AUTHOR: Camila
EDITOR: Kallie E. Sage
TRIGGER WARNINGS: VIOLENCE, GROOMING, SWEARING
Crimson fire was how it ended.
All of our memories, all the stolen kisses that tasted like your favorite strawberry, all the times you caressed my face, promising me heaven. Promising me this was alright, and that there was no need to be scared. All I had to do was be brave, you said.
And I was, so fucking much. Bravery was all I had. Now that I look back, watching the scarlet flames burn away everything you were, are, and ever will be, I suppose that “bravery” is the wrong word. I was not brave or proud of what we had, but afraid of what would happen if I wasn’t strong.
You called us soulmates, destined to be together.
All of the girls in class had a crush on you. It was hard not to. You were quite the charmer, and the confidence you carried when you walked up to the board to solve problems was close to breathlessly beautiful. Your voice was a deep, husky tone, almost earthy in its intonation.
I was fourteen when we first kissed. Fourteen when you put your hand on my shoulder and told me that if I ever needed to talk, you would be there.
And I did. I came from one of those fractured families. My mom was out working until the sky bled, and my dad had left us when I was five, so I suppose what happened was almost inevitable. I sometimes wonder how things could have been different if I had a normal family, a real one. Maybe we wouldn’t have kissed, and maybe, just maybe, you would still be alive.
Any good that would have been.
It was 4:15 a.m when you drew your last breath. The alarm clock said so, blinking as if it just realized its owner was dead.
Murdering you had been a simple, if bloody, affair. A knife sinking into your chest, and a slash at the throat to make sure you would never kiss another girl again, never promise her heaven and give her hell.
You had always joked that if you had hair, you would style it in the wildest ways. You told me so. Now, as I witness the ruby flames burn your body, I realized that you had always been that way. The jokes, the charm, the confidence, was all part of the careful image you curated for yourself. Especially for the girls.
I was fifteen when we first laid in bed. Fifteen when you took my virginity and told me I was special. Fifteen when you threw the maroon pendant my dad had given me into the recycling bin, and told me you would be my support, my carmine flame to light the darkness of my life.
You were thirty-one.
The flames are almost done. I think it’s time I leave. Call this letter a confession, a revenge piece, whatever you will.
Know that this is a tribute. A memory. This is for all the girls, all the godforsaken monstrous things you did with them, with me.
I hope you burn in the deepest depths of hell. I hope even God won’t forgive you for what you’ve done.
Maybe, just maybe, I’ll finally find peace when that happens.
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