Broken Dreams

She looked so peaceful laying there on the bed. Her pale eyes glazed over and staring at nothing. What looks like a strand of hair hanging across her face, it's really blood. It's been about two hours since he killed her ... and her body ... like always, it's perfect, but now it’s wasted. If only I hadn't been so lonely before I met her. If only I hadn't met him, hadn't ... invented him. Maybe then she would still be alive. If only I could turn back time, go back to last summer, to when I was happy, before I was left alone. This is all my fault, his fault. It's all the same.

I'm just sitting in the corner watching her. I still haven't called the police, even though I witnessed her death. I guess I'm just procrastinating. Maybe I have this crazy idea that I can bring her back, and take back everything bad that I've done to her; or maybe I just don't really care; she never was that good to me. I guess none of the things we do can be taken back. The things we do last forever. Even after we're dead they live on. But that's not the bad part, what’s really bad is forever never ends. I keep thinking that I should at least cover her up... be courteous. Maybe it's better to just not do anything. I guess my last true job before I'm dead and gone is tell the story of how this happened. The story of the last year of my so-called-life, which lead to the end of hers.

"Last call to all boarding flight 2039 to Los Angeles ..."

Those announcements seem so much louder when you have a hangover. The party of the century always leads the morning of hell. I feel like my head is splitting into a million pieces, and by the look of it, Akara isn't doing much better. Judging by the look on her face, I'd say it’s going to be a long, quiet, lonely night. Yeah, it's going to be a normal day at home.

It seems like we fight every night, and the pain is unbearable, but I can’t let it end. It’s like when ever she turns her back; I fall apart, so now I just live through the pain. What can I say; I'm a glutton for punishment. Each agonizing second I spend with her is the best and worst moment of my life, mixed into one horrifyingly fantastic breath of existence. I choose to breathe deeply. Slowly. I savor every minute of it.

Akara with her dark hair. Akara with her hazel eyes that gleam in the light. Akara ... she smells of wild flowers and white wine. Zinfandel, if I'm not mistaken. That always was her favorite. Akara was like an angel. Five-six, one-hundred and twenty pounds. Perfect in every way. To this day I'm not sure what she saw in me. But I'm straying from the story now. I guess I'm just trying to keep you here. I haven't had anyone to listen to me in years.

Akara and I were on our way home from the biggest New Years Eve party in America. Needless to say we had imbibed our fair share of alcoholic beverages. This was our four month anniversary. I had forgotten and she wasn't happy. She was never happy. But I brought home enough money to feed her addiction to high priced clothing and apparel. Otherwise I was useless. All of the dressers and closets in our house were filled with dresses, bags, shoes, and skirts. It looked like Victoria's Secret exploded in our bedroom. Bras and thongs everywhere. A perverts dream, my hell.

I'm getting ahead of myself. I should start when we first met. Maybe before. The day that "He" walked into my life. Jason ... that's what he called himself. Jason; he was who I wanted to be and I hated him for it.

This all started last year, it was the middle of summer, I was alone, and no one seemed to know I existed. The only time anyone ever talked to me was when they needed something. That was my life, giving everything and receiving nothing. That is until Jason showed up in my office. He was dressed in blue jeans, a band tee that supported Nirvana, Converse All Star high-tops, and a beaten up black and green baseball cap worn twisted slightly to the right. A pair of dark sunglasses hid his eyes. He spoke the way a man speaks when he doesn’t care what any one thinks.