Kiss me one more time before I die. That’s what my last wish was. My wish was for him to show up as I lay there struggling for the last gulps of air that were vanishing with the blood mixing with the pool where I was; it hurt so much, and I swear that my ribs were bruising from the inside-out. Then he came to revive me and I almost thought: wait, wait, wait I'm alive. That was wishful dreaming, like Juliet. No way in hell could I survive it there in the ditch where I landed, glass sticking out of me like rose thorns.
I'd thought that I was just another victim of an assassin that would eventually break my own heart; instead, I was the poison in his life that was about to break his heart. I wish I could protect him from the pain that he was about to go through; I knew better than to think he would walk away once I stopped breathing. He would stay by my side, holding me in his arms until the medics would pry his arms away from my sleeping corpse stained with crimson water paints. Even then, he will stagger to stand and watch, as they will pull the windshield pieces out of my cold casing before laying the empty shell in the black cadaver pouch. He will stay there until the last light disappears down the stormy April slicked road, and then bring flowers every May to lie beside the tree to wish me happy birthday. He was always the sentimentalist, the romantic—and now I was leaving him with no paperweight to hold him down.
I began to shiver as my blood slowed. He rocked me slowly back and forth where he sat on the ground not too far from the dirt road. I couldn’t taste my tears, or the rain, or the metallic rustiness I should have; no, I felt like I had cotton mouth really bad. My mouth felt dry even though all it had was a mess of liquid causing me to choke. I couldn’t talk, even though I wanted to tell him I loved him. Tell him that I was sorry. I never saw it coming, that deer just ran out in front of me, but I wasn’t paying attention. I wanted to get away, just because I was mad from a petty fight about the number of guests; and whether we would invite his Aunt Fran the kleptomaniac or my Aunt Kathy the gossiping leach. I would never be able to take it back.
If there was a chance that I could live forever, I would be his shelter from all of the pain he was feeling right now. I think that he was feeling more pain that me, because my limbs had grown so cold, I was now numb. When the night grows dark, I wish that he wouldn’t have to face it alone in the apartment that was soon to be ours. The wedding would have to be canceled, and oh…how he would have to go through the problems of not only that, but sit through a funeral of the dead bride. My presence in his life brought nothing but turmoil; my last drop that would lead me to death would be his evil and my biggest sin.
“Shhh…shh…sh,” was the only thing that he could do anymore and I reached up to stroke the tears and rain from his face. He isn’t a regular Joe and is the best man I have ever seen; I know that through my leaving him behind, he deserved more than me. He leaned in and touched his lips to mine as I drew in a raspy gasp and my eyes grew wide.
My porcelain hand dropped from his cheek: Goodbye, my Romeo. Parting is such sweet sorrow.
