Blood drips down my ivory dress—it might as well be a tablecloth now. Here lies my beloved fiance, my husband-to-never-be, Trenton Parrish. Even in death he’s beautiful, if only one ignores the slit I had cut across his throat and the blood staining his white button-up. He’s a good man—was. He had treated me perfectly well. Never hit me, never cheated, never hurt me on purpose with perfectly tailored remarks. He always brought me flowers, beautiful bunches of white daisies. He would be the one to apologise first in an argument even if it was my fault. How will he say sorry now that I’ve cut his throat out?
I drop the knife on the floor and it bounces under the end table. It’s nothing more than a butter knife, one of those shitty ones that would fail when met with anything more solid than bread. It must take a lot of anger to kill someone with a knife so dull—it did take a lot of anger. I fall back in the plush pink loveseat and stare at the mess I’ve made. God, the hotel’s going to charge my credit card for the stain that’s settling into the carpet. I really should make an effort to clean up a bit, but why does the woman always have to clean up the mess? It’s all Trenton’s fault anyway.
Well…I guess it’s partly my fault too. But I stand by the fact that women always clean up men’s messes. I highly doubt that if a woman’s throat was cut, her blood would spray in such a chaotic manner. It would leak out calmly down her neck and pool in her collarbone. Maybe a drop or two on the floor, but we’re not perfect. Trenton wasn’t perfect, not for me.
My head hurts. I reach up to take out the millions of bobby pins that had been stuck in my hair and form a small plastic nest on the arm of the chair. Tendrils of hair fall down and block my vision a bit, that’s fine. I know what his dead body looks like. How did we get here? With me sitting in a ruined wedding dress and him laying in his ruined suit? What a pair we make. A giggle bursts from my lips and I clamp a manicured hand over my mouth. They don’t stop, though, and tears start to run mascara down my face. It’s really quite funny. “Don’t you find it funny, Trent?” Silence. “Well, I don’t think you would. That’s fair.”
I really thought we would have made it longer. I imagined us with a kid, maybe two, paying off a mortgage. He would want a dog, I wouldn’t, but one of the kids’ birthdays would come up and I would have to take care of another baby. I thought we would last until at least our imaginary kids got to high school, and even then I thought we would end in divorce. This is a complete turn of events. If I had known this would happen I definitely wouldn’t have sprung for the open bar.
I blow at a few loose tendrils of hair and Trenton’s body is once again shoved in my face. I sigh. “Do you have to just lie there, Trent? It’s not like we’re having sex.” He continues to be dead. “You’re right, that was uncalled for. I’m sorry.” Pushing up from the chair, I walk back to his body. My dress makes a swishing sound along the carpet and I think my train runs through the blood. Doesn’t matter now. I never looked good in white anyway. Red is so much sexier. I gather the wide skirt in my hands and kneel next to him. His hand lays in front of his face and I grab it. Trent’s hands had always been tiny heaters, but they were cold now. Not comforting at all. I toss it back to the ground. “I guess you’re the one with cold feet, huh?”
The silence threatens to suffocate me so I fill the void with nonsense babbling. I don’t think he minds. “The wedding’s supposed to start in twenty minutes, dear. I think you nicked yourself shaving, you might have to clean up a little. Do you like my hair? I changed my mind about the updo, much too stuffy and sophisticated. I think the loose waves suit me more. You know, your mother will kill you when she sees that tomato stain on your shirt. I can hear her now, ‘Trenton Damon Parrish, you couldn’t find one clean shirt for your wedding day?’ I don’t mind, I couldn’t give a flying fuck if you have tomato sauce on your button up.
“Maybe we shouldn’t get married, Trent. Oh, don’t give me that look. It’s not that I don’t love you, because I do. Well, I think I do. I definitely enjoy spending time with you. Most of the time. Mostly when I’m drunk. Like blackout drunk. I’m sorry, Trenton. It’s not you—actually no, it is you. You’re too nice, for God’s sake. You have never once raised your voice at me, never disagreed with me, never hit me! Now, I don’t want to walk around with a black eye every week, but you could at least give me a good spanking every now and then. I mean, you’re so vanilla. I don’t think I’ve ever come from you, not once. No, no, I faked it that time. Well, I’m a very good actress, aren’t I? I guess I missed my calling. You have never fucked me, Trent. All you know is making love, and when there’s no love then all you’re doing is making annoying fucking grunts. Even when I’m calling you a shit lay you won’t yell at me. Fucking pussy. Pathetic, dry ass pussy. This is all your fault. It is! Oh my God, I’m so sorry that I killed you, but do you blame me? We were about to get married.
“How did this even happen? No, I know how this happened, I don’t know how you and I happened. I should have listened to my mother. Yes, my mother hates you, absolutely fucking hates you. Why? You really have to ask that? You always bother her when she’s cooking! She doesn’t want your help, you’re just getting in her way! If I called her right now she would probably help me hide your body. She would, I know she would.”
I end up straddling his waist, white silk pooling on and around him. The edges of my dress stain a further angry maroon. My hand whips without a second thought and slaps his cheek, a good meaty slap. His head lolls one way, his cheek blooming the faintest pink handprint. I slap him again, again, again. If anyone were to walk by this room right now they would think a randy couple snuck away for a quick pounding. I laugh at the thought and I don’t stuff it down this time. Bright shrieks burst out of my throat as I hit him more and more.
“You’re finally making me happy, Trent!” I cackle. “Maybe we should get married after all! Me, dragging your lifeless body down the aisle, wouldn’t that be fun? Though, I don’t know how the kissing’s going to work. To be honest, your breath smells like something crawled in there and died.” I sound crazy, I can admit that, but I couldn’t give less of a shit. I’m having such a good time. The palms of my hand are stinging, but it’s the first thing this pathetic excuse of a man has made me feel in a while.
“I feel something, Trent, something that’s not pure fucking hatred! I’m happy! Ecstatic. On Cloud fucking Nine. And you’re making me feel this way! Was this so hard, Trenton? Was it? Maybe none of this would have happened if you had just made me happy!”