There are moments in life that you don’t forget.
Your first kiss.
Your first crush.
And the first time you hold a gun in your hands and pull the trigger.
The sounds of sirens are muted by your own memories as they explode in your mind. You remember the good times and not the times he’d placed his hands on you, and slammed you up against the brick wall, where he thought you were hidden from the neighbor’s view. Instead, you focus on that first glance, that initial spark.
You knew the moment when he walked into the room and caught your gaze. He was decked out in black leather and smiled. It wasn’t an innocent boy smile; a smile of a young man who was searching for a soul mate, or even the lecherous smile of a want to be womanizer. No, whatever hidden behind it spoke to you. Something in the glint of his brown eyes spoke volumes to your naïve soul. Instant attraction; you felt the heat of his body through the layers of his clothes despite the distance and you craved nothing more than to rip away his skin to be closer to his thudding heart.
Between bouts of passion came moments of excruciating pain and tears, where it seemed that there was only one way to escape it. With the knife on your wrist, you sobbed wanting an intervention, wanting someone to truly care, wanting to care about yourself as much as you cared about them. Feeling misunderstood, unheard and invisible, your pain was almost consuming. Then in that toxicity, he wrapped his hands around your waist, pulling you into his safety, back into the fantasy of what you wish it could be. You’d taken your love to another level. You’re no longer in love. You’re obsessed.
And in that exchange, he gave you something you’d never expected: attention, affection, affirmation. With that whirlwind passion came something you couldn’t define; a possession of sorts, a deadly attraction. In those moments, he was a rock that you held tightly on to; a safety net always there to catch you when you fell. He was the one that allowed you to be weaker, but dared you to be stronger.
In slow motion, you see it all again. When the smoke cleared, and the puddle of his blood grew thicker, you remembered the good times, the love that only fantasies could describe. All of his smiles were for you; his laughter a secret that only you could cultivate; and a pleasure you could only make him feel with each graze of your ruby red nails upon his body.
As the handcuffs are placed on your wrists, you half-smile at the officer in his crisp blue uniform. No matter what happens from now on, it can’t compare to the first time.
And the first murder.
I hope you enjoyed the snippet from my writing closet. I am currently plotting away a new story for a novella, and while brainstorming, the above popped into my head. I can almost “see” the brick buildings and hear the music, as songs from past summers loop.
If you enjoyed the above and would like me to continue to develop this idea, let me know.
Additionally, in the coming weeks, I'll be gathering steam to create a street team. Can't wait to share the amazing news. :)