A moment of insanity

I can’t fathom what is happening here. I simply don’t understand how I even got here. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been successful and that meant I always got what I wanted. I’ve always been the best at everything; the fastest runner, the smartest kid in class, the young successful business man that all the women swoon over. So what the hell is this? I thought Candice invited me over for dinner. Why are we sitting on the couch like this? I feel like I should engage in this “conversation” and change its direction, but the moment I heard “It’s just not working out”, my ears started to ring, I started to feel light headed and at this very moment, I actually feel like I’m starting to see white! She’s still sitting there, making all these overly expressive hand movements to accompany her flapping lips, only I don’t hear anything but the deafening ring that started earlier.

 I stare blankly at her, sweat dripping from my forehead, when I notice her beautiful legs. She’s wearing that tight black pencil skirt I like, cut just below the knee, with a pair of FM pumps. Her legs look so smooth, like she had them waxed today... Why is she wearing this? What kind of message is she trying to get across? I can feel the frown starting to take form on my forehead. I look back at her face; she’s still talking. She’s really beautiful. That’s why I picked her to begin with. It wasn’t meant to be anything serious, but if anyone was going to be walking out of this relationship, it was going to be me. I’m the boss here. Not her. I don’t know who the hell she thinks she is, but I’m going to have to set her straight. Sure, you think you’re pretty now, but who do you think will want you if you didn’t look like that eh?

I get up; every muscle in my body is zinging. I feel like I’m going to burst out of my suit any minute and turn into The Hulk. Candice is standing too now. Her lips aren’t flapping anymore; she’s just staring at me. She looks confused. She’s confused? How the hell does she think I feel? I’ve always been the one in control. Does she have any idea how it feels to have that taken away? Like some silly little woman has the goddamned mentality to even know what the fuck she wants?

I storm over to the door with every intention to just leave because I can’t take this, but the door is on the other side of the kitchen, and I’ve just spotted something on the kitchen counter that stopped me dead in me tracks. It’s like... It’s like something’s come over me. I don’t feel like myself anymore. I don’t have any emotions right now – I’m not even angry anymore. I don’t have any intentions. I don’t have any plans. I’ll just take it as it comes.

I reach for the counter and pick it up – the object that prevented me from leaving her house. I hold it with both hands, and see the emptiness in my eyes, in its reflection. Looking up, to meet her stare, I see that Candice, who had followed me this far, looks like she’s just seen a ghost. I’ve never seen the look of fear in her eyes before, but it’s just ignited this strange sensation of power within me. I don’t know why the idea that I have caused fear would have such an exhilarating effect on me. Maybe it’s  just because it’s the polar opposite of the feelings she extracted from me a few moments ago in her rejection? Without taking the time to think about this, or to rationalise my emotions, I lunge forward. She looked so much like a frightened cat that I knew that I had to grab hold of her on the first try, or she’d get away.

It’s as if I’ve just come to. But I remember everything. Every part of me that died on Candice’s couch this afternoon, just came to life. I’m sitting on the kitchen floor – I think I sank into this position when my legs started to go numb. I look at the deep red fluid covering the floor and for whatever reason, swish my hands through it – to feel the wet sticky texture, to break the mirrored smoothness of its surface, to make sure it’s real. Lifting my hand to get a good look at my blood soaked palm, I start to cry. Oh god this is real. What have I done? I reach for Candice and pull her limp mutilated body into my lap. Her eyes are still open. That look of fear and shock that just moments ago, invoked the demon in me, now has my stomach turning. I lean a little to my right and start to puke violently. I feel guilt like no one has ever experienced it in their lives. It’s a heaviness, like an elephant, sitting on your chest. I look at Candice again and close her eyes. I will never be able to take away her last memory of me. I will never be able to undo what has happened. She will move on, to where ever the fuck we go, and I will be known – to her at least – as the devil that sent her there. That idea alone enrages me all over again. I grab the knife, still next to me, and pluck out her eyeballs. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but somehow it makes sense to me. In one of the drawers, Candice keeps resealable freezer bags. It would work perfectly to transport a pair of ice blue eyes.

I don’t know what I’m going to do, I’m kinda just winging it as I go along. The house has been cleaned up with bleach, I’ve burnt my clothes, put on a clean change of clothes, and Candice is wrapped in a blanket and cling wrap, and stuffed in my boot. Dead bodies are surprisingly heavy. It’s not like I haven’t picked Candice up in the past, but dying apparently added 50 kilos. I had to completely remove myself from the situation, in order to get it together. Even now as I’m driving to god knows where with a body in my boot, I feel like a removed entity, looking at myself through a glass panel.

The first thing I do when I get home is have myself a drink. I’d been driving around for hours but it was all in vain. As I sit here at my desk, bottle in hand, she lay in the boot of my car, wrapped in blankets and plastic. I reach in my trouser pocket and retrieve the reasealable freezer bag. Staring at the contents of the bag has put me in a zoned out state. It took quite some time, but when I finally snapped out of it, it was because I’d somehow come to a decision to make things right.

I put the, now empty, bottle of whiskey down on the desk, and open the draw. There lay my gun. It should be in a safe. But I liked to keep it here. I liked to be able to pick it up every now and then, feel its weight in my hand, and imagine its destructive capabilities. It’s loaded. I made a point to keep it loaded at all times – in case. Looking dead ahead, I lift the gun to my right temple. I subconsciously squeeze the freezer bag in my left hand, because I’m a coward searching for the guts to do this, when I feel the sensation of a pop. I don’t even have to look to know, but it was enough. Popping Candice’s eyeball in my hand was enough of a reality check to get me to do the deed. Click.