The thing with dead people is that you could always count on them. If you asked them to be there, be it in spirit form, they would be. Dead people had nothing to do, after all ,they were dead; in ever sense of the word. Maybe it would be better off if she died, she thought to herself. No one would expect anything from her, not much at least. Everything would move on, pile up their losses like a librarian stacks used books, and learn to live without her. Death was easy. It'd happened far too much but maybe one more wouldn't hurt. After all, she'd lost everything. Her family, her happiness and her capacity to love. Sure, he kissed her like he was a drowning man in need of saving but that wasn't love; it was desperation. She definitely loved him, she told herself, and she loved the rest of her family. Would it really be easier without them?
Maybe things we be easier without him. She worried about him all the time and when they kissed, when he pressed his lips to hers hungrily, she felt nothing but pain. The pain wasn't because of him but because of all she'd been through. Life was easier without love, without knowing people depended upon you and needed you for their emotional survival. If she could just find a way to leave, without pain, she would. She needed a way to pay for all she'd done. She had survived countless times and it wasn't fair when everyone else was piling up their losses and she was playing families with her boyfriend. She wanted a way out from a dangerous life filled with death and sins and its fair share of torn apart lovers. Why did she get her lover when two others didn't? Did she deserve it? Had she done something that deemed her worthy of keeping the only good thing in her life? He made her happy but her well, as Lori had once put it, was running dry.
God had promised the resurrection of the dead where those worthy lived, was she worthy? In some sick twist of fate, did God see something in her he hadn't seen in her sister, mother, brother and father? What did she have that they didn't?
She searched her mind, each compartment and memory until she realised- she put the stars in the sky and fish in their sea. She was a goddess, but why did that make her special? What made her a goddess?
"My little baby girl. My special little girl."
She shook her mother's voice from her head, memories of a better life replaying in her head. She had to tell him; lie and say she didn't love him anymore. No matter how hard it made her heart ache, she needed to break up with him. He was weak with her; the whole group was. As long as he- strong, confident, brave- was in love, the group was vulnerable. She needed to put her family's survival above her own romantic needs. After all, maybe she really was just in it in the hope of falling in love before her inevitable death. That's what she'd tell him at least. She'd say she didn't love him anymore, that the love she had once felt for him was fake, just a figment of her imagination because she wanted so desperately to have a lover. She'd break his heart and crush his soul and when the lights drained from his eyes, she'd know she had done the right thing for the benefit of the group. She'd know that lying to him and convincing him she didn't need him was what everyone needed.
She knew that this could send him over the edge, that the voices that told him he was unloved would come back, but it was needed for basic survival. Everyone knew love made even the strongest of people weak and men like him couldn't be weak.
She'd have to break his heart, watch his tanned skin turn pale and his eyes that are so full of life turn dull, watch the confidence drain from him and notice the way he went back to his introverted ways. She was going to destroy him, but in all his destruction he would become stronger and braver.
She too would lose herself; the bounce in her step and the giddiness in her laugh. She would become her old shell, careful but kind, emotional but wise, a liar but brave.
She was a hurricane and it was time for her to wreck havoc.