Cross My Heart
It felt like it was almost routine now… it hurt every time she promised me, always saying ‘cross my heart and hope to die.’
Promises are such fragile little things, much like crystal glasses. They’re both rather delicate, if either is broken there’s one hell of a price to pay.
She would make an X-shape across her chest over her heart with her right hand… it was always her right hand. She probably hadn’t noticed the habit she’d created, when her heart wasn’t into the promise she’d use her right hand, if she intended on actually keeping it she’d use her left hand - but that only happened once in a blue moon.
I blame myself, I really do. I trusted her too quickly, trusted her enough to be blinded from the broken promises she had told to humour me, I don’t know why had felt the need to, but for some reason she did. They had been hollow promises that had so much potential of becoming truth, instead of just delusions.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me every day of the week, shame on me. Shame on me for believing that she thought more of me than just another someone else to use at her disposal.
The lying wasn’t the worst part of it though, the worst part was that she thought I was stupid enough to believe her when she denied lying in the first place. Not only was she chipping away at my trust in her, she had the nerve to insult my intelligence. Did I ever have any trust in her to start with?
The relationship - if it was even that - we shared seems very one-sided now, but at the time it had seemed equal. I needed her more than she obviously needed me, otherwise she wouldn’t have needed to lie to my face.
‘Cross my heart’, she’d say when she talked to me. She used it so often it was sort of like a greeting. She obviously liked saying it, as it was so frequently used. Those three simple little words filled my soul with dread and put a stone in my stomach every time she muttered them, because then I knew she was going to lie to me.
She hadn’t always been a liar, at the beginning she wouldn’t have even thought about not telling me the truth. I think she began lying when she realised she could get away with it, but there’s a fine line between getting away with it and being allowed to get away with it.
Ignorance is bliss, as the saying goes, and I wish I’d never caught her in the act - lying right to my face. Her eyes full of false interest, and her smile was practically strained whenever she was around me, I was actually impressed she managed to keep up the façade as long as she had.
She lied to me, patronised me, ripped out my heart and used it as a paperweight, but even through all that the one thing I never did was hurt her… didn’t lay a single finger on her. I don’t know what happened, or why I reacted like I did, but one night when I confronted her about the lies… she slapped me… looking back on it now I can still feel the stinging sensation spread over my cheek. That was the final straw, I had finally reached my breaking point, my limit of the amount of abuse I was willing to take for someone that wasn’t even worth it to begin with. I snapped… just like I’d snapped her neck. My humanity had crumbled into tiny pieces, leaving behind a raw, untamed anger I hadn’t even known I’d been harbouring all this time.
The screaming, oh the screaming! I can still hear it ringing in my ears, splitting my skull in half as I tightened my grip around her throat. She begged me to stop, pleaded with me to let go, I could see her mouth moving… but I couldn’t hear a single word. Not one sound. My vision was swimming in red, bright blood red that forced everything to seem like a target of my anger.
Poor Sylvia… poor cruel, hurtful Sylvia with her dyed blonde hair and diamondback snake tattoo around her ankle. I hadn’t meant to break her neck; I hadn’t meant to hurt her at all. She had hit me first, pushed me too far, beyond the point of no return. When I felt the bone in her neck splinter, a wave of numbness washed over my body. The anger crawled back into the cavern it had grown and inhabited deep within my core, leaving me feeling cold and empty… oh so much more empty and broken than when I’d first met her. I wish I hadn’t.
I was nothing now… just a fragment of my former self, I felt unfixable. My soul, my heart had been frozen and shattered into a thousand splinters - putting it back together again would be like trying to finish a jigsaw puzzle without all of the pieces there, it would only be half there and the picture would be just about recognisable.
Guilt and relief swirled around inside my head, a sickening guilt for murdering someone but a weightlifting relief for finally getting rid of her. The coldness was always there though, it clung to everything. Crawled over my skin like a fresh morning frost. Chilled my bones to their very centres. My blood didn’t feel warm anymore, it was as if someone had drained me of the thick red water and pumped liquid nitrogen into my veins.
Some people deserve to die… some people never deserved to live in the first place.