"Bloody Sheets"

Things will never be the same between us. I sat there, gently holding her fingers in mine and literally watched the love drain from her eyes. One moment she loved me; the next moment, nothing. Her face was without a trace of any affection. I told her over and over that I loved her; I always have loved her, and I always will love her. But she didn't believe me. In her blue eyes I saw only distrust.
   
I died that instant. Her hand felt cold and I knew it would always be. No matter how much I loved her, she wouldn't love me back. My heart seemed to stop beating, but the rest of my body imitated life.
   
She walked away and faced the wall, her cold hands touching her soft pink lips. Those lips would never love me again, I knew. Those arms would never hold me again and mean it. I wanted to say I was sorry, but I'd already said that too many times. And the words didn't do justice to how sorry I was. Nor could the words "I love you" do justice to the love I felt, but I said them anyway.
   
She turned to glare at my words, and I suddenly felt embarrassed; as if I really didn’t mean them. Her haunting silence caused self doubt. “How dare I say that, how dare I claim love, yet practice hate,” her eyes said to me.

I cursed myself for fucking up. I hated myself for causing her pain, but most of all I hated myself for not loving her those few brief moments in this bed when I had loved another. I would have given my life to take that awful truth away. I would’ve died for her forgiveness. I asked if she loved me, if she forgave me, for that was all I really wanted; but her abused soul and weak soft lips said no. It was death all over again.
   
Unconvinced by my words, she was victim to my touch. I gently eased her down to the bed, and slowly began to undress her; surprised she didn’t pull away. She was wearing my football jersey from college, the number 81 spread evenly across her chest. Quickly, before she could think of my betrayal, I sought to regain her love. She let me slide the jersey up and over her head and for several seconds I leaned there, doing nothing more than admiring the beautiful descent of her shoulders to the fall of her naked breasts. Her nipples were the same shade of pink as her lips and as her nose on a cold winter's day. No other woman's beauty matched so perfectly with itself. None ever would.
Her skin was cold and pale. I wondered if the confession of my infidelity had driven all the blood from her, she was so cold. She let me touch her but turned away when I did. I kissed her neck and shoulders, her stomach; and finally her breasts. She wouldn't turn her head to face me. My legs separated hers, and gently atop her I climbed, my hands now falling down her hips. She let out a little whimper when my fingers wrapped around her panties. Still, her face didn't move and I thought by now there'd be an imprint of her profile on the pillow.

I set out to appease her, to make her love me and my mouth went between her legs. At initial contact from my lips to hers I felt her tremble slightly; then her hips tensed. She opened herself to me, it seemed, as I licked and swallowed, and loved the sweet taste of her small mouth tightening around my tongue. I was apologizing to her all over again, showing her my love, breathing the words, "I love you" into her. With my body, I was doing what my words could not. I was reaching in, as far as I could, and then my soul reached in. My red throbbing hard soul pushed her roughly into the head of the bed. I gritted my teeth, closed my eyes, and grabbed at her breasts with my crawling spidery fingers.
 
Her moans were barely audible as I pumped myself into her, exploding a little inside me with each thrust. Then finally, not soon enough if I was to judge by her emotionless eyes, I exploded in her, and felt the endless flux of renowned joy. Our love was like a river, flowing eternally amongst all storms.

When I awoke the next morning, all seemed right again. She was lying beside me, wearing only her sparkling wedding ring. She seemed to be waiting for me again; in forgiveness. With her head still turned, I kissed at the corner of her mouth and rolled on top of her again, but this time I couldn’t satisfy her. Lucky for me, she didn’t wake to notice. Defeated, I hung my head to see my literal limpness. I saw it covered in blood.

Confused, I jumped out of bed and backed up to the window, where drapes kept out the morning sun. Hesitantly, I opened them, and saw my cold naked woman lying on bed sheets spotted in red. She was lying that same way, legs apart, a puddle of blood between them, head cocked to one side, eyes wide and open. She was not awake, no; not conscious. I panicked, felt her wrist and neck; no, not even alive!
   
My stomach dropped. My mind burst. She could not be dead, I told myself. Could not be dead! I'd just been fucking her cold stiff body! I clenched at the sides of my face and closed my eyes. The sight of her naked bloody skin soaked into my mind. Unable to look any longer, I turned way. How could she be dead? My escaping reason asked. How could my love have killed her?
   
I left her there, soaking in her own blood; as I showered her blood off me. It flowed from my skin down the drain, so easily gone, but not forgotten. Every few moments, I'd peek into the bedroom to see her still lying there, naked and unmoving, legs apart and head cocked to one side. She didn't move. She didn't breathe, but I knew she couldn't be dead. I still tasted her, the sweetness of her moist soul in my mouth. I could still feel the burning of her juices as they slid down my throat.
   
I made breakfast for two and waited for her to come out of the bedroom, sleepy eyed and yawning; but she never did. I couldn't eat. I threw my eggs and bacon away, untouched. I put the pancakes in the fridge in case she decided to live again.

Late that night, after I'd decided she really was dead; I rolled her blood stained body up in our white bed sheets. I stomped out the haunting imprint of her profile from my pillow. By moonlight, I took my dead woman in sheets to a nearby river.
   
With the body in white sheets slung over my shoulder, I led the funeral procession to our new home. I found a high rock to jump from, holding her in a bear hug that I wasn't willing to release. I wanted us to die together, in that embrace, the river's tide washing the sinful blood from both our bodies. I jumped, falling with her, managing to hold on as we pierced the water and fell downward until gravity no longer wanted us. We lingered, fifteen feet below water, quiet and still, but moving downstream with the pull of the current. I opened my eyes to see the plants far below us stay behind. I was still holding her; my mouth shut tight against the water, but I forced myself to breathe to induce drowning. When I did, something kicked my leg. The sheets I held seemed to rustle; as if roused, as if awoken. I choked on the water and let her go, not on purpose, but not entirely on accident either. The rolled up sheets sank. I rose to the surface for air, for sanity, and to save my very life. I gasped at what had happened and went wrong. She wasn't supposed to wake up. How could she not have been dead?

I swam back under for her, to no avail. I looked in all the places I could. I looked until I almost drowned again, until I knew she was dead again. She was tied up in bed sheets beneath the water. She could not have survived. If my sex didn’t kill her, the water surely must have.
   
I was crawling ashore when I found her body twisted in the twigs of a tree growing out of the water. No flesh was visible, but I recognized her form beneath the wet linens. There was no mistaking those perfectly round authentic breasts and her soft naked shoulders. I stopped, afraid to go near her. Looking closer, I saw her sunken face, her dark blue eyes glaring from beneath the white sheets. Alive, she was beautiful, but dead she was ghastly. Even her pink lips were showing themselves through the wet fabric. Were they moving? Were they forming words?

"I love and forgive you."
   
Utter fear sent me running away, not daring to look back. I ran as though she were chasing me. I felt as though she was. Exhausted, I again found myself on the river’s edge, beneath the large rock I’d leaped from earlier. My head fell back as I saw a figure atop that rock. My eyes squinted against the light of the moon, and fear suddenly left me alone on the river’s edge.

There she stood, her arms outstretched, reaching for the heavens like clouds of smoke. The white sheets draped around her like a wedding gown, clean and bloodless. Her diamond wedding ring glinted like the sparkling water of her grave below, the river. She was my wife again, not the sunken-eyed cadaver I’d seen earlier. The wind began to blow, whistling around her as she twirled her head this way and that, as if she was looking for someone; as if she was looking for me.
   
My weak voice called out her name, and she gazed down in my direction. Though very far away, I could see tears in those blue eyes, and when I looked closely, I could see her soft pink lips moving. They were saying, “I love and forgive you,” the words quiet in the midnight wind but loud as ever in my heart. Slowly, she inched towards the rock’s edge and when I realized what she was going to do, I screamed and began frantically up the hill, determined not to let her die again. It seemed years before I reached the top, and I agonized with each step, certain she’d be gone when I reached her, but she wasn’t. A still second went by as she turned around, her back now towards the water, so I could see her one last time. From several feet away I reached out to hold her, and she fell backward, like I’d pushed her. She dropped into the river, but made no splash when her body hit the water. Without a thought, I jumped in after her, and the water, as it entered my lungs, washed away my guilt.