Short Story 'lude #2

Tears were streaming down her face; coal black from the eyeliner and mascara that she always wears. Her thin, pointed nose was cherry red from her continually wiping away the dripping mess that was coming from both nostrils. Her, normally, cobalt blue eyes were a dull grey, puffy and smeared in a black warpaint. On most days, her chestnut hair was straightened down to the tops of her shoulders in a veil of perfection. Today, it was tangled and strewn around like she'd been standing in one of those machines that simulate a hurricane.

I used to think she was so pretty.

How people look on a daily basis, it isn't how they really look. It's all a facade; a masquerade designed to attract the right friends, to attract the right mate. It's been my experience that you only see how people really look in rare circumstances. The first is if they are sick and/or in the hospital. Most times people already feel so bad about themselves that they don't see the need to put on that mask. The second is if you break their heart. That's when the people we are become exposed for the entire world to see. The best is if you break their heart in public. Watching them try to stay composed and keep that wall up so the world stays out is worth any slanderous, derogatory and vindictive thing hurled in your direction. That's how this all started, actually.

Marie.

I used to think she was so pretty.

We met in a coffee shop. Pretty cliche' right? Like every other love story you hear about, we hit it off right away.
Laughing.
Flirting.
Fireworks.
Again, like every other love story, when we were together nothing else even mattered. Blown tire? Whatever. Lost job? Who cares. Shitty day at work? There's always tomorrow.

Everything was a paradise; flowing smoothly day in and day out. Then, one day, something changed. I can't even put my finger on what it was that changed but, everything was different. There was no laughing.
No flirting.
No fireworks.
I knew something had to be done about it so, I decided to be proactive. That's when she said it.

Leave me alone.
And
I don't love you, anymore.

That brings us back to the here and the now. That brings us back to why I'm sitting in my living room with Marie's blood staining itself into my hands and smeared across my face. That resolves the reason that Marie is propped up in the leather recliner across from me with her throat slit; bloody knife lying, shiny and crimson, on her lap and her head lulling to the side.

I used to think she was so pretty.