The Evening of the Betrothal

So when he was with her, she was nothing but happy, and when he was gone she slowly went crazy. She lost sleep and grey circles began to frame her eyes (they got bigger and bigger and that was slowly driving her crazy too). It was as if she was losing control of her own life: they had been at a carnival together, oohing and aahing at the fireworks, but suddenly her life was running in front of her and it was becoming hard to see it, obscured by all the people and the darkness and God she couldn’t keep running after it and here she is falling to her knees in defeat, her life has left for good, forever out of her supervision.

When she would kiss him, her thoughts became more preoccupied with the 23 hours of insanity that would follow. After making love, he would lay in her bed, half asleep, and she would brush his hair to the side with a shaking hand.

She couldn’t do this anymore. She had to leave. Beatrice rolled over in the bed, away from his body; he looked over at her with narrowed eyes before resting again. He would leave and not come back for four more days. When he finally returned, he barely recognized her. Perhaps the most disorienting facet of her appearance was the raging fury behind her eyes. Suddenly Felix was afraid.

As he should have been. She swifly kneed him in the tenderest of spots and dragged him into the apartment by his head. Slamming the door shut, she spun around and looked upon him, radiating vengeance. Beating him unconscious, she cut his throat with a steady hand. The anger had drained from her eyes and was replaced by tranquility.

Throwing his body out the door, she thought for a minute before killing the lights and falling fast asleep.

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