tyrannical would be a good word for it. It made me look up regardless of my struggle to look away from the world. A doctor was staring at me, his face matched his tone, sharp, harsh, in control.

"Leave me alone." I snarled weakly, it was pathetic even to my ears.

"Lilly, we have to talk to you, to figure out who hurt Oliver, you have to help us." The doctor said. I already knew that I was hysterical before my voice proved it to the doctor standing in front of me.

"No! He's not hurt he's dead. This is why I can't love people, they get hurt." An unfamiliar almost animal-like sob came out of my mouth, I gasped for air, but I could feel my windpipes closing as panic made it hard to think clearly. Hysteria, oh how I hated it.

"Lilly, please, we have to know what happened. I'm sure it's not your fault" The doctor begged. I curled back up in a ball rocking back and forth. I could feel myself deteriorating again, I thought that Oliver was keeping it away.

"No." I whimpered.

"Lilly, we've talked to your mother, and you have a history of struggles with you're mental health, we're here to help you, talk to us."

"No," I said again, because they didn't help me, they poked and prodded me, trying to get answers to their questions. Only playing a mind game, finding the problems but never solving them. They never helped me. My time in their hands brought another shudder, a reminder of the life I had struggled to get out of, one Oliver had saved me from.

"Lilly, this is upsetting, you're in shock, let us administer some medicine, you'll feel better." The doctor said persuasively. I knew it wasn’t really my choice, but I could protest it.

"No!" I felt true panic, that wouldn't help me, it would trap me in my thoughts. I felt my body tense to thrash, to fight off the doctor.

"Lilly, it's okay, it won't hurt." The doctor tried to soothe me, I could hear him moving slowly toward me.

"Stop! Stop, stop stop!" I screamed, and for some reason, my hands jerked up to cover my ears, a knee-jerk reaction. But that didn't keep the pinch of the needle from going into my arm, then the icy cold that numbed everything in my body, but it had a different effect than I thought. It made me tired, I was falling asleep. I tried to fight it, I didn't want sleep, the other medicine kept me trapped in fear, but this would keep me pinned in nightmares, the images of him dying over and over, slowly blazing through the tiny fragment of sanity I had managed to retain. However, it was no use. Soon, I could feel myself struggling to keep my eyes open, I wasn't in my body, I was almost watching from outside. I had already been pushed down until I was lying. Finally, I gave up, but to my surprise, I was thrown into the only dream I wanted to have. One where Oliver's arms held me tight.

***

I dreamed of Oliver, his gentle eyes, his soft hands, his hair, the way his lips felt on mine, my only true love. But I didn't get to relish in his love long enough, soon a jarring awakening pulled me sharply out of my dreams. The light stunned me, it took a minute for me to adjust. I was in a chair, struggling to look around I found that two men were watching me, they both had police uniforms on. I moved to get up, but one of them stopped me.

"Stay where you are Lilly." The command was sharp.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because we have some questions." The man said evenly.

"I won't answer them," I swore, my temper flaring up at the assumption I would.

"Well, that's unfortunate because then Oliver would have wasted his life for you."

"What do you mean?" I asked my voice trembling. He was so close to the truth. In a few words I had gone from stubborn to broken.

"You were there, you know what happened, he was probably trying to save you."

"Hmm," I muttered, but I nodded my head very slightly. He was trying to save me, from one of my phases. It was meant to be a date, he had even bought French bread, I remember that more than some of the other parts of that night. It was the same color as some of the stars.

"Alright, how old are you?" The man asked, more kindly this time.

"Nineteen," I muttered, my voice shook, old enough to be blamed.

"How did you know Oliver?" The man asked he was dead of emotion.

"He was my boyfriend." My voice trembled.

"Do you know if he died from a weapon?" The man asked. I shuddered, sickness made me dizzy.

"Yes, I know.” I managed to whimper.

"What then?” The man asked.

"A person.” I whimpered.

"Do you know who killed him?" The man asked. I stayed very still. Trying not to vomit from the disgusting memories, but I still felt the salty warmth of tears drip down my face.

"Yes." I choked out. The man frowned. As he asked his last question I was thrown back to the night when he died.

"Will you tell me?" For a moment I was in an inner battle, would I tell him? Yes. I think. Yes, I will. For I know who killed him. Then the night flashed before my eyes, lit by the pale moonlight that had shone down on his skin, he was more beautiful at night than at day. We were high up, on a balcony of the apartment he lived on. His honey-like voice still brought pain to me. He was trying to talk to me, I had been sick again, getting closer to the edge. He knew what was happening, he was no fool. He knew that I was partially insane. Yet he chose to love me anyway. So before I jumped he grabbed my arm, to stop me, because he loved me. He loved me too much, it was the death of him. But the touch caused panic in my craze so I didn't react as I should have. I remember the sickening fear that had made me scream at his touch. His hands were cold from the night air, it made the violence, the fear, and the insanity, flare up. I remember many things about that night, but now everything came into sharp reality. The way I had felt suddenly strong, and then the memory of his fear. One that I will never forget. But most of all, the force that made him fall off of that balcony. Where it came from.

"Yes, I know who did it," I whispered.

"Who?" The man asked softly. His voice was kind, too kind. I sucked in my breath, then looking up, my brown eyes met his blue ones, and I felt the last of my sanity drop out of me, a small considerate frown crossed my face as I said goodbye to my grief, I was over that now. I realized my foolish mistake, Oliver's death had not left me broken. I was already broken, Oliver had held me together, not well, but he had kept a few of my pieces in place. Now that the pieces he could not hold together had ended up with me killing him, I had simply returned to normal. My heart could be filled because I no longer felt it. So I spoke softly, calmly. Not maliciously, but as if I was describing how to solve a basic problem. But a small smile did show on my face for just a moment before the horror fell on the man’s face before his hand reached for his gun. I almost snorted, like he would shoot me.

"I killed him."