Goodbye

Thick, crimson-red liquid came gushing out when I thrust the weapon deeper. It made a sound when the weapon went in and out. In and out. Something was breaking apart inside. And then I pulled it out for good and held it in front of me.

I slightly tilted my head and examined the weapon in my sticky and red-stained hand; a knife. Adorned with dripping red liquid that faintly sparkled under the slightly dimmed bedroom lights and with a peculiar smell. The edge was so sharp, and surprisingly, I find it amazing. Who would've thought that such thing like this could be so beautiful? If only I knew about it before...

I put the knife on the floor and stared at the boy who was lying in the bed.

The boy with a handsome face.

The boy I loved the most.

He was my first love. My first and only lover.

Let's just say that our love story was a typical one; it's like a cringy romance story straight out of a cliche novel that no one would want to read.

~~~~

We met one summer afternoon at the park. We accidentally bumped into each other. The impact was quite strong that I almost fell on the ground, but luckily, he held me into place. When I looked up, I saw a pair of blue hooded eyes staring at me. Staring into my soul. It was love at first sight for me. And I think it was the same for him too.

I remember how we instantly hit it off and talked for hours that day. I didn't realize that time that a small talk between strangers would lead to something more.

"You know, it's getting dark," he said to me as he glanced at the sky.

I looked at him and sheepishly smiled.

"Yeah," I answered quietly.

"So, is this goodbye?" he asked me. But I knew he didn't want to end it that way. I knew there was something he still wanted to happen.

I held his perfect hands, my heart beat faster, and said,

"You know what? I hate goodbyes."

He grinned. "So do I."

~~~~

But our love story didn't went on forever. It was cut short, like most tragic romance stories do. 

To be honest, those times that I enjoyed wasting with him was not wasted at all. I loved him. He loved me. Or at least that's what I thought.

But love isn't just a bed of flowers. Sometimes it's a bed of thorns too. Painful, yet you still let yourself in.

I looked at the picture frame lying on the bedside table. I took it in my hands. And there in the picture, are the two less lonely fucking people in the world with their foolish smiles. I have a sudden urge to rip off the picture. 

So, they're in love with each other, eh?

I couldn't suppress my laugh as I threw the frame on the wall. It landed on the tiled floor. The glass from the frame were scattered and shattered into pieces, along with the picture which came off.

It's really, really funny how things can be easily taken away from you. At first he was there, but the next second, he wasn't. It was too unexpected for me.

When I calmed myself, I slowly climbed the bed. Their bed. I wonder how many times he and his darling did it here?

The bed's soaked with blood. Him under me, I above him. I stared at him for the very last time. At his gorgeous face. At his bloodshot eyes. At his blood-soaked clothes-

Wait. His eyes...

I guess I should close it now. His beloved darling have been asleep for a while now. Way earlier than him. 

It's time for him to meet her.

So I lowered myself down, and before I closed his eyes, I whispered something to his ears... a word that I used to hate.

"Goodbye."