Vagina

He sedated her because he loved her.

He had never wanted to see her suffer, even when she sat him down while he was laid naked on his bed and told him that she didn’t want to be with him. He tried to make it okay for her, he told her that she could ask him back whenever she wanted and he would always be there. He expected her to, so much so he didn’t really take much notice of the fact that he had been dumped and he just carried on with his day and in the evening went with her to a concert.

Now, several months later he realised that he probably wouldn’t get her back. She hadn’t started seeing other people but he knew it was only a matter of time and he knew that he didn’t want to be around when she did. Unfortunately the obsessive compulsive side of him made him check her website everyday for updates on her life and he couldn’t cope with spending the rest of his life stalking her.

He knew he had wasted the time they together, he knew that given the opportunity again he could make it worthwhile for both parties. They would laugh, they would dance in the street next to buskers, they would live their lives like no one in the world existed because beyond her he didn’t feel that anyone else did exist.

He remembered their first date, their first kiss and the first time they made love. He remembered crying everyday when she went on holiday and he remembered all his misery being forgotten the moment he saw her. There was no scale on the spectrum of emotions he hadn’t felt while he was with her.

When she broke up with him, he didn’t hate her, he just wanted her to be happy. He didn’t want to believe that she would want to be happy without him though. He tried to explain everything, more than once. He wanted to know what she felt and what she wanted but she was always so vague. So he left as he couldn’t stand it no more. He went to war and then came back.

Now she was sedated he began to saw into her right thigh, she had amazing legs, the kind of legs that fit perfectly around your waste. He stopped to day dream about how perfectly they had fitted together, he arm on her shoulder and he face snuggled in his armpit. He didn’t want to mutilate her but he didn’t ever want to be without her. He couldn’t just kill her so she would never love another as he would then be without her but he couldn’t bare to let her live and then see her with someone else. He had decided to kill her but keep something for himself.

Her hip bone cracked on the right so he started on the left, soon he was ripping across the top of her pubic bone and removing her bloodied vagina. He knew she would die from blood loss soon, so he lay next to her and held her while she was still warm. His tears were absorbed by the pillow and he held on so tightly. He would have been scared of suffocating her but he knew she was dying.

She now lay cold next to him so he carried her vagina to the sink and began to wash the blood off it. It was slightly discoloured, all most grey as the blood had drained from the most perfect mound of flesh. He wanted to fuck it, he wanted one last fuck with her but he didn’t want to rape her while she was alive. He wanted any sex to be consensual and pure. They had always had an amazing sexual connection and though towards the end of his relationship he depression left him having difficulties with arousal, he always knew she was the best lover he would ever know.

Now he held her vagina it seemed wrong. The plan seemed wrong, he couldn’t turn around to look at the bed where she lay. He knew she wouldn’t get up and complain but he couldn’t look. This was how every child in the world felt when Bambi’s mother was killed, nothing would ever be the same, the death of that deer saw the end of a million innocence’s across the planet. He began to vomit in the sink but managed to place to vagina on the draining board before he did so. He retched and fell to his knee’s knowing that he was an utter bastard. Why did he not take his own life so he didn’t have to live without her? He knew that she didn’t love him anymore, he knew she wouldn’t get back with him so why didn’t he do the easy thing and kill himself? He knew people would miss him but he knew she would be over it relatively quickly compared to the pain he felt just knowing she existed.

Yet now whatever he did the people who would remember him, wouldn’t remember a misunderstood, maybe depressed lad. They would remember somebody who slaughtered what they loved for their own narcissistic need to be the last person they ever loved. Shit.

He closed his eyes and walked across to the bed to place her vagina back between her legs. He closed them so that you wouldn’t notice at first glance and then pulled the linen sheets over her body to protect her dignity. The blood was obvious but at least this way she wouldn’t be found naked.

He had always been scared of cutting himself thus had arms free from scars. He did know that if he didn’t do something drastic then he couldn’t get out of this mess. He raised the knife that was still stained with her blood and brought it down on his wrist. His hand came clean off, no screams or tears, in fact a feeling or euphoria flowed through him. He took his hand in, well, his hand and walked to the bed.

He kissed her forehead, put his arm around her and went to sleep.