The Flip Side of Love

What I don’t tell her is that Devon at least what is left of him will in all likely hood never be heard from again.

At night I tuck her cozily into our couch and bring her camomile tea, laden with honey and cream and laced with just the tiniest drop strychnine. The strychnine gives her a stomach ache, so I make her more tea with just a tiny drop more. Night after night this is our routine, until the last night, until tonight.

“I don’t deserve you,” she whispers,” grasping her tea cup for her final sip of tea. “I don’t deserve you.” She weeps, as tears of guilt stream unashamedly out of the corners of her once bright blue eyes.   Then clutching her stomach in pain she turns her face away from me and takes her final breath.

“No,” I answer, long after she could have heard my answer. “No,” I say it again, as I sit holding her lifeless hand. Sipping my Camomile tea and waiting for my own pain to subside.

 

End

 





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