He ran at the door, his breath raspy and strained. His stamina was deteriorating by the second. Grasping at the handle, he made his way into the room. He didn’t turn as he slammed it shut, knowing good and well what was behind him, what wanted him…..who wanted him. The thought of the hands that had been wrapped around his neck just moments ago sent shivers down his spine. He raised his hand to touch the red marks he knew would still be there, the soreness already resting in his esophagus. Was it from the choking or the yelling…..or the simple act of not saying everything he wanted? That hurt the most. Keeping in everything he wanted out so badly. All he had wanted to say for so long, ever since he started this mess again. Just to meet the same fate, just to meet the same need to run and reach for the pen and write down the suggestions, the new changes to be made to the new life, the new version that hopefully, hopefully, wouldn’t end this way.
The room was just as he had left it. Desk with papers thrown everywhere, a dozen monitors across the far wall, pens and pencils used beyond usefulness skewed in various places. And the most dominate part of the room; the writing all over the walls. He knew it looked crazy, but it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t be seen by anyone else and he needed it in order to know…..know for the next round. It was the only way the information would keep.
A cry of vengeance echoed through the door. “No…no….no…” he mumbled to himself. He rushed to find a pen that worked. Scribbling on the palm of his hand to check the ink level, he went through three pens before he finally spotted a pencil sharpened to the nub of metal holding an all but gone eraser. Rushing, he grabbed for it and tried to find a spot on the eastern wall to write. All the rambling inside his brain collected onto six walls had seemed like a great idea…..400 years ago. Now, there were too many notes, too many forgotten trains of thought that had crashed on the container that held this despairing man at the end of his…his….well, his life, if he was honest with himself.
He heard the door tear open. He didn’t look behind him, but instead kept searching for a spot. He knew what he would see. It was what he saw every time he looked back for the last 20 times. He would be met with long, lush raven hair, a heart shaped face, a slightly upturned nose, a pair of lips just off rose red with a larger bottom lip than top. He would travel down the body of sharp shoulders, full breasts, an hourglass figure with thick hips and curved calves, to end at tiny feet with button toes. She weighed exactly 156.7 pounds, 5’4, with 20/20 eyesight and above genius intelligence. And those thighs held no gap, but they could hold a man down with incredible strength…..He tried to not be aroused as he thought of how gorgeous she was, of how animalistic she got in the throes of passion, how fantastic she smelled, felt, sounded. He knew she wouldn’t care about any of that right now. She never did. Once she found out….she didn’t care.  And once he turned around, he would see the lack of passion, caring….love in her beautiful and perfect grey eyes. They looked like a fog settling in the morning when she first awoke; they looked like a smoke from a fire when she was deep in thought; they looked like a newly created storm when she was in the middle of releasing her lioness nature. Now they would be hard as stone, and as cutting as diamonds. Not that he blamed her, of course. She had just found out that everything she had ever known was just…….thought up and created just so they could come to this point.
“Turn around, coward. I want to see you as your blood taint the floor.” She growled with venom dripping in her velvet voice. He stayed looking at the wall, knowing she wouldn’t be able to kill him. She never could, but in the end, always did. She wasn’t the killing type. Her heart was gold. Everything about her was perfection. Until there was one thing that could be changed; then everything had to go. He always thought this would be the time. This would be the time that she was finally perfection and he never would have to tell her and they could just live. But, after the 10th time, he realized how hopeless it was to believe so. She would never be his. He had created her. Had made her to his idea of perfection and therefore…..she would never be perfection. Still, he had to believe in something. He couldn’t believe in God….he was God. He couldn’t believe in a new beginning, he always knew the beginning because he wrote it. He couldn’t believe in anything. Nothing but hope that once, he would never again have to lose the only thing, the only person he ever loved.
He finally found a spot on the wall, just big enough to write four or five words. Silver chips in eyes. He couldn’t change her personality. He couldn’t change her thoughts. He couldn’t change the course of what happened. He had tried and had only been more hurt because he did.
He turned slowly after finishing his inscription. He kept his eyes on the ground, not ready to see the hatred in hers. “You don’t need to do this…”he pleaded. “How could you ask that of me? After everything you’ve done? You think I can just…..just forget that you basically created me to destroy me? That you made me fall in love with you just to pick out my imperfections? That you….You never really cared, that I was just a science experiment, just another trick of the Lord to see how far you could make this go?” Every word she said hit him like daggers to the heart. “The people I loved have died because of you. You took away everything I ever cared about because you COULD. ““No, no I didn’t. I have to do this. You don’t understand. If I don’t, you suffer…” he tried to plead with her. She wouldn’t listen to it though. She knew what she wanted and she knew she wasn’t going to get it any more than he was.
To Be Continued