Red rivers

My throbbing headache wakes me from my sleep. It’s 3 PM. I’m lying on my right side. Slowly, I turn onto my back and rub my eyes. Ouch. I sit up straight and slowly get out of bed. My head is pounding, causing me to lose my balance for a moment. I manage to collect myself and walk to the bathroom. I look in the mirror. I’m silent. So silent, just looking at myself. I get angry. My eyes are swollen and red. I hit the sink with my hands, step back, and put my hands in my hair, pulling at it. I let go. Enough is enough. I step into the shower. I think I was in the shower for an hour. Thinking. I’m so unbelievably angry that I don’t think I can even put it into words. Anger is an emotion I don’t usually feel easily, but my bucket is full. It’s been two months already. But it still hurts so much. The more I think about it, the more things I realize. This makes me angry again. But I’m also angry at myself. If you look at it, I did this to myself. Wait, what… No. No, that’s nonsense. I wasn’t the problem. I’m the victim. I run to my bedroom and put on the first clothes I see, grab my bag and keys, and head out. I arrive at the house. The door creaks open. Exactly as I remember. The blue door that was slammed shut so many times. I walk inside. The smell hits me. It makes me nauseous. I look at the kitchen and see the empty vase on the table. I visualize flowers in it. I shake my head. I try not to think about the memories and shake the smell off me. I have to keep going. I look at the living room, and nothing has changed in the past few months. Everything is exactly the same. I’m not surprised.

It’s evening now. It’s raining heavily outside. I open the door. I’ve never hated the rain. The rain always brought me something familiar. The smell of fresh rain filling the streets with its little rivers. The rain’s rivers are now mixing with me. The puddles are turning red. I’m soaked. There’s no one else around on the street. Not that it matters to me. The streets are very dark but are softly lit by a few street lamps. They don’t produce much light, but they do their job. I look down. The only thing I see is red. I stare ahead in silence and walk through the rain back home. Very few thoughts cross my mind as I walk back. I feel sort of numb. I can’t feel anything at that moment. This makes me doubt myself. Shouldn’t I be feeling or thinking so many things right now? I’m almost home, and for the first time in a long while, I look down at the ground. It was about a 20-minute walk. I arrive home. I’m soaking wet. But I actually really enjoyed that walk home. I’m glad I went to the house. It was deserved and right. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Sleep well.

The second morning. I wake up, and this time without a headache. After 2 long months, I’ve woken up for the first time without that pounding headache. It feels so good. I walk to the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. Only this time, I softly smile at myself. I have to laugh. I cover my mouth with my hand. I can’t hold in my laughter. The phone rings. My phone is still in the bedroom. I walk back to my bed, still softly laughing at my little moment of joy. It’s my best friend. I pick up. “Hello,” I say in a giggly voice. “Hello? Why are you laughing?” I hear on the other side of the line. “Oh, sorry,” I say. “I was just having a little moment of fun.” “Um, okay. Haven’t you heard the news?” “What news?” I ask. “Oh, you really haven’t heard… you’re never going to believe this. Your ex, Myko... Myko, he’s… found dead in his house. He’s been murdered.”

“I know,” I say.