Scarlet

She tasted like bleeding gum and salt.

I wondered if anyone ever told her that. She just smiled, the happiest I've had seen her in a while. I couldn't bear to make rude remark in fear of hurting her, even when intended as a joke, as we usually did.

I wanted to insult her. I wanted to hear her snap a witty comeback and then we would laugh together. I wanted to.

But the glimmer in her eyes just deprived me of any sarcasm I've ever had lying around the back of my tongue. My throat went dry and my arms went numb. I just didn't have the guts to say things. I just didn't have the heart to move.

I never thought of honesty as something akin to picking a scab. You're digging an old wound, and end up scarring more. There was a hint of disgust, and you're trying to cover it. I didn't expect there would be screaming, though.

I only wanted to help her.

I only wanted her not to be sad all the time.

In my argument, you can't be happy without bearing a little sadness every now and then. You can't have meaning without struggles. You can't have a good thing without enduring bad things beforehand.

Can't have a good relationship without a bad guy looming around?

She just told me I was a hypocrite, and then my mouth tasted like bleeding gum as my cheek felt the hot sting from the palm I've always cherished.

The first thing I noticed about her was her eyes. How they look so different under the night sky we used to stroll together in, under the neon lights of our secret hiding place, under the dim lights of our favorite coffee place, and under the one white light of her bedroom lamp. She wasn't exactly the most cheerful person, but she was the brightest of sun for the brief moments we chat about her favorite bands, her pipe dreams, and her handmade tattoo.

One day the eyes went dark. A void nowhere close as a night sky, or the coffee she liked to make me.

Underneath the shade of the sole lamp of her bedroom, she looked at me like she saw someone else. Or something else. I knew she was tense, yet she wasn't moving. Her skin was pale. I went closer in hope of cupping her cheeks and telling her that I was there for her, whatever it was, but something was between my hand and her flesh. Cold. Steely.

I guess that's precisely the problem. I was there for her.

I never thought she would look that stunning in red.

It was about time the men in blue came knocking on my door. By then I was already packed up, wrote my sibling a note to take care of whatever little I've left behind, and sat on the dining room table. They started questioning me, and I admitted to what they went here for. The last thing I wanted to do was wasting more people's time.

When they asked about 'the motive', I just told them what I thought to myself all the time.

I only wanted her not to be sad all the time.

I heard electrocution would leave the taste of steel in my mouth, so when I see her again in the next life I hoped to tell her the sensation of what I sent her away with.