Rehab

She lies on the floor with the kitchen knife in the back. The radio pours out Rehab by Rihanna, a rather unusual song for that channel to broadcast. When she had turned it on I was expecting soothing tones from a calm melody. I had never really liked pop-music.
I had managed to spill on the expensive carpet she had bought. Obsessively she had managed to not get any stains on it. Oh well, too bad it had to be ruined in this situation. I might have kept it. Though, it’s not me to blame. We were going to get married. She and I. We were meant for each other, a perfect item, but she wanted to test fate. Thought she had met someone better, someone perfect. Bullshit! I was the only one for her. The only one that could ever love her this deeply, cherish her as she was rare. Only I. He stole her from me, that bastard. Blindly she would have followed her, into his neat little web. It was a trap, why wouldn’t she see? She was into it, that little whore. Wanted to be fooled, taken away from this paradise and into the devil’s layer. Away from me. One does not simply walk away from me. It took her a while until she understood, but by the time I saw it in her eyes they turned to glass. The time was up. Contrary to that bitch, I had learned.

I look at her. The blue-green eyes had turned pale a while ago. The hands were still reaching for me, or where I used to be. The knife had long ago found its place. Forced through her back and into the unfaithful heart. The skin on her chin had turned to sandpaper. Something cold ran down my spine, the goose bumps spread like a deadly sickness. Next to her ear was an insignificant tear, striving to reach her valuable carpet. I swiped my finger over it, stood up and walk over her body, across the floor and open the door. My back turns against the hall and I take a last look into the small living room. The memories flow back and my eyes start to burn. Facing the other way I walk away, humming the tones of Rehab by Rihanna.

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