final part of "Too many drinks"

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
the final part of a short story entitled "Too many drinks"

Submitted: March 03, 2015

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Submitted: March 03, 2015

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~There is so much that I still remember, so much left undone and unsaid, so much that I still yearn for and so much that now we can never do. Still I hold onto the memories,  the pain, hurt and yes the terrible, devouring anger that I have, at the thought of your unprovoked slaining. Our house is now a shrine to the lover and soul mate that I lost, the only person that I continually desire. My moments of slumber are echoes of happier times, times when joviality, laughter and love flowed in endless amounts.
You wanted me to continue to live, when in reality I do nothing but just barely exist. My life is an empty, a baron depressing void, where only darkness and sorrow now reside. Everyday I look at the photo's, allow the past to return, treasuring the memories and yet always fearful that perhaps what we had may one day no longer linger in my mind.
Each and every day I talk to you as if you are still here, still by my side. Your clothing hangs in the wardrobe, your negligee upon the pillows, jewellery, make up and dairy set up on the bedside table, just the way they always have been. The scent of your perfume, still lingers in the air, everyday I spray it upon the sheets, it brings me comfort, sadness and some solace, as I lay down each night, wondering, perhaps hoping that this is the night when I will join you in the eternal slumber.
My body yearns for your touch, my arms ache endlessly for your embrace, to feel your divine body, the movement of your chest, your body resting against mine. My lips tingle and pulse with need to kiss you, the full bodied, glimmering surface, that were silken cushions of oral lustfulness and which always silently spoke, whispered of their desire to be paid homage to.
In my eyes you were a flawless and rare beauty, a pristine diamond,  the perfect vision of what total unadulterated sexiness was. There was so much that I found deeply erotic about you, beauty that went so much deeper than flesh, it was as though true beauty had been boar into your very soul, embedded deep into who you truly were.

Its been almost twelve months since you passed away, a year of depression, grotesque sadness and utter hatred that still consumes me, for the bastard that inflicted this upon us. At one point I thought I could forgive him, that was what you'd do, but I cant, I've ended up hating him more and more each day. He is free, now walking a round, breathing whilst you, forced by his utter madness lay in an eternal slumber, consigned to the ever lasting thing that is death.
 Its been twelve whole months since I was forced to watch the hands of death embrace you, taking you away from me, the damage he caused, so great that even you, the greatest fighter I had known, couldn't recover from.
Flash backs haunt me, as I still struggle not to remember as you were when the accident happened or as the lifeless corpse struggling at the very precepit between life and death. The assortment of wires, the machines that beeped, signalling at least that some part of you remained alive. I didn't realise it, or didn't want to, at that time, that it was only the machine that was keeping you alive. I remember being at your bedside, tears streaming down my face, feeling the stone cold, almost ice coldness of your flesh, as I held your hand.
How often I prayed for the life to return to you, how many times I pleaded for you to come back, how the desperation and helplessness I felt and how I would have traded positions with you in a single heart beat. I wanted to see the colour return to your flesh, to see your eyes open and ignite again, a smile creep across your face, which in turn would illuminate it, like I was so used to seeing. I remember how the doctors told me you were clinically dead, how I fell apart,  sobbed uncontrollably and at first denied it to be the truth. They told me the most humane thing was to let you die, to let you rest, ease your suffering and give you the dignity that you so richly deserved.
I was mortified,  horrified beyond comprehension by those words, breaking down uncontrollably,  I was losing you, you slipping away into the eternalness of death, life draining from you and now they, the professionals that were there to save life were asking me to end it. For days, I think I cried, pain and hurt flooded through me, infecting every part if me, agonising me in ways that I just couldn't describe.  I was desperate, if not beyond that to get you back, I would have sold my soul if I could have. There was so much I wanted you to hear, so much still to do, you were my soul mate,  the person I should have really married.
Pure hatred boiled within me, seething anger akin to that of a demonic force that knew no limits. I thought of all the ways I could have killed the bastard who had done this to us. The slow torturous death that I could inflict upon him, watching him scream and writhe in agony. The cruelness in my heart was matched only by the pain I felt for you, perhaps that is why I began to slowly realise that this shouldn't be about what I wanted or needed, it was that realisation which was even more crushing, as I realised the awfulness of what had to be done.
There was a touch of irony about the whole thing, there was I praying like a fanatic for life to return, asking for something that I thought only god could grant, yet in reality it was me who would have to play God's role, me that ultimately would have to end your suffering. How the hell was I going to live with that, the knowledge that I was to be the one who would sign your death warrant, by switching off the machine that was keeping you barely alive.
The decision had to be made and it was, I was there, watching as you faded away, the hands of death consuming you, vanquishing all life from your body. It decimated me, broke me, tore my very soul apart. Anger, hatred raged once more consuming me still further, my body shaking, kegs beginning to buckle, energy, strength evading, pour from my body, as tears streamed and I became inconsolable.  That haunting vision and knowledge still remains today, the guilt presses down upon me, I had given permission to end your life,  the lover that meant so much to me.
Collapsing to my knees, tears streamed remorselessly,  anger and hatred burnt, pulsing through me with searing pain, fuelling the total despair,  so desperate was I, that I wished, wanted it to be me. I felt numb to everything except despair and anger, hope had been torn from me, my mind could focus on nothing but the pure desperstion of the moment, of the act, which in turn feed and fuelled the anger. I could feel by now the growing chasm of evility, the need for revenge, not justice, just pure revenge that so very much included abhorrent anger.
I hated myself, the driver who had inflicted this upon us and the world in equal measure. I lost the desire to live, life was enacted on auto pilot where the chill of death clung to everything I did and owned. The funeral service came and went, I sat in the church barely listening, words that were meant to offer hope, gave nothing more than a twisted hatred within me, digging themselves into my soul and mixing with the cacophony of anger that already resided within me. I was lost in a spiral if grief and anger, anger at god, anger at me, anger at the driver who had brought this onto us. Whilst the vicar talked about forgiveness, I knew it was well beyond me, I was turning into a violent malevolent volcano that sought to shout, scream and lash out at everything and everyone
The night you died a huge chunk of me and my humanity died also, my outlook on things altered so drastically, life became nothing more than an existence, a begrudging trundle through a prolonged and meaningless exercise where thoughts if my own demise were never far away. The zest for life that I once had was gone, extinguished and replaced by a vicious blackness of self loathing,  hatred and death. I had no will, no fight or desire to enjoy, instead a yawning, gaping hole in my life existed where they had once been.
Does the man who was responsible know, truly know what his actions has caused does he really care? Does he know how much he has altered my life, how his actions have twisted me up so much that I now constantly think of getting my revenge or ending my life. Can he truly comprehend the real meaning of hatred, like I do, to me his isn't a drink driver, he's a murdered, s person that in essence pulled the trigger if a gun to my soul mate's life.  He drive the car, used it as a weapon, a deadly weapon at that, because of him I have to live knowing I was forced to switch the machine off,  to watch helplessly as the only person in my life that meant anything died. I want him to know that, forgiveness will never be granted and that even his own death wouldn't now come close to equalling what he has put us through. I face the biggest torment, torture every single day thanks to him, I face a life with out her, its the biggest, worst thing anyone could have inflicted upon me.
I hope he very slowly and excruciatingly rotts in his own private hell everyday, that is the only solace I could possibly take from this awful, never ending existence I now have thanks to him.


© Copyright 2020 cellissa draylor. All rights reserved.

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