Best of the Brine

Can't Have One Without The Other


Your name is David and you are between the ages of 18 and 24 years old.

You watch me.

Today you take your time when you follow me home, being careful not to alert me to your presence. Your shadow falls behind you, eerie and cold on the pavement. Rain, just light enough to lend a chill to the air, settles on your leather jacket. The black material creaks as you walk forward. With great care and anticipation, you slip your gloves over your fingers, squeezing your hands into fists. You know that I do not notice you. Stealth is my only companion tonight on the lonely walk home.

A street light flickers above your head, and for just a moment you consider aborting your plan. But it is such a good plan. You can't resist the urge to keep going. The end will be so very sweet.

Your boot lands in a small puddle, sending droplets of water into the night air like an explosion. They reflect the light like diamonds, throwing miniature rainbows in all directions. You think they are beautiful, but not as beautiful as the way the vein in my neck pulsates with rich, dark blood. You want to see it explode just like the puddle of water underneath your foot. The liquid will coat your fingers, turning your gloves into red velvet.

You bury your excitement in your current task: watching me clumsily unlock my door. With great effort, you let your walls fall down and begin to let yourself fall in love with me. It is in the way some of my hair has fallen from my pony tail, so I tuck it behind my ear. You find yourself fascinated by the smudge of ink that has gone unnoticed all day along my jawline. The love swells in your chest until you are consumed by it. You know that without it, your next actions would have little to no effect. Because you can't hate someone without loving them first.

The door clicks shut behind me, and you know that I won't lock it for another forty-five seconds. When I first arrive home, I always take off my jacket, shoes and turn on lights. Then, I swing my purse over a chair in the living room and place my keys in the pretty little ceramic bowl decorated by whales and seaweed my niece gave to me at Christmas. It is only then that I turn around towards the door to ensure my safety for the rest of the evening.

But the hallway is darkened by your shadow. You lock the door for me and commit to memory the complete shock and terror on my face. Words begin to form on my lips, but you know what I will say. You have heard the pleas, the cries, the accusations dozens of times before. I am no different than any of the others, except that I am now and you still love me.

It's only when you see that I have wiped away the smudge and brushed my hair back into place that your love is lost. You think back to the puddle of water and all that blood pumping through my body. Red velvet comes to mind as you watch me run towards the kitchen. But I will not escape you tonight.

As you tie me down, you introduce yourself. I don't hear you, because my mind has already left this place.

You spill some of my blood and wait for it to pool.

Splash, you think to yourself as you pound your fist into the puddle. But the explosion is not what you wanted; you need more.

You wait, and watch me.