White Lips Kissed

Chapter 1

I strolled down the sidewalk cheerfully whistling; feeling absolutely fantastic about myself and about life in general. That’s the kind of thing drinking did to me, and probably what it does for most people. I hadn’t had too many though, just enough to keep myself from thinking about the fight I had recently had with Chris. It was nothing too major, but I had just really needed to escape and think by myself for a while. Well, by myself surrounded by about one hundred drunks. Which, in a way, was the same as being alone.

But now I was tired of solitude. I wanted to go back home and apologize to Chris because I felt like a million bucks and couldn’t have cared less about protecting my pride. I would whisper a heartfelt sorry in his ear and he would hug me and repeat the same word back. Then we would spend the rest of the evening holding each other tightly and watching old movies. Nothing was going to bring me down.

At least, that is how I imagined things would happen. But when I turned the corner onto our street, the lovely pictures I had painted in my head for the evening were torn to shreds. I knew immediately what had happened. Many times you will read books or watch movies where a victim’s family and friends will be in complete denial of the fate of their loved one. But I wasn’t like that. From the instant I rounded the corner, I could just tell.

At first it was just a figure my eyes picked up on; a dark form lying on the sidewalk. I calmly walked up to it and recognized that is was the body of a man, curled up like a young child and bleeding profusely. I didn’t have to be a doctor to know that he was dead. In the cloud covered sky of the evening, I still couldn’t make out the face of the man. But I knew who he was. An instinctual pang of suffering shot through my heart, and I just knew.

I crept closer, not wanting to disturb the peace of the poor soul. All I could think of as I stared at him was how good he had been to me. Chris was the best man anyone could ever hope to have. And now he was lying there, in a pile of blood that still stood out a bright crimson on the grayish sidewalk. This told me that his life had been stolen from him quite recently, probably a split second before I rounded that corner.

I suddenly recalled seeing the shadow of a man running away from the scene just as I laid eyes on it. Clearly he had been the killer. I considered running off in the same direction in search of him. But I knew that was pointless. He would be long gone by then. I stared more intently at the lifeless body in front of me. I noticed stab wounds through his chest and stomach area. Blood still poured from them. It was making its way towards my shoes. I took a step back.

His face was so pale, almost ghost like. I couldn't look for long though, because the expression on his face was too horrifying for me to tolerate. But at the same time, I still did not truly feel anything. There was that pain in my heart, but it was more like a dull throb at the moment. I decided that the paleness of Chris was more angel like than ghost like. This made me feel better. I almost smiled at the thought. And now there was one more thing I had to do.

I slowly knelt beside him, careful not to stain myself with his blood, and gave him a kiss on the lips. They were cold and lifeless but they felt amazing all the same. Now I did smile. I was ready. I took my phone out of my back pocket and called the police. I told them where to come, and they arrived quickly. I watched calmly as they carried my sweet angel away. Some of them asked if I was okay. I told them no, but that I would be shortly. They gave me their condolences and left the scene. I left it too.

I climbed the stairs to our apartment and walked inside. For a long moment I stood and stared at it. I gazed at the life at all the things that once represented the life we shared together. Now they were reminders that I was alone. The word bounced around in my head. Alone. Yes, I concluded, I was alone. And then a true, searing pain ripped through my heart.

I lost it completely. I tore every book, video game, and knickknack off of the shelves. I threw everything from every drawer onto the ground. I broke anything I could. A vase. A lamp. A picture frame. Another vase. About ten more picture frames. I took the pictures inside of the frames and ripped the up. With each tear I had to have more. I stalked off to our room and grabbed all of our photo albums. I took every photo out individually and tore it up.

Soon little pieces of memories were scattered all over the floor. But yet there were still so many more. I thought up a better, more efficient way. I went to the kitchen and grabbed the box of matches from one of the cupboards. How fortunate I felt to have a fireplace at that moment. Chris had wanted that, when we were searching for a place together so long ago. He was so thrilled when he saw one here. But we never had much opportunity to use it.

Until now. I grabbed the remaining albums and threw them into the fireplace. I took out a match and struck it on the side of the box. I tossed it in among the piles of photos. They ignited immediately. I sat down on the floor and watched all our memories burn.

Eventually the flame slowly shriveled and then died. Just like Chris had. Then I cried. I sat there and cried until no more tears could flow from my eyes. And then I slowly laid down on the floor and sobbed. I went to sleep that way. I could have gotten up and collapsed onto the bed if I had wanted to. But that was our bed. I wasn't going to sleep in our bed, not without the other half of us. So I slept on the cold, hard floor, the sobs coming from my throat acting as a sort of lullaby. A lullaby to my pain and to my sorrow, to my suffering and torment.



Chapter 2

I woke up dazed and confused. Sunlight streamed in from somewhere and blinded me as I tried to open my eyes. I rubbed my face. I felt hung over. But I knew that I hadn't drunk anywhere near enough for that. My head throbbed as I tried to recall the previous night. I finally got my eyes to open. They felt so dry. I deduced that I must have been crying, and quite a good deal, too. This must be the reason for my headache, I thought. I wasn't accustomed to crying so much or so hard.

The sun was still prohibiting me from viewing my surroundings. I lifted my hand to protect my sensitive eyes from the harsh light. It worked well enough. I began to take note of where I was. A few things in particular caught my attention. The stone fireplace. And a huge mess on the floor. Shattered glass, torn papers, and other various items littered the hardwood. It looked like a mini hurricane had hit. However, I did notice one corner of the room that was completely untouched.

There was a desk. Everything on it was perfectly arranged in a specific manner. This was an obvious clue to me that the desk was not mine. I sat up and felt my muscles protest this action. Floors were not the most comfortable places to lie. I didn't think I had the strength to stand. But I wanted to investigate that desk. So I attempted to crawl. That was a horrible idea. I sliced my hand on a jagged piece of glass.

But the sudden pain cleared the fogginess from my mind. I remembered everything now. Rounding the corner. Seeing the figure. Knowing it was Chris. Kissing his angelic form for the last time then watching him get taken away. Climbing the stairs. Entering our apartment and standing there for who knows how long. And then the rampage I went on. I didn't regret it at all. None of that shit mattered without Chris to share it with.

Except the desk. The desk mattered, because it was all Chris's. That was the one thing we didn't share. He never forbade me from looking through it, or using it, but all the same I knew that it was his. That was where he worked. That was where he, as a hopeful songwriter, would sit for hours, trying to think up some ingenious new lyric. It was where he would cry out in frustration after many hours and lay his head down in defeat.

It was also where I would come up from behind and wrap my arms around him, whenever he felt hopeless. It was where I would give him a peck on the cheek for encouragement. It was there in that corner where I would rub my hand gently along his smooth cheek and tell him he was brilliant. And sitting at that little desk in the corner, Chris would turn to me with appreciative eyes and thank me. I was always welcomed into that corner. It made me realize that we even shared the things that were ours alone.

This made me feel alright about crawling the rest of the way to the desk, being wary of any more stray shards of glass, and opening the desk's drawers. There were no secrets with us. I had a special space too, a small drawer next to our bed. It was my drawer, but Chris knew everything that was inside. I informed him every time I took a memento of somewhere we visited or something we did together. "This is going into that drawer," I would say, and he would smile.

The first two drawers were filled with papers, all organized by date. Each paper contained varying amounts of messy writing. One drawer was filled with little notes to remind Chris of some interview or party or deadline. I remembered clearly waking many a morning to find a paper taped to the bathroom mirror, or coming home to find one slapped onto the front door.

Another was filled with song lyrics and song ideas. I smiled a little as I looked through them. None of these papers were new to my eyes. So many times had I woken up to the smell of ink and a paper being held an inch away from my face by a wildly grinning Chris. "I thought this up last night!" he would exclaim, and then proceed to beg for my critique on his work.

I put them neatly back where they originated from. Then I moved on to the final drawer. Upon first glance, it contained only writing utensils. Pens and pencils perfectly lined up side by side. But I gave it a closer look, and noticed a small compartment in the back. I felt around in the dark and pulled out some more papers. These, however, were different. The words were typed rather than written. I began to read them.

They were letters. But not friendly letters from a relative or an old friend. No, these were hate letters. My stomach turned and I felt nauseous. Chris had never mentioned these. But yesterday afternoon he had confided in me about one of the neighbors who was beginning to scare him. A man called Francis, he had said.

He told me with great fear in eyes about a time about a month ago when this man had confronted him and warned him of the consequences of Chris's "lifestyle." He told me of how the man had spit out hateful words about how Chris was unnatural and disgusting. And then he had told Chris that he would pay for his terrible actions.

I shivered as I read through each letter. Every one was more vicious than the last. Chris had never actually shown me these letters before, but as I read them I realized that he had actually told me some of the things they said. I felt a sharp pain spread through me as I recalled that this was the way our argument had started.

He had been in near tears, trying in vain to explain to me how afraid he was of the threats he had been receiving. I had just brushed them off like they were nothing. It was the twenty first century, I had reasoned. This kind of thing didn't happen anymore.

But Chris just wouldn't let the matter go. He was sincerely scared. And what did I do? I yelled at him. I told him to shut the hell up, to stop being so damn paranoid. I think he must have tried to show me the letters, because he had gone over to the desk. I told him I didn't want or need to see whatever it is he wanted to show me. Then I had stormed out without looking back.

I felt tears building up in my eyes and I brushed them away. No amount of crying was going to resolve this horrible thing that the man had done; this horrible thing that I had done. Yes, I could admit it to myself. I had a hand in this murder as well. This tragedy was partially my own fault. It made me sick to acknowledge it, but I would rather be sick than in denial.

Now that I had accepted the facts, I needed some sort of resolution. If I couldn’t save Chris’s life, surely I could avenge his death, I thought. I perused each and every letter multiple times. I had to force myself not to look away. I fought back against my growing nausea. Finally I found something I could use. A careless mistake in the last letter. The use of a full name.

It was signed largely and defiantly at the bottom of the page. Francis Rebbs. Clearly he had meant for this to be the last letter, or he would not have been so bold. How ridiculous, I thought, for him to assume no one else would ever find these letters. This last name Rebbs was all I needed.

My mind began to work in high gear. It was almost instinctual; I hardly remember the thought process. But I do know that one word, revenge, was etched firmly into my head. I would have my revenge against this awful man.



Chapter 3

I crinkled up all the letters and threw them on the ground. Sure, I could have just handed them over to the police. It would be key evidence in convicting this Francis bastard. But I needed to take care of it myself. It was my personal responsibility; the only way to wash my hands from any blood guilt.

I ran blindly around the apartment, tossing things around, until I found my laptop. I opened it and immediately begun searching for information about Francis Rebbs. The internet is an amazing thing. With just a few clicks I found the man’s address. He was indeed a neighbor just as Chris had said. And a very close one at that, which was convenient.

He lived just three buildings down, apartment 2B. I smiled. I couldn’t help it. The plan was so perfect. Within a few minutes the rest of my research was complete. A package would arrive in the mail within a couple of weeks. I would not, unfortunately, be able to use its contents until some months had passed. But I could wait. I had nothing but time.

I did, however, have to get started right away. I prepared to go out. I took a shower, brushed my hair, put on fresh clothes, and even shaved. I wanted to pull this off with every loose end tied up. If I in any way hinted at my true intentions, my goal would never be achieved.

I practically skipped down the stairs of my building and I began to whistle as soon as I made contact with the fresh air outside. Even though it was not yet noon, the sun was hot and I was glad that I didn’t have far to travel. It would not be beneficial to the plan for me to show up sweaty and disgusting to my destination.

Just a few strides later I had arrived at the proper building and I entered it, welcoming the cool air conditioning on my face. I climbed the stairs to the second floor and knocked a little ditty on the wood door of room 2B. I didn’t hear anything.

For a split second I worried that Francis might have fled the area. But that was ridiculous, I reasoned. A man who would be so bold as to sign his name at the end of an incriminating letter was not the type to flee after committing a murder. My reasoning proved accurate when the door opened a crack, revealing a sliver of a face.

“May I help you?” he asked me. His voice was so calm, so normal. It had a pleasant ring to it that most girls probably found appealing.

“Well, the word around town is that you are new here. So I thought I might come and introduce myself. My name is Benjamin Stark. It is good to meet you, Mr. Francis…erm….” I feigned ignorance in this regard.

“Rebbs. Francis Rebbs. It is good to meet you as well, Mr. Stark.”

“Nonsense! Call me Ben. And may I be so bold as to ask your permission to come inside? I would like some friendly conversation with you, if that is alright. I don’t mean to be rude, but the word is that you are quite the loner. I thought that maybe you could use a friend here.” I spoke smoothly and sociably. I made sure to smile, too. I was the perfect neighbor.

Francis looked a bit taken aback at first by my directness. But then he smiled back and opened the door all of the way. I walked inside and pretended to admire the place. I nodded towards various items, complimenting them. He thanked me and his smile grew just a bit wider. I was succeeding already.

He offered me a seat on his hideously upholstered couch. It looked like a cat had coughed up hairballs onto it. “Lovely design on this couch,” I told him. Now he was grinning. “Thank you. Hey, how about I start the kettle and we can chat over tea.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said, returning the grin.

A minute or so later he returned and sat in a chair adjacent to the couch. It looked as though it had been picked out by someone who was quite blind. It thoroughly clashed with the couch.
“All of your furniture is so well-matched. Did you use a professional designer?”

“No, I did it all myself.”

He looked so proud of it that I almost laughed. “How did you manage that?” I asked, faking my interest completely. He went on and on about his process for designing the rooms of his home. I nodded and pretended to listen and even to care about what he was saying. All the while, I closely examined him.

Everything about him was streamline, clean cut. He dressed well. His clothing expressed nothing but confidence from every fiber. His brown hair was combed neatly, perfectly framing the topmost section of his face. His face itself was pleasant to look at, or so it must’ve been to most people, anyways. When I looked at it I could see nothing but Chris’s lifeless form in every little crease.

His eyes were something else. They were a deep blue and expressed everything a woman must love to see. Kindness, intelligence, confidence and compassion. And yet all I could see was in them was the murderous hatred of an evil man.

He cut short his rambling to answer the shrill cry of the kettle. Soon he returned with two steaming cups of tea. He handed me mine and I thanked him warmly. I took a few sips, to be polite. My taste buds registered the pleasant taste of the hot beverage but I somehow missed the actual taste of it. My senses were dulled to their fullest extent. I wasn’t subhuman. Chris was dead; that fact would never leave me no matter what I did, and I had to react to it in some way.

“Good tea,” I said. I struck up a new conversation in a sickeningly friendly tone. “So, how are you liking it around here?”

“It’s nice enough, I suppose. There is one man I am not particularly fond of. But I don’t think I will be having any more problems with him anymore.” I was shocked. Clearly he was speaking of Chris, with such openness that I knew he regretted nothing. He sipped casually at his tea. I couldn’t believe his nonchalance. But I stayed calm. I had to.

“Oh really? That’s too bad. But I’m glad you won’t be having any more issues like that. I promise most of the people here are quite pleasant.”

“Well, if they are anything like you then I believe it. I’ve never experienced such neighborly treatment before.” He was clearly impressed by my actions. His blue eyes shined with joy.

I smiled. “It’s the least I could do. But to tell you the truth, I am acting a bit out of selfish interest. I don’t have many friends.”

“I’m surprised to hear that!”

I laughed off the compliment. “Well, I did have one close companion. But he’s….no longer around.”

“Oh I see.”

I stood, having finished my tea. I was suddenly unbearably uncomfortable with the situation. I was discussing the murder of the man I loved with his murderer. It was so backwards. I felt my nausea returning.

“Well, I have bothered you enough,” I joked. “It was nice to meet you Francis.”

“Before you go, take my number” he said. He scribbled a phone number on a scrap piece of paper and handed it to me. My stomach churned as I recognized the writing to be the same as that was on the last letter to Chris.

“Every Saturday I watch football on the telly. Give me a call Saturday if you want to join me,” he added with a friendly smile.

I returned the gesture. “Sure,” I replied.

Then I got the hell out of there. I sighed with relief once I was outside the building again. Despite the heat of the sun, the air-conditioned place had felt far more stifling than the outdoors did. I stopped off at a pup to calm my nerves. Then I sat around the torn up apartment, just waiting for Saturday to roll around.



Chapter 4

Finally the day came and I called up Francis bright and early. The last thing I wanted to do was spend a day watching football with any person, much less this lowlife. But I spoke sweetly on the phone and made plans to be at his house by noon.

I arrived with snacks and beer. I had no idea what to do at this kind of thing, but that stuff seemed to do the trick. He grinned and grabbed them from me immediately. He told me to go sit on the couch, and he went into the kitchen. While I sat there, he prepared the food and soon brought it out in two large bowls. He handed one to me and smiled.

“I haven’t done this with anyone in a long time,” he admitted. “It’s nice.”

I flashed him a friendly smile. “I haven’t done this with anyone, ever” I admitted sheepishly.

“Never?” he replied, sounding stunned.

I shrugged. “Football isn’t really my thing. But it is just nice to hang out with another human being once in a while.” Human being, hah. I allowed myself an internal laugh. How ridiculous it was to call this man human, after what he did.

“It is nice,” he agreed. Then he turned up the television and we both sat quietly watching the game. Not that I was really watching it. Everywhere I looked was Chris’s lifeless body and angelic face. Occasionally I would be shook out of my trance by a shout of excitement from Francis. This must have meant his team of choice was doing well.

But other than that, we said not a word to each other until the game ended, an eternity or so later. This made me angry. It wasn't that I wanted to talk to Francis. No, that was the last thing I wanted to do. But I kept replaying the sound of Chris’s voice. Chris was always a talker. He could ramble on for hours, and I loved it. It infuriated me that such a bubbly personality had been destroyed, rather than this disgustingly dull one that was sitting beside me.

Finally Francis turned off the tv. The game must’ve ended, I realized. I sighed heavily and stretched. He turned to me. “That was some game, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” I replied, with as much enthusiasm as I could manage. “We should do this again sometime.” I had to force those words out. My entire being rejected them. But I knew I had to do this.

He nodded excitedly. “Yes, that would be great!”

“Cool,” I said. I smiled. I think I had smiled more in these past few days than I had in all the time I had been with Chris. It made me want to jump Francis and put an end to him right then and there. To think he should be the one receiving my smiles.

Instead I stood up and said my goodbyes. As soon as I was out of the building I began to run. Running has d always been something I enjoyed, especially when I felt trapped and out of options. I ran hard and fast, for who knows how long. I ran all around town and then out of town completely. There was a large, open field to my left. I decided to run through it. The grass was a deep, lush green and it seemed to welcome my sneakers to stomp through it. I changed directions abruptly and began to run across it.

I ran faster and faster until I was spiriting. There was a hill and I made every muscle in my leg work at its maximum ability to climb it. I didn’t decrease my speed once I reached the top. If anything I increased it. Soon gravity took over and I was running down the other side impossibly fast. I tripped. I could have easily caught myself, but I didn’t bother. I allowed myself to fall to the ground hard.

My clothes were stained green from the grass and were splattered with mud. I let out a loud yell, just because. It felt amazing. I had never felt more stress in my entire life than I had felt hanging out with Francis. This had seemed like a great way to let all that tension escape me. It worked like magic. Good feelings began to creep into my bones and throbbing muscles. I felt better than I had all week.

Calmly I stood up and brushed myself off. I walked ever so causally back home. It was a long trip. I had run a good four miles or so. But the long walk worked well as a cool down from my extensive workout. By the time I entered our place I was exhausted and content. I didn’t make any food, I hardly ever ate anymore. I simply collapsed on our couch and slept.

Although it was hours in reality, it felt like only minutes before I groggily awoke to my cell phone vibrating in my pocket. “Hello?” I asked, in no mood for conversation.

“Hey it’s Francis.”

My stomach turned and I sat up immediately. I felt I might be sick. I took a slow, deep breath. Then I managed to speak. “Oh, hey. What’s up?”

“I got these tickets….to a football match. It’s next Saturday. I know you don’t really care for it, but I thought it might be a different experience to watch a game in person, rather than through some television set.”

I groaned inwardly. Another football game to watch? And his time at an actual arena. Which meant thousands of screaming fans, not to mention Francis himself. “That sounds like it could be fun,” I lied. “I would love to go.” I could practically hear his award winning, girl attracting, sinister smile through the phone.

“Okay. Be at my place at eight on Saturday.”

“Alright.” I couldn’t make myself add any more pleasantries. I just hung up and tossed my phone across the room. I hoped that somewhere, somehow, Chris could see this and realize just how much I had loved him and just how much I still did. And that I would do anything to avenge his death, even spend my day at a football match while bonding with his murderer.

I rolled my eyes and heaved a sigh. “Oh gee, is it Saturday yet?”



Chapter 5

Unfortunately, Saturday arrived before I knew it. All week I had been trying desperately to get my bearings. I was finding it harder and harder to keep myself together emotionally and mentally. I had begun to have horrible nightmares that I just couldn’t shake even after I woke up. It got to the point where I forced my eyes to stay open all night long, just to avoid the horrible images in my dreams.

Pointlessly, I had set my alarm for 7AM that morning. I turned it off, and then turned off the random television show I had been watching. I took a hot shower to relieve some of my tension. Then I prepared for the misery that I was going to have to deal with.

I put on my favorite shirt, the one that Chris had always told me he loved. As soon as I remembered that, I stripped it off and threw it across the room. Then I put on my second favorite shirt, and a pair of jeans. I felt chilled, so I added my jacket. I still had time to kill.

I turned to stare out a window and what I saw made me groan loudly. Rain was coming down heavily from some ominous looking clouds. Puddles covered the streets. Now I would have to spend a whole day, watching football, bonding with Chris’s murderer, in the rain. Angrily I stalked over to my hall closet and tossed things around until I found my rain parka.

The last time I had worn it was over five years ago. The first time I kissed Chris. It was all such a blur to me. We were walking back from some outdoor concert. The rain was coming down so hard I could barely even see. It was still late afternoon; the show had ended early do to the excessive rainfall. There was mud too, a lot of it.

I don’t remember who slipped first but one was quickly followed by the other and we both ended up sprawled on the ground, covered in mud, next to each other. We lay there laughing until tears streamed down our faces. Then I just looked at him and I had to do it.

This kiss only lasted a few seconds but I think it is fair to say that those were some of the happiest seconds of my life. His lips were white with cold from the pouring rain but they felt like perfection against my own. Nothing since then had ever compared to that day. The first day we were more than he and I. The first day that “we” became “us”. Except now there was no us. There wasn’t even he and I. There was only me.

I looked at the parka with disgust. I didn’t want memories of a day with Francis to mix with the amazing memories I had in it with Chris. I almost put it back into the closet. But I decided that not wearing one would make me look insane. I was insane, of course, on the inside. Ever since Chris’s death my thoughts were all a blur. The only thing I could make out was the constant word that spun around, revenge.

It was like an insect flying all around, buzzing every which way. It was all I ever heard. But no one else could hear that, and that is how I wanted it. No matter how much I was falling apart on the inside, outwardly I had to appear completely normal at all times. It was, in effect the only way I would ever make the incessant buzzing go away.

Swallowing my emotions, I slipped the parka over my head and headed out the door, only to remember that it was still too early. Frustrated, I sat on the front stoop of the apartment complex. Water dripped down from the little roof above the steps and onto my head. I remembered that the parka had a hood and I pulled it over my head tightly.

I sat there, huddled up in my parka and in memories of Chris, until enough time had passed so that I could arrive fashionably early. Quickly I made my way down the street trying my best to dodge the puddles though often failing. Finally I entered the building. I was relieved that the constant pattering of rain was no longer able to reach me. But the air conditioned front hall quickly made me realize just how wet I had gotten.

My pant legs had been randomly splashed with water from all of the sneaky puddles that seemed to magically appear just as I took a step. My feet were also wet, since I had forgotten to wear boots. And even with the parka the cold rain had somehow managed to reach my shirt and thoroughly soak it. The cold air of the building felt frigid against my wet skin. I knocked on Francis’s door and shivered, though not only from the chilly air.

He answered immediately, as if he had been standing at the door waiting for me to arrive. He had that smile on his face. I wanted to tear it off. Instead I greeted him warmly and gave a smile of my own. He gave me a quick once-over, then frowned.

“You are soaked already? How did that happen?” he chuckled. I hated that I could make him laugh. All my life, Chris had been the only person that I could ever make laugh. I felt like Francis was deliberately trying to take the place of my beloved Chris. I sighed, and a small hint of my irritation showed through, enough to make Francis notice. He misinterpreted it of course.

His expression turned sympathetic. I almost laughed myself. As if I wanted or needed his sympathy. “I’m sorry. Come on in. I will loan you some dry clothes, if you want.”

My stomach flipped at the thought of wearing the clothes of that wicked, awful man. I would have lost my breakfast, had I eaten anything. “N…no” I stuttered. That’s okay, really. I’ll dry off. And besides, this rain isn’t going to let up so I am just going to end up getting wet again. No point in getting two sets of clothes wet right?” I flashed a lopsided grin, or at least one that felt like it was lopsided. I wondered if my façade could be detected.

But fortunately I was dealing with an imbecile. Francis just grinned right back. “Well then at least come in for a quick cup of tea before we head out, eh?”

I shrugged. “Sure why not?” I walked in and sat down in the nearest chair while he made the tea. Soon I had a hot mug in my hands.

Francis sat down across from me with a serious expression. “Listen, I am sorry about this weather. I know you don’t want to do this, especially not in the rain. If you want, you can just go home.”

“No way,” I insisted. “I do want to go.” I thought of Chris and smiled. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for that man.



Chapter 6

I was thoroughly drenched. I laughed at myself for thinking I had been wet before. That had been nothing. This was like being a sponge that was repeatedly dipped into the frigid waters of the arctic. And the game was not even half over.

But I hid my misery well. I managed to control my shivering just enough so that it wouldn’t be noticed. Although I suspected Francis wouldn’t have noticed if I had fell over and died right there. He was enjoying himself far too much. Every other second or so he would jump up and cheer. I don’t know why he ever even bothered sitting back down again, when moments later he would end up right back out of his seat.

I merely sat there the entire time, silent and brooding. I longed for this day to be over. But I knew that if I could make it through this wretched experience I would be one giant step closer to getting my revenge. And that made it all worth it. For maybe the second time during the game, I looked out at the field and noticed the players filing off of it. I looked to Francis for an explanation. He finally remembered that I was there with him.

“It’s halftime,” he explained. He flashed me a sympathetic smile. That was his worst expression. It made me want to be violent. I had no use for his sympathy. How could he ever sympathize with me?

“Oh, already? That went by fairly quickly; I must have been really into the game.” I was quickly becoming the king of lies.

“Yeah, it is a great one, isn’t it?” He looked like an excitable little boy going to his first game. It was pathetic and made me love Chris even more. He never cared for football either.

We had always spent our Saturdays doing the crossword puzzle in the newspaper while listening to old tunes on the radio. Or sometimes we would go out, to a restaurant or the movies or to some old shop that just looked really inviting. But we would never watch some silly game, cheering all the time but rarely ever having a conversation.

I was shaken from my musings by a sudden uproar from the crowd that was in front of us. I looked up and my stomach flipped. Two men were kissing. They looked so in love. The crowd started to boo them. They didn’t seem to notice, though. They were in their own little world. A lover’s world. Chris and I used to belong to that world. It was a magnificent place to be, and I was jealous.

But they were forced out of that lovely place when one particularly aggressive and probably drunk member of the crowd decided to throw food at them. Soon other people joined in until a good twenty people were behaving like zoo animals. I sat and watched the scene unfold, my nausea increasing all the time. The two men ceased their lip lock and covered their heads. With horror I saw one of them brush away a tear.

It felt like an eternity had passed before a security guard finally came over and told everyone to settle down. I had a sneaking suspicion he had enjoyed the whole thing. And it seemed someone else had thoroughly enjoyed it as well. I slowly turned my head to see Francis sitting beside me, laughing hysterically. I wished he was drunk right then, so he wouldn’t have looked so horribly wicked. I wished I was drunk, so I wouldn’t be held as accountable if I hit him.

“That…that was great!” he choked out between fits of laughter. I lost it then. I could feel my mask slipping off, breaking into pieces. I either needed to strangle Francis or throw up. I chose the latter.

“I….I don’t feel so good,” I muttered. I jumped up and ran to the bathrooms as fast as I could, tripping up the concrete stairs and receiving weird looks from everyone I passed. I didn’t care. I hurriedly entered the first open stall and leaned over the toilet, waiting for the relief I needed.

It never came. I suddenly remembered that I still hadn’t eaten anything that day. So there was nothing to come back up. Insanely frustrated, I slammed my fist onto the side of the stall. I wanted to end this game now. I couldn’t play anymore, it hurt too much. But I couldn’t, I knew I couldn’t.

In this moment though, I truly felt defeated. I will admit the sad fact that I actually considered giving up my goals entirely. Maybe I could flush those down the toilet, I thought, if nothing else. I slid down to the cold floor and sat against the stall. My phone vibrated then. I didn’t want to answer it, but the vibrations were just adding to my irritation. I quickly flipped it open.

My eyes widened. A pre-recorded message was telling me that a package had been delivered to my home, and I wasn’t there to claim it so it was left at my door. A package….the package. The one I had been waiting for. The one that contained the final step in this grueling process, the true key to my revenge.

I was instantly filled with relief. I could do this, and I would to this. It was oh so easy. In a few more short, measly weeks, I would have my revenge. Maybe even less time than that, I thought optimistically. Francis was far more unobservant than I had ever imagined him to be. To think that this man, this man who killed with such confidence, was so thoroughly ignorant.

Or maybe it wasn’t a surprise. Often I had heard that criminals were idiots. Maybe this was true. Actually, I realized, it must be the truth. Only someone who was truly ignorant and stupid would commit a hate crime of this magnitude. Only a belligerent fool could become the killer of an innocent man.

I stood up with zest and was actually excited to return to my seat next to Francis in the rain and the cold. I almost skipped down there. But I knew that being overly happy would look just as abnormal as being overly sad would. So I kept my happiness tucked safely within me and returned to the seat with a rather blank expression.

Francis turned to me immediately. “Are you okay man?” he asked, looking concerned.

It took me a moment to remember what he meant. I slowly recalled my horrible nausea minutes ago. “Oh,” I said casually, “Yeah, I’m okay. It must have been something bad I ate for breakfast or something like that.” I shrugged, but Francis didn’t look entirely convinced. “I’m fine, really” I added. I even smiled.

“Good,” he replied. Moments later the game resumed and Francis returned to his jumping and cheering. I returned to my quiet stupor, though this time it was a happy one rather than an angry one. The time passed like a flash of lightning and before I knew it I was home.

I changed out of my wet clothes and my spirits lightened even further. I stared lovingly at the little box that now sat on my kitchen table. I couldn’t wait to use its contents. But I refused to open it just yet. I didn’t want to risk getting some uncontrollable urge to use it ahead of time. The moment had to be just perfect. I would wait for the precise moment when Francis would least expect it; when it would have the greatest affect on him. And then I would enact my revenge.



Chapter 7

Time passed by in a blur. I remembered only bits and pieces of my days with Francis. Those included things Francis said that made me angry, opportunities that presented themselves before me to get my revenge against him, and not much else. But though there were many times when I wanted nothing more than to put my plan into action, it was some time before I came across the ideal moment.

After a few more weeks of time spent with my new “buddy”, I woke up one dreary morning and decided on instinct alone that it was time to open my package. It was still sitting on the table where I had left it all those weeks ago. I smiled widely at it. It looked so magnificent, sitting there in its brown paper wrapping. I opened it with delicacy. Within this box was the ticket I needed to win back dignity for Chris.

After tearing away the wrapping, I tossed the paper aside and picked up the bottle inside. I cradled it like it was my newborn child. I held it close to me like I was holding Chris himself in my arms once more. It was a clear container made of hard plastic. The liquid inside was clear as well. A large black sticker on it bore the image of a skull and crossbones.

It was a small bottle. Small enough for me to place into my back pocket without sticking out in an obvious fashion. I placed it there eagerly. Francis was drawing closer to me every day. He gave me a good deal of trust even then. I knew that the time I had left to wait would be short. I didn’t want to miss the opportunity when it arose. I had to be prepared.

This unique opportunity arrived in a way I did not expect, though I wasn’t surprised by the way it occurred. When I strolled to Francis’s apartment that day I never thought that it would be the day he would say things to me that let me know it was time. And yet he told me just such things, all the while bearing the calm attitude of someone who was chatting about the weather.

I was sitting on a hideous piece of furniture, pretending to enjoy some tea. This was the norm for me now. I was quite accustomed to it. Don’t get me wrong, my stomach still turned as much as it used to just to be in the place at all. But over time I had developed ways to deal with the horrible sickness I had to feel as a result of my mission.

We had gone through our usual conversations, about neighbors, politics, and football, about things more serious too; old relationships and our strongest beliefs. I noticed that Francis had been quieter than I on this occasion, and that was unusual. I never realized until that moment how true it a statement it was that one should keep their enemies closer. He shifted his cruel little eyes around the unsightly room. Finally he focused them on me.

“Ben,” he said quietly, “there is something I feel I should tell you.” I welcomed him to continue with a short nod and a small smile.

“These past few weeks you have become a close and a dear friend to me. And the other day, I was lying around and thinking about how good friends are always honest with each other, and tell each other everything. And then I started to feel guilty. I realized that I have kept my biggest secret from you.”

“Oh?” I asked. I already felt sure of what he would say, but of course I couldn't let him know that.

“Yes. I think, once I tell you, you will understand why I waited so long to mention it. It is not the kind of thing you share with just anyone.”

“I’m glad to be the person you trust enough to share it with.”

“I trust you with everything I have,” he told me. I bit back a grin. Now I could see clearly; he was clay in my hands. I had him good and trapped now.

“Do you remember when I told you about that neighbor I was having troubles with?” He didn’t wait for my response. He was beginning to feel nervous and talk in a hurry, almost tripping over his words. “Well, I told you I wouldn’t be having those problems with him anymore. This was because I took care of the issues myself. This man, he was an awful person. He was disgusting and immoral, a homosexual man. A horrible example for the kids growing up around here.”

Despite all my practice, I nearly had to escape to the bathroom, my nausea was so bad. It came suddenly with little warning. I guess I hadn't realized how difficult it would be for me to actually hear this.

“He had a partner and I saw them together on numerous occasions. I never saw what his partner looked like, but I knew Chris all right. He was always the instigator. He dragged his partner around everywhere. More than once I saw him give the other man a kiss, in public! I knew I had to do something. I had to be the hero.”

It took all my strength to hold back my laughter. Francis thought he was a hero.

“I sent him letters, warning him to stop the behavior or face the consequences. He didn’t listen. So I had to dispose of him. I saw him outside alone, and I took the god-given opportunity. I stabbed him with the knife I had taken the liberty to start bringing along with me, just waiting for an opportunity. It was so perfect. When it was over, I felt amazing. I can’t even describe it.”

I just stared at him blankly. Surely he wasn’t talking about the murder of my beloved Chris in such a causal way. It couldn’t be. And he certainly did not describe it as perfect or amazing. It wasn't possible.

“I only hope and pray you can understand where I am coming from here,” he said, looking at me steadily. I stared for another long moment, then almost blew my opportunity completely when emotion overwhelmed me and I passed out.



Chapter 8

I awoke suddenly, not gradually as many describe their return to consciousness. Somewhere in the back of my mind, even while unconscious, I knew that I had an important duty to perform. And there wasn’t much time. I sat up.

I almost bumped into Francis, who was sitting on the other side of the couch. I hadn’t been on the couch before. He must have carried me somehow. It was revolting to think that his murderous hands had been helping me.

“Good, you’re awake. What happened? You were out cold!” He chuckled, obviously finding this hilarious. I didn’t mind. Soon I would be the one who was laughing.

“I’m not sure,” I replied. “I guess I haven’t been eating as much as I should lately.”

He frowned. “Oh, that’s no good. I warned you about that! I’ll go and find something for you.”

Normally I would have refused, but I needed him to leave the room for a bit. I couldn’t prepare myself for the final stage in my plan with him right there.

“I think I’ll go into the bathroom to freshen up. I can’t believe I actually passed out,” I said, shaking my head and laughing like Francis had. We parted ways for the last time as friends. In a few short moments, Francis would know how I really felt about him.

Inside the bathroom, I splashed some cool water on my face. I wanted my mind to be as clear as I could make it when I did this. I took the little bottle out of my pocket. I held it in my hand, feeling the cool plastic against my warm skin. This was it. It was finally time. I had been pushed to my limit, and now was the time to act.

I unscrewed the little black cap on the container for the first time. I expected some pungent odor to waft out of it, but the liquid was without any smell at all. I tipped my head back, and poured a few drops into my mouth. I swallowed eagerly and felt the liquid slide down my throat. No taste either. I was a little disappointed. I was hoping for a bitter taste. It would make the vengeance taste that much sweeter.

As the final touch, I took a bit of poison on my finger and rubbed it on my lips. I quickly exited the bathroom and went to find Francis in the kitchen. I didn’t have much time; five minutes at the most. He had his back turned to me when I entered. I cleared my throat.

“Oh, Guy. I didn’t see you there. Are you sure you should be walking around just yet?”

I ignored his question. “Listen, Francis. I haven’t been completely honest with you
either. Do you remember when I told you about the close friend I once had?”

Francis looked a bit taken aback by my sudden question. But he managed to stutter out a “yes”.

I smiled. I couldn’t help it. His mind could already sense that something wasn’t right, even if he didn’t consciously know it yet. He took an instinctual step back. “Well, he was more than just a friend to me. He was my lover, my ‘partner’ as you like to refer to it as. But that word falls so short in describing how I felt, and still feel, about him. He was the person I wanted to spend my life with. I loved, and still do love him more than anything else in this world.”

“You…you…disgusting…you’re one of them?”

“If by them you mean a human being with the capacity to love another human being, then yes. I am one of them. But you aren’t, are you Francis? You’re an alien to the ways of love.” I stepped closer to him. His eyes widened. I think he knew what I was going to say next.

“And do you remember when I said that he wasn’t around anymore? Well, here’s a little fact. He died. Or more accurately, he was killed. And here are a few more little tidbits of information. His name was Chris, he was my sweet and dearly beloved angel, and you killed him.”

Francis tried for the door then. I wasn’t having any of that. I blocked him. He panicked and backed up until he was against the wall. I was in step with him the whole time, our toes almost touching. I leaned in close, with my hands on the wall for support.

“Francis Rebbs, you are a horrible, evil, murdering bastard. You took my dear Chris away from me, and now you are going to pay. This vengeance, it will be perfect. I had planned this out the very next day following your wicked deed.” I moved my hands to pin his arms back against the wall. He squirmed and his eyes darkened with fear. I leaned in close to him and whispered in his ear. “It’s time to face the consequences, my dear man.”

His face drained of color. His lips turned white. It was time to make my move. I brought my lips away from his ear and to his own lips. I pressed hard, forcing the poison coating on my lips to seep into his own skin. I shoved him against the wall hard. “You have now been exposed to a most deadly poison. Less than a drop can kill a person. And you have had a few. Now you will die here, killed, in theory, by the thing you despise most.”

He slid to the ground. He faced expressed complete shock. He could only stare at me with horror. I licked my lips. I did taste something then, and it was the sweetest taste I had ever experienced. It was sugary and wonderful. The sweet flavor of revenge.

I could feel the room beginning to spin. I didn’t have much time. I had ingested many, many drops of the lethal poison. I felt myself falling into blackness. There were a lot of things I could have thought of in my final moments. I chose to keep in mind the images of the beautiful, angelic face of Chris. This was all for you, my love, I whispered. I didn’t know if I was saying it out loud or not. It didn’t matter.

Finally all was right with the world. I felt at peace, like watching a gentle snowfall on a crisp winter’s day. All of my sins were finally atoned for. I could only pray that Chris was out there somewhere, noticing all of this. Those white lips, they were kissed for you, I mouthed to him, wherever he was. As the final step in my master plan, I willingly allowed the blackness envelope me completely, and I was gone.




THE END