On the twelfth day of my continuous nightmare, I went to her.

This whole time I had been avoiding her, scared of her and how she’d react to seeing me in my troubled state.

But, she had once accepted me before, so there’s no need for me to be scared of her… right?

I softly knock on her door and she opens it with a look of surprise. At this point, we had been together non-stop for a year, so this twelve-day break was very long for us. Even longer than when she found out about my cannibalistic past.

She instantly wrapped her arms around me in a close embrace, running her fingers gently through my hair.

She sat me down on her bed and said,

“Have you been starving yourself, you look like a skeleton!”

I tried to open my mouth and tell her I haven’t had an appetite, but my mouth was too dry. She noticed this and got up to get me water and some food.

I tried to eat, I really did, but I couldn’t keep it in. I felt nauseous.

She continued encouraging me to eat, but I only ended up gagging with every bite.

I tried to hold back my gagging, but soon this turned into coughing. I went over to her desk where she gently placed the glass of water, but I started coughing even more and even stumbled onto the floor. I was grasping for anything stable nearby as I was falling, instead I swiped all her belongings off the table onto the floor next to me. I reached up for the water with my weak arms, but she brought it over to me. Her eyes were full of warm concern.

I sipped on the water slowly, swallowing it drop by drop.

She started to clean up the mess I made, rearranging her belongings back onto the appropriate spots on her desk.

Her pencil case on the back left corner,

Her phone on the right side where it’s closest to the outlet.

I felt bad that she had to clean up after me so I too helped her pick up her things.

Her pencils, into her UBC mug.

Her ruler, on the table behind the mug.

Calculator, next to her phone, on top of her math homework.

The scissors, into her neck, right into her artery.

Her scissors?

And I wept: “I’m sorry.” over and over and over again.

I really am a helpless fool: how much pain must I cause her? How many times must I beg for unearned forgiveness?

She looked at me with her eyes widened, and blood pooling in her mouth.

In that moment I remembered the time when I was younger when I visited the Niagara Falls. Everyone claims that it’s the most beautiful waterfall in the world. Even as a child I felt that claim was an overstatement; surely this Canadian fall cant be the best in the word; there must be something else for these was something missing from its scenery.

Now I realize that the missing component was it’s incorrect colour.

Now I think I’ve seen the most beautiful waterfall in the world and it’s oh so close to me.

She flows so gloriously before my eyes as if it were in slow motion. The deep red tone of her blood would at times, perfectly reflect the light from her lamp, making it look like it were sparkling.

She made the mistake of pulling the scissors out of her neck; this only made her blood flow more rapidly down her neck. It never stopped. I held onto her wound, trying to keep pressure on it, but I was conflicted by the desire to watch it continue cascading.

She couldn’t say a word to me, but all I could say to her was sorry. I cried. She also started crying. She put her hand on my head, stroking my hair again. She tried to smile, for me.

I was the boy for her; the boy that would be the inevitable end of her.

I continued crying as I leaned over to kiss her.

I had no strength in my legs to go get help, and no power in my voice to yell.

She didn’t try to struggle.

She stayed with me until the end with her warm smile.

I tasted her blood on my lips, as residue from our kiss. She was slowly starting to fade; her warm smile was losing its warmth. I too, started to fade out.

I went to kiss her again but instead I took a bite out of her lower lip. A chunk of her flesh fell into my mouth after an elastic pull.

She continued to smile as I continued to consume her raw.

Bit by bit, she was becoming a part of me.

I continued cathartic feast throughout the night and into the next morning.

Her friend next door came in looking for her since she missed her class.

She described the scene to the police as if gore itself was personified.

Blood splattered on the walls.

The carpet soaked crimson.

Bits of her flesh missing.

And me.

Still crying.

Covered in her blood.

Holding her in my arms as I took bites out of her being.

I was right… I never needed to be scared of her in the first place.

I should’ve been scared of myself.