Wrath Of My Madness

Madness

Let’s start at the end. Yes, the end is a good place to start. 

Sunday 10:03 am

There was so much blood and the longer I sat, it thickened and became chunky.  I just couldn’t believe there was so much blood on the bright, white down comforter that made the bed so pretty. It was the last thing that was pure in room 817, now permanently destroyed by the wrath of my madness. We made this room our own, learning to keep it just as well as any studio apartment. I even had my own pictures up and my vision board of the house we were to buy. The massive jewelry box that he brought for me was filled with costume jewelry; Paparazzi and Traci Lynn to name a few and I dazzled as I became what I thought he wanted me to be. This made me feel like his Queen but it was the matching watches that we both wore that gave me an immense sense of madness . . . addicted to the pain and abuse that he caused me, after a while it was our normal. The chock holds and how he would take his whole hand to cover my nose and mouth let me know it would all end after a while. 
My madness. . . I would sweep spiders and other critters outside the door so they could live. I loved children and animals. I relished in life, with all its flaws, sharing grace. But my madness . . . I was very sensitive with the bodies, being so very fragile that once they stopped breathing I treated them both like preparation. And although I worked in it everyday, I hated the sight of death; those lifeless people reminding me where we all must go, looking at me with condemnation.
“Stop looking at me”, I thought. 
Oh, I took them both out prematurely. They both were in there 30’s, much younger than me. I didn’t want to see it, yet I saw it. The smell horrifically intoxicating would not leave the canal of my nostrils. I didn’t want to smell it, yet I smelt it. The blood, warm and thick on my hands, in my hair, dripping from my brow. I didn’t want to feel it yet I felt it. The metallic taste in my mouth from the blood made me nauseated. I didn’t want to taste it but I tasted it. And the television gave off a mere muffle that I couldn’t understand and I didn’t want to hear it yet I heard it. I heard Anderson Cooper talking but about . . .  what I couldn’t tell you. About something that meant a whole bunch of nothing. And while the world was distracted by a pandemic, I sat on the edge of the bed, wondering what to do with the bodies. 
“Housekeeping.” Knock, knock, knock. 
I had the extra latch on the door so no one  could just walk directly in. I knew someone would eventually come though. It was pass 10:00 am. 
“Housekeeping”, she stated once again. 
My mouth was so dry that I couldn’t find it in me to respond to her. My heart beat was so loud, I suspected she could hear it. So, I slowly walked to the door, looking back, afraid the bodies would come with me. Tell on me. 
“Don’t follow me y’all. I’m sorry”, I thought as I undid the latch. With much hesitation, I opened to a crack, large enough to get my wrist through and I placed the “do not disturb” sign on the front knob.  I quickly shut the door, waiting, breathing, until I heard the housekeeping cart passed by. I took a sigh of relief, not knowing what to do next. 
You see Forest promised to kill me before I got to him and over the last 9 months he gave me every detail of my death. How he would chop my body into small pieces, and place it into black trash bags. Then he would take me to the woods and burn me to never be found again. And after some months I wanted him to do it. The depression was so real and dark that I wanted him to do it. Pushing suicide I guess, picking fights, nagging and fussing still didn’t execute my doom.
And yesterday, yes yesterday we made the most passionate love. He never said he loved me but he must have said it 100 times yesterday and I didn’t care if it was the Grey Goose talking for him or not, I loved him too. I loved how he kissed my mouth because he wasn’t a kisser and he kissed me everywhere for that matter. I loved it all.  Yet, I would have never imagined sitting at the foot of this bed less than 12 hours later, in the presence of the bodies. 

Her

I hated to meet her under these circumstances. She was beautiful, even in death. A “red bone“ just like he liked with long hair, favoring the gorgeous Lisa Rae, he seemed to love them that way. And I had no intent of killing her but she was so cocky, being disqualified from the sisterhood because of her gutter mouth. I spoke to her briefly on the phone once I found out she was sleeping with Forest. He looked in my phone, so I looked in his. And there she was, with pictures, blowing kisses and love notes that would make any inner child go wild. I said this may be the salvation I need. And I called her and told her how he wouldn’t let me go. How he abused me and I know he didn’t love me. She cursed me out and he beat me all the more when he returned. I was afraid to ever do that again. 
I noticed her feet. He ankles seemed to swell but her feet were the only imperfection with chipped polish. I took a hot pink color that he gave for me and painted her toes. We could have both been saved but she wanted to cheer for him. All I could do was respect the bodies. I combed her hair and put a flower between her hands.