I
blink my eyes
hard. The lone
headlight coming towards me is
blinding, but it passes. I
drive a little
too fast, but the
cool, whipping air serves its purpose to
wake me up a little more.
God, what have I done? My
mind races as my car tries to
catch up. I can still
smell her on me.
What happened?
Why's it taking so
long to get home? The fucking
radio's broken, and there's only the sound of the air
slapping my face. I enjoy the
stinging pain. But there's not enough sound to
drown out my
thoughts.
Will she ever forgive me? Will I ever forgive myself?
Faster. I
stomp on the accelerator.
The trees
blur by me as my mind
flashes image after image in my head. I see her standing there, the
shocked look on her face
feeding my anger. I see my
reflection in the mirror, the
redness showing in my face. I see her
yelling at me to
get out. I see myself again, this time with my
hands on her, holding her
struggling body
underneath me.
What have I done?
The air's
cold, but I still need to
wipe sweat off my
brow. The
monotony of the
dashed yellow line on the
black pavement does nothing to
sooth my
soul. I washed my hands, but the
stains will always be there. I chuckle to myself as I think of
Shakespeare's Lady
MacBeth: "
Out damned spot!" I
choke off my chuckle as my
blood turned
colder.
I've got to get home.
I push the car to its
limits.
The drive back is
too long.