The gas station lights curtained us off from the rest of the world so that reality was clarified to that nighttime scene: his silver car parked behind mine, the two butch store employees loitering on the cigarette-littered sidewalk, and the tense, incessant soundtrack of cicadas. We had finished filling up for the two-hour carried back to our summer apartments, so there was no reason to remain there - and yet we hesitated, facing each other sadly.
"I wish we could stay longer and just chat a bit more," he said quietly, almost as if speaking just to himself.
"I know," I replied, "I'm sorry, but I need to go..."
He nodded, although the look on his face grew more conflicted. Even after twelve hours together - that azure quarry lake, the hot, spicy Thai dishes, and his laughter in the cool movie theater - we had done so much, and I felt sick on happiness.
Then don't leave me...
My throat hurt.
For another moment, I stood, taking in his existence, branding his expression into my memory so that I would not forget my desire, my purpose and focus. Force, constraint, necessity. He seemed to be feeling even worse, his eyes frantically searching my face, an anguished laugh tearing from his lips.
"I...really, really like you," he said.
I love you.
I knew what he wanted to say.
I stepped closer, watching his expression carefully as I said, "I like you a lot too."
After that, maybe he said more. If he did, I responded without conscious thought, my attention narrowed in completely on his alarmingly tormented body language. Was I mistaken? His eyes bared his soul, and I tore my gaze away, unable to stomach that look of affection...
No...
This feeling will go away.
He was on the brink of pushing forward.
I knew.
I know that words are completely inadequate in expressing how I feel. I need to use my body to tell him correctly, and, above all, I need him to know how much I love him... If I could only have him for a night, I know my hands, my lips, and the shape of my hips could express how much I care. If only he would feel how much I care...
I saw that sentiment in his eyes.
He leaned forward, fighting an almost unnoticeable movement of his arms tensing, but I knew I could not be misguided on his cut-back intent. Then, quiet now, but breathing in deeply, he fell more indescribably sad than I have ever seen anyone look, the war of desire and judgement, adoration, forethought, and excruciation surfacing on his face.
"Please."
I knew what he wanted to say.
No...
This feeling will go away...
The noise of the cicadas faded, as power came into my hands the way the paths of fate always light up before me. "Correct action" - that to me was to end his suffering for him, to step into his chest, wrapping my arms around his waist and leaning my head on his shoulder, inhaling his beautiful scent and brushing my fingers through his soft hair. To hold him tightly. To tell him that I understood.
To love him.
Then, I blinked, and the sound came back in.
Gripping the bladed edge of my mind, I cut through that dizzying reality, adrenaline spiking my vision with electric darkness so that I knew that that moment - or my sight in that moment - would not be recorded. Why design the carnage to hunt me down in my sleep? I hated myself in that moment with an incredible loathing, but I took a step back, a cold, charming smile already on my lips.
"All right, I need to go," I said with sharp finality.
He seemed shaken, unaware of the gore-soaked sword of perception in my subconscious' grip. "Yeah..." Then sighing, he said, "Yeah, we should call it a night. Good bye..."
"It's okay," I said, grinning as I twirled to create dissonance between his sorrow and my fear, "Have some self-control."
"You should leave before me," he said, "You drive faster."
"Yes, I will quickly outpace you." Far too comfortable with my assassination, I had reached my car by then while he was still watching me, and I swung the door open, unwilling to break my cheery facade until I was folded into the dark curves of the road.
"Thank you for the cookies," he called out.
"You're welcome," I said, "I hope they're not too dry."
He fixed me with an "are you kidding me?!" look, and I laughed, saying goodbye again before getting in, plugging my apartment location into my phone, and turning on music: something incredibly banging and wild to mask my gasping as I tore out of the parking lot.
I know what I am doing.
I lost someone because I lost control. If I have to kill again, the same way I did before so that this feeling of loss becomes everything I feel, I will. Why else did I regret for twenty-seven months? I promised myself something when I promised him the world, saying I always kept my word...
...so that is why...
Alone in the dark, I curled over, tears clinging to my hair, and screamed until my voice was hoarse, and then I drove and drove and drove in silence until I was home.
