e u t h a n a s i a ;

(by katie)

and here's where things get controversial.

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"You're a murderer."

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Tess Tyler sits by the sink, and runs the pretty, jagged piece of metal over her wrist. The skin has been bruised and bloodied so many times that she's immune to the pain. She used to do this for the sting and burn – now she just likes the way the thick red liquid looks when it hits the light. Radiant and colorful.

Nate's letter and a glass of wine sit next to her. Crumpled and stained and smudged, rather like a fallen hero (even though it's the enemy). The wine glass is nearly drained of its contents, but there's another bottle waiting to be opened.

Tess reaches for the letter, ignoring the blood dripping from her wrist (she kind of likes the way it cakes to her thighs and arms, and makes her clothes stick to her body. She's read it a thousand times over, but the religious jargon always makes her angry.

Especially after three glasses of wine.

"God could have saved you. Us. Our baby. My baby. Forgiveness."

"How could you do this? It's murder, Tess..."

Tess Tyler's bloodshot blue eyes fill with tears of bitterness. Your baby? Saved us?

"Fuck you, Nate," Tess whispers in a broken, little-girl-lost voice (because she is). "Fuck you and your...your...God."

Anger and betrayal is what she feels for Nate's god. Where was his god when she needed him most? Answer me, Nate! Answer me! Where's your God, Nate?

Nate doesn't know anything. Nothing at all.

Blood drips down Tess's arms and onto her blouse and skirt, drip drip drip. She wants to drown in the red. She wants to fall asleep in the warm, soothing liquid and never wake up.

And it would be beautiful.

Nate and Tess's baby would have been beautiful.

A nice little girl with curly brown hair like her daddy and crystal blue eyes like her mommy (except not as broken). Her name would have been something pretty and sparkly and tinkly, like Lila or Claire or Summer.

But Tess wouldn't love her.

Because how can she love someone when she lost her heart, and can't remember where it is?

How can she be expected carry a baby inside of her for nine months, when she hates herself, and her body, so much?

The baby would be a china doll.

Something else for Tess Tyler to ruin with her clumsy, manicured fingers.

All she wants is to unbreak everything.

Nate's heart (even though he doesn't deserve it) and Mitchie's spirit (even though Tess hates her) and the skin on her wrist.

Bleed it all out, Tess.

Take your sad songs and make them better.

Bleed. Bleed. Bleed.

Her broken skin bleeds out her broken heart and the world blurs, then blackens. She can hear herself screaming, screaming, screaming, in a distant sort of way.

For Nate, for Mommy, for anyone. Apologies and distraught moans for a do-over, muffled by choked out sobs.

Blood pools all around her, soaking her hair and immersing her body.

The letter remains between her fingers completely ruined. The faded ink is covered by a thick coat of red (and baby, it's the permanent kind of paint).

Only the last line remains intact. Scrawled in Nate's sloppy chicken scratch, with sharp-edged letters and unruly ink splatters. Underlined in neat, sparkle pink gel pen by Tess Tyler herself.

You're a murderer.

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"so sad/twisted"
or
"i loved it"
thanks.