Release

He drove home in silence, his face like stone. The anger, hate, and sadness swelled inside of him but he knew he needed to be truly alone before he could let it out. The pain had been building for weeks, and each day he had to put a mask on to hide it from his friends, coworkers, and family. The mask only made the pain continue to grow. He had begun to wonder if the mask was for them, or for himself. Maybe if he could lie long enough, to tell himself and everyone that he was ok, then he would eventually be ok.

He got out of his car and trudged up the steps to his apartment. The door closed behind him and he moved quickly down the hall to his bedroom, to avoid the warm, butt wagging hello his best friend always gave him.

He gently closed the door behind him and leaned over to his record player, turning some music on. Heavy synth bass filled the room and he let it flow through him.

And then, finally, he let go.

He screamed at the top of his lungs until his throat was raw and no more sound came out. He smashed his dresser and desk with his bare hands, and tore the shelving off his walls, scattering books to the floor. He pounded and tore at his bed, and when that couldn’t satisfy his wrath he turned to the walls, punching again and again until his hands were bloodied and bruised.

The physical pain gave him clarity for a few moments, but it wasn’t enough. It helped him feel a release for a few minutes, but knew that it wasn’t sustainable. Breaking the things around him only helped remind him how broken he was, and he knew that he couldn’t carry on like this; not anymore.

He slowly slid to the floor as tears coursed down his cheeks. The music continued to throb through him as his heart grew heavier and heavier. He fumbled under the bed until he felt the cold grainy surface of the safe and slowly put the combo in. The small safe clicked open and he pulled out the sleek black gun hiding inside. He stared at it with longing, and felt it’s familiar weight in his hands.

What was the point anymore? Everything had crumbled around him, there was no reason to feel anymore, no reason to hurt anymore.

Just before he closed his eyes as the cold metal touched his temple, he saw a picture shattered on the floor. It was in a special wooden frame She had painted for him; “Where it all began” painted in flowing letters around the edge. She wouldn’t have wanted this for him, for it to end so violently and unnecessarily. But if that were true why wasn’t She here to stop him? Why had She herself left too soon?

It didn’t matter, because he had to keep going; for Her. His hand slowly fell limp to the floor, and his head slumped against his chest. He knew She was still there with him, and he couldn’t let Her down, not again.

The door to his room slowly creaked open, and he felt a warm, wet kiss run all over his face. He looked up into the concerned, loving, baleful eyes of his loyal friend and companion. His dog trotted over to the picture of him and his lost love and brought it over, gently placing it in his lap, then lay down next to the broken man. Both of them let out a long sigh as they remembered, and missed Her; together.