Wrapping It Up: A Doomed Love Story

         She stood outside the house, shivering. She was wearing a black t-shirt and black jeans on a warm summer evening, but she was shaking inside. She ran her hand over her right hip pocket, over the lump that nestled snugly there, and felt better.
         It hadn't been that long- a week, maybe two?-since she had returned. She thought that once she was home it would be all right. Home was where her friends were, where her family was- there were people to appreciate her at home. Even though they were the ones who had done this to her in the first place. Poor misguided people. They really did think they had her best interests at heart. It was okay for a while. Really, it was. She had figured she was over the one she had sobbed over nightly. The tears hadn't flowed in a long time, so everything was okay, right? But then she had seen him again and it had all fallen to pieces.
         She always knew she wasn't crazy. Crazy was for old people, and she, barely eighteen, was still in the bloom of her youth. They all thought she was crazy. How could she explain to them that love was something that transcended any normal law? That the agony of unrequited love is worse than the flames of any Hell could possibly be? If it took three joints and a razor blade to end that sort of pain, then so be it! But no one listened, no one understood. No one cared! No one would see how she looked at her heart and soul, and saw a rotting fungus slowly eating its way through her will. She could write until the pencil snapped, turning out poem after poem of death and despair. She could pound the piano until her fingers bled, watching red smear over the black and white in a desperate testimonial to sorrow. She could drown herself in the music of others, trying to throttle her own pain with other stories. But in the end, it all came down to the one thing. Love lost. So they shipped her out. We're so concerned, they all said. Sent her to that prison they called a hospital, full of screaming and moaning nuts and people who wouldn't let you have a fucking pencil to write with, even though the only thing she considered worthy of tasting her blood was a brand-new razor. It wasn't fair! But she had to admit that slowly pretending to improve had been one of the easiest things she'd ever done. She was a consummate actress, and that wasn't even a challenge. She'd stopped moping, taken an interest in things around her. It was pathetic really. Everyone there had been thrilled at the "success" of the treatment. And now she was home, and could wrap up the last of her unfinished business...
         She ran her fingers through her shoulder-length mane of black hair. She'd been standing there, lost in thought, for a while now. Her brown eyes narrowed slightly. It had to be now. She looked up at the sweet blueness of the sky, and thought of the world's most beautiful pair of eyes. She walked up to the door and knocked.
         He answered, as she had known he would. She fought against falling into those eyes, those beautiful blue eyes, and ran her hand over her pocket again. Her mouth was dry.
         "Hi," she said experimentally, smiling. He smiled back, the smile touching his eyes briefly. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" she asked.
         "Sure," he replied, opening the door wider.
         "No," she said. "I'd rather you came out."
         "Okay, no problem. What's up?" He stepped toward her, away from the door.
         "I love you." There. She'd said it. The rest was up to him. He fidgeted for a moment, looking somewhat uncomfortable. His fair skin flushed briefly. That beautiful skin, that she'd caressed so many times...
         "I know, and I'm sorry..." he stumbled slightly over his words. "I don't know what to say about it. I never wanted to hurt you..." He stopped, seeing the flood of silent tears down her cheeks. "I never, ever meant to hurt you," he repeated, somewhat lamely.
         She pushed her glasses up on her nose with her left hand, keeping her right safely on her pocket. Despite her tears her voice was perfectly composed. "I know, my sweet darling, I know." She took a deep breath before continuing. "That's why I am going to do my best not to hurt you."
         He gave her a puzzled look and opened his mouth. Before he could speak, she hurried on. "You do understand, don't you? We have to do what is necessary for us at the time, right? I learned that before I left. It was a hard lesson, but I learned it well. And now I'm home, and I can show you what a good learner I am." She advanced on him a step at a time as she spoke. "You told me I'd always be your good girl. Your brave girl. And then you were gone, and I couldn't be so good or brave anymore." Now she was gazing into the blue eyes that had started all this horror, her ruined existence... "But I'm here, right now, trying to do what is necessary. Like you did. Right?"
         "Please, I couldn't do anything else. You understand, right?" He looked vaguely uncomfortable at having her so close to him. It didn't matter- she was going to be gone shortly anyhow. A cold smile touched her lips.
         "Yes, of course I understand. I'll be leaving now." She opened her arms to him for the hug she gave all of her friends when parting. He embraced her. He was so close. His touch was so sweet. She took a moment simply to hold him against her, to remember what could have been... Impulsively she kissed his lips, tasting what she had missed for so long. He jerked his head back but she was already stepping away, and returning her right hand to her pocket. "Goodbye, my love." Her hand came up.
         The shot was loud. He looked startled and grabbed the porch railing, and then sank to the ground, eyes glazing. Perfect shot to the forehead. She went to him and cradled his limp form in her arms, remembering what it had been like so long ago. When they had shared love. She began to cry in earnest, and put the gun's muzzle in her mouth.
         They looked almost like lovers, embracing on the porch.