sylvenn_rosewood

He walked away from me.

Black coated back
as the rain continued
as I stood there, alone

How I wish he’d come back for me
How I wish he’d turn around when I yelled for him
How I wish things were as before
How I wish to return home to messages of apologies and love

Instead, silence
Instead, devastation
Instead, loneliness


Instead, reality

I watched Sex & the City 2 on the plane ride home.
I thought of you and us; you and us having an apartment; you and us staying in and watching TV; you and us and our future.
You were with her.

I was home and happy.
You felt far away. The distance created distance. And I wondered - do I kind of like it?
You were with her.

The Brunch










The late morning light shown through the window, falling upon her half-asleep eyes. He snored along as usual, which she began to appreciate as white noise rather than a nuisance. All that was visible out of the fourth story window was another apartment building, with interchanging designs on the facade, which she found were intriguing, meditative.

Nudge, nudge, nudge.

She was ready to wake and start their Sunday morning ritual – fucking and feeding. He smiled as he woke and saw her face. He was always pleased to wake up to her.

While somewhat spiritual persons, they had no need for a Sunday service – they graced the gates of Heaven with each orgasm. She felt nothing short of ecstasy.

“I was thinking of ordering take out – sushi?”

She was laying on his chest as he gazed forlornly ahead. “I’d love that.. but I actually have a brunch to go to.”

She sat up. “W..wait, what?” They’ve dedicated each Sunday morning to each other for months. He wouldn’t do this to her, leave her on their Sunday, especially without giving advance notice. Her heart sank; something felt off.

“It’s a faculty brunch. I wasn’t sure if I was going to go, but I feel an obligation as the director of the department to attend these sorts of functions.”

“Well, why didn’t you tell me about it? Is it a plus one?”

“You know, I’m not sure. Usually the invitation will say something to the effect of ‘bring your spouse’ or the like, and I don’t think this one did. But ultimately people will end up bringing someone else, regardless.”

“But…it’s our Sunday. We always have Sexy Sunday. Can’t you just skip this one?” She was horny, feeling playful, and confused. A wave of panic was sweeping over her mind, but there was no place to pin her discomfort. Work is work; her paranoia was irrational.

“I know, love, and I’m sorry.” He rarely looked up during their conversation, lost in the fog of his mind. “You can stay here if you’d like,” he finally met her eyes, with a faint smile. “I’d love the thought of you being here while I was away. I’d just love it.” He meant it.

“Whatever.” She turned her back on him. Tears welled in her eyes. Why am I like this? He’s just doing his work duty - why am I so needy?

He sighed, disappointed in himself. “Stay, please,” she nearly begged, possibly the first time she’s ever begged a man for anything.

“I’m sorry, love.” The decision was made; telling her was simply a formality.
He got out of bed and got ready for the brunch – showered, shaved, dressed. All the while she was prancing around in just her underwear, trying to entice him. It’s worked in the past, maybe it’ll work now.
It didn’t. He kissed her goodbye and left. She felt irrationally abandoned and scared. The apartment was stark with his absence, as if the bed, the drapes, and the plants felt abandoned, too.

She got dressed for her day of confinement, waiting for him to return. Did the dishes, started reading a new book. She could hear each time the elevator was utilized, and always hoped it would be him arriving home, that he would walk through the door. Like a patient little puppy. He didn’t come.

-----------------------

A knock on the door.

She was sitting on the couch in the living room, reading Philip Roth. Her head perked up to the door, instantaneously alert.

Knock. Knock. Muffled men’s voices.

Slowly closing the book, she made her way towards the door. Delivery? Neighbors? The Super? She looked through the peephole and saw three burly men, each dressed in all black. The shortest had keys to the apartment and was about to unlock the two locks. Adrenaline surged as she swiftly crouched under the dining room table in the next room, where it would be hard to spot her.

The door opened – the sound she’d been waiting for all day – but instead of her man, monsters arrived.
The three heavy-footed men swept the apartment, looking for her.

“Where the fuck is this bitch?” one said with a Jersey twang.
“He said she’d be here.” Another ensured.
He? Jim? Did he set this up?

“He knows what we’d do to him if he didn’t produce the goods. It was either this bitch or his other one – what was her name? Lucifer?” the short one chuckled.
“Nah uh,” the third man, tall, with a Russian accent, said. “This bitch here is called Laura, his other bitch is called Leslie”
“Close enough to Lucifer”, the short one said.
“Yeah, but who wants to fuck a devil? Nah, I want me some angel pussy.”

The tall Russian walked across the kitchen toward the window with the fire escape – this was her only chance to move, with his back turned. She launched herself towards the front door, only a few feet away.
Her predator was just outside the kitchen, out of her view, and caught his prey.
“Well, well, well,” he whispered. “Look at this beauty, all dressed in black.”

The men convened on her.
“Caught ya, ya little slut.”
“Let’s find out how much of a slut she really is, huh? Her man seems to think it’s a good idea.”
Two of them held her upper body by locking her arms behind her, started caressing her hair, kissing her neck. The short man pulled out a knife.
“Open ‘er up.”
He cut her black dress in two, down the middle, exposing her voluptuous breasts, which were heaving with each breath. The short man got to his knees, ready to devour his victim.
The men reveled in her vulnerable nudity.
“Gawd, I bet she fucks like an angel.”
“She sure tastes like one!”
She fought. She pushed, she kicked, attempted to scream. It was futile. Her fate was sealed. Did he do this to her? Could what they were saying be true – did John let this happen?
One grabbed her under the arms, one grabbed her legs, one tied her mouth shut with a piece of black cloth. They carried her to the bed, the California King they shared. Plenty of room for three men and a rape. Plenty of memories to tarnish.

-------------------------------------

He hopped on the subway once the brunch had ended. He was forlorn, but not distraught. He was aware of the choices he made; yet felt no remorse. He was given the choice to save both women, but it would have been difficult for him – it was either him or one of them – they were going to cut off his thumbs! What was he supposed to do? He didn’t want to hurt Laura, but he didn’t want to hurt Leslie. He wasn’t sure why, but he was content with his decision.

Sirens passed as he walked north on Broadway towards the apartment. He didn’t notice the first responders parked right outside the apartment building; he didn’t notice the EMS personnel running passed him to the elevator as he checked his mail (oh good, the new New Yorker). He still didn’t notice that the first responders took the elevator the fourth floor – his fourth floor.

He finally looked up to see the door to 4J wide open, personnel in uniforms spilling in and out.
There were police in the kitchen and the living room. He passively walked to the bedroom to discover the extent of the mess he made.
Her naked body was sprawled across the bed, head hanging off the edge, limbs spread wide. She looked like a dark angel with open wings – except for all the blood.
“I counted 47 stab wounds.”
“48,” another EMS personnel corrected.
“48 stab wounds.” The first EMS clarified. “The coroner will confirm, but looks like the fatal one was right here.”
The EMS officer pointed to her right breast, his favorite breast, the one he would fondle every night as they went to sleep.
He took in her body, tried to memorize the state she was in, in hopes to feel something, anything – eyes blackened, throat cut, one tit missing, her soft belly stabbed over and over again, her sensual thighs with deep lacerations.

He left the apartment and went to a nearby bar. Placed a call to Leslie – “Hey, want to meet up?” He was looking forward to seeing her.