I killed her on a Tuesday

Note: This story contains themes of substance abuse, including alcohol and tobacco use. It also explores a profound state of mental apathy and the loss of self, which may be distressing for some readers.

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I killed her on a Tuesday.

This day started like any other, with a cold shower, a strong cup of coffee, and a sense of discontent spreading through my veins. As drops of water were sliding down my skin, I was feeling the void. As I was sipping that coffee, the void was sipping me. Going to work or riding the bus home, the void was my only companion.

However, everything changed drastically whenever I saw her.

Dark chestnut curls reminded me of my mom. Her deep, dark chocolate eyes were enough to make anyone drown in them. And that was filling my void to the brim, over the brim… But hardly ever did I see her. I didn’t know how to stretch these minutes, how to transform them into hours, days, years—just to lose myself in her eyes forever.

Sometimes I thought that I was going crazy, and I was afraid that one day I might lose control and do something reckless, a million of reckless things. Because I didn’t know how to live without her, and little did I know how to live with her. I longed for the whole world to look at us and notice only her. People should enjoy her beauty, brightness, ambitiousness; they should laugh at her jokes and adore her. It would be enough for me. It was everything I had ever wanted.

I remember the first time I saw her, the first time I truly saw her for who she was, the way she influenced people, and filled them with her light. It was in the summer; we had gone to the river. I can still taste the dust of the country road and the sweetness of the wild berries we picked along the way. She was leading the pack, her laughter echoing against the water's surface like skipping stones. When she jumped into the river, the sun caught the spray, turning every drop into a fleeting diamond. She didn’t look back at me, but the truth was, I couldn’t look directly at her either. She was too bright, too vivid, like looking straight into the midday sun.

So, I watched her reflection in the river instead. In the dark, glassy water, her chocolate eyes stared back at me, shimmering with a clarity that felt almost divine. I was so mesmerized by the shimmer on the surface that I didn't notice how cold the water actually was. She was vibrant, a wildfire in human form, and back then, I believed her fire was enough to keep us both warm forever. I didn't know that fires need tending, or they simply burn out, leaving nothing but cold, gray ash.

How did I end up here—where I killed her?

When I moved out from my parents, she began to fade. She appeared rarely, like a forest nymph, as if just to make sure I hadn't forgotten she existed. Every visit was magical, brief, and only served to highlight the insignificance of my mundane life. It didn't happen suddenly. And it was completely my fault. If only I had valued her then, maybe we would be together now.

I guess the biggest problems were laziness and a total lack of care. I stopped taking care of myself. A hairbrush? Never heard of it. A shower? Once every two days, that'll do. Why wear something nice when there are stretched-out sweatpants and a stained hoodie? Restaurants are expensive and slow; it's better to order delivery. Cooking? Nah, I'd rather binge-watch a stupid show and forget myself.

I started smoking, poured at least two cans of beer into myself every night but was afraid to admit that my life had turned into a nightmare. My mental state sank so low that the desire to live simply evaporated. I used to be her guardian, her vessel. Now, I am her grave.

And her? She just vanished. Or rather, I killed her.

That Tuesday, everything went sideways from the very morning. I barely pried my eyelids open at ten; I’d been playing games and watching some mindless show until three in the morning. I breakfasted on a cold burger and a handful of stale fries left over from yesterday's delivery. As I was leaving the house, I suddenly noticed it was hard for me to just bend over and tie my laces. I wondered how long it had been that way. The elevator wasn't working. Running down the stairs, I was gasping for air, but I stubbornly went to get an energy drink because how else could I "work"?

In the shop, the clerk measured me with a strange look, and a woman in line recoiled in disgust. Big deal, I ran out in a dirty hoodie; the stain is small… Though, perhaps it was the smell of unbrushed teeth?

The way back up to the tenth floor became my personal Golgotha. I crawled up those stairs for an eternity. Each step was a reminder of every burger I didn’t need, every beer that drowned my ambition, and every hour I spent rotting in front of a screen. I stopped, clutching at the air, my heart hammering against my chest. And that was when I remembered: I used to fly up here in a minute, only getting a bit out of breath by the eighth floor. And now?

I had to work, but the nausea from my own life paralyzed me. On the calls, I used my usual strategy: I turned off the camera, complained about "bad internet," and played on my phone, agreeing with colleagues, pretending to be present. But that Tuesday, I was suddenly hit by a wave of rage. I used to adore my job! What happened to me?

I walked up to the mirror and didn't see her.

Instead of her sweet curls and chocolate eyes sparkling with a thirst for life, a dull gaze and tangled mats of hair stared back at me. The hoodie didn't just have a stain; it featured a massive, dirty blotch with dried streaks. My face was haggard; dark shadows pooled under my eyes; it had become bloated, with a double chin and swollen cheeks.

When did this happen? When did I allow myself to vanish? On that Tuesday, I finally realized: I killed her with my own hands. I killed the best version of myself.

Epilogue

I folded the stained hoodie like a shroud. I was mourning someone who had my face but none of my soul. In despair, I reached for the hairbrush. It felt heavier than a sledgehammer. Maybe if I start scrubbing the stains, I'll find her underneath.