When It All Falls Apart (Book One)

by Berry, Lucinda

  I looked down at me feet. Phil’s chiseled face was unrecognizable. His eyes were wide open, gaping in horror. There were deep gashes running in chaos across his face that showed the meat inside. His eyes were swollen shut and bloody footprints stamped his forehead. His head lay in a pool of blood still widening its width on the tattered brown carpet. The shattered pieces of my vodka bottle lay strewn by his body. I dropped the lamp as I fell to my feet.

  What did I do?

  I didn’t want to touch him. I couldn’t look at him again. I stared at my hands. They were still shaking and slick with fresh blood sliding off my fingers. My rational mind told me to call 911, but another part of my mind had taken over. I got up from my spot and walked to the bathroom in a daze. I ran my hands under the faucet as the blood flowed in a rustic river from my hands and swirled its way down the sink. There were chunks of glass in my palms. One looked as if it was nearly all the way through. I grabbed it with my other hand and pulled it out without flinching. Methodically, I worked my way through the other pieces creating a small pile in the sink. I’d always hated the sight of blood, but I was completely unaffected by it. My hands didn’t belong to me. I laughed out loud—a maniacal cackle. I looked for towels to wrap my hands with, but the towel racks were empty.

  I walked back into the room, the taste of copper in my mouth. There was a sharp stinging pain behind my eyes. I eyed the room looking for something to wrap them with since they refused to quit bleeding. The smell of urine and feces permeated the air. My eyes took in the images in quick snapshots. Phil’s motionless body on the floor in front of the door. Red splatters on the wall. Two chairs toppled over. The TV lying on its side next to the stand. The only thing left untouched was the bed. I laughed again. The sound of my laugher foreign to me. I grabbed a pillow from the bed and took the case off. I gripped the case with my teeth and ripped it into uneven halves. I used a piece for each hand tying them tightly around my wounds like a boxer.

  I gingerly stepped towards Phil’s body. Ice water shot through my veins as if any minute he might wake up and come at me. I forced myself to crouch down next to him. I couldn’t leave without knowing for sure he was dead. I placed my fingers on his neck. His skin was still warm. I felt for a pulse like I’d seen people do in the movies. There was nothing. I grabbed one of his arms and lifted it up to check his pulse on his wrist. Nothing. I let his arm go and it flopped back down to the floor lifeless. I stood.

  I grabbed my keys from the table and took off running for my car as if I was at the starting line of a race and the gun had just been fired. I slid into the seat. My entire body was shaking now. The tremors had travelled from my hands throughout my whole body. I fumbled with getting the keys into the ignition. I pulled out of the parking lot nearly hitting a car as I made a quick left. I drove in the direction of our house. My brain ran wildly as if my thoughts were on a treadmill running so fast I didn’t have time to discern any particular one. I watched myself as I drove to the house screaming at myself to stop, turn around, call 911, but I couldn’t stop. I had no control over my actions. Someone else had taken control over me. I parked in the driveway and walked into my house, but it felt like I was walking into someone else’s life. I was no longer connected to the pictures, the memories, or the details. They belonged to someone else. Someone who wasn’t me.

  I moved robotically into the master bathroom and stripped myself of my dirty, blood stained clothes. I left them in a pile on the floor and stepped into the shower, blasting the faucet as hot as it would go. The searing heat scalded my body, but I didn’t care. I let it burn me. I scrubbed my skin until it was raw. I shaved my legs with my pink Gillette razor. There was something eerily calming about performing a ritual I’d been doing since I was eleven years old. When I stepped out, I didn’t feel any cleaner than I had before I got in. I knew I was covered in filth I would never be able to get off. No amount of washing was ever going to cleanse me of my sins.

  I fumbled with my dresser drawers as I pulled on fresh clothes making sure I avoided looking at David’s side of the bed. He was never going to forgive me for what I’d done and how I’d destroyed our family. Ever. The man I loved more than any other person hated me. I swallowed the cry in my throat and forced myself to keep moving. I pulled my travel bag from the closet throwing a few sets of clothes into it not caring what they were. I punched in the code on the safe deposit box we kept stored in my closet. The door swung open revealing the envelopes of cash we saved for trips and buying our cars since we never bought anything on credit. My mom had used an envelope system for purchases since I was a little girl and I’d made it a habit in my own life. I grabbed the envelopes of cash and stuffed them into my bag. I left David and Rori our emergency cash fund.

  I would take nothing with me. I made my way downstairs feeling as if I was a ghost. I hoped they would forget me quickly and that I wouldn’t haunt them. They deserved so much better than what I could give them. I was a monster. I thought about leaving a note but then quickly decided against it. There was nothing left to be said and besides, my words meant nothing. I stepped outside, locking the door behind me and walked away.

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