September 4, 2008
The devil played me a melody, sweeter than anything I had ever heard. Her fingers ran along the keyboard taunting me with incredible speed, grace and beauty. The serene sounds immobilized me as I listened to the ballad that put all my nerves to rest and watched her slender figure, like a goddess, a Persephone, pushing me into a trance.

The music ceased abruptly when she noticed my presence in the same room as her, and she took no courtesy to hide her repulsion. I backed away, too, not wanting to disgust her so much that she disappeared from my sight again.

“What the hell are you doing here, rapist?” She uttered in her degrading way. A way I deserved at this point, but it still hurt all the same. “You’re not supposed to be here. Get out before I call the police.” She threatened me with her cell phone out, a neon pink girlish color, and 911 on speed dial.

“Please, Marilyn, just give me a chance. I don’t want to hurt you,” I remonstrated. Salt water was starting to collect in my eyes as I inched forward, cowering, but she wouldn’t hear of it.

“This is the last time I’m warning you. Get out. You are under a restraining order.” The more I inched forward, the more she steps back. I hate her for it. Her sickeningly beautiful sandy hair was reflected in the dim light of the school’s music room. One day we were together in love and the next she ripped every corner of my soul and left it bleeding all over the courtroom.

“I just wanted to talk to you for a while. I love you. You know that I love you,” I begged. I wanted to let her know that I was sorry. I didn’t want to make her suffer. I wanted to make her happy, to let her know how much she mattered to me.

“No. Leave. I don’t want to see you, Anthony.” Her eyes were pleading and she looked on the verge of tears. I couldn’t help but notice how musical my name sounded on her lips.

I wanted to stop, I really wanted to, but the frustration took over and blinded me from what I should have done in such a situation. Before I knew what happened to me, she was kneeling down caressing her cheek with one hand and clutching her cell phone in the other. It took me a moment to register the light sting radiating from my right hand.

I heard a soft sob coming from her and caught a glimpse of her tear-stricken face. “The police are coming. They’ll arrest you and you’re going to spend the rest of your life in jail.” She said this with a fierce excitement. She wanted to see me helpless, the way I made her helpless so many times before.

“I can still murder you first,” I threatened her, making my voice sound menacing, but I didn’t mean it, any of it. I just wanted to talk to her for a while. Maybe listen to her music for a couple of minutes, just see her. Well, I was getting a good look at Marilyn, now, and I despised myself for it. I didn’t want to see her crying.

We stood still for a while, though I don’t know how long because I was too paralyzed to have a sense of time. It felt like the world stood still with us. My body did not feel like it existed. I really didn’t feel anything except terminal numbness that still plagues me today. It was just her, her body, her suffering. I wanted to take it away. She sat on the floor almost wanting willing herself to attach to it; I was standing a foot away from her still as a statue.

After a lifetime the police were heard outside, complete with an ambulance, and fire truck. I vaguely recall thinking of how distressed she must have sounded on the phone for the police to take her that seriously. Then again, I am a repeat offender. There came a knock, then a scream. “Is anybody in there!?” an officer shouted. His croaking voice was muffled through the door.
“He-he’s over here,” Marilyn squeaked. Her choice was barely audible, but easy to hear in our mutual silence. Somewhere in the back of my head, my mind was telling me to run, but there was nowhere to run to. I started panicking, I couldn’t move. Sweat was starting to form on my palms and forehead and my breath became more rugged and hurried.
Eventually, the police managed to retrieve a key to the wooden door separating Marilyn and I from the people that would break us apart. Two burly men with small, brown mustaches took one look at the situation and shrieked at me to lie down with my hands in front of my body. One of took out a pair of metal handcuffs and roughly attached them to my wrists while lifting me off the floor. The other helped Marilyn to her feet with soothing word and gentle caresses that I have never given her. She was escorted to the ambulance where doctors were there to help her recuperate. I managed to catch a glimpse of a doctor bandaging her face and disinfecting a wound on her knee before the officer forced my head down and shoved me inside the police car, obstructing her from my view. It made me feel happy to see someone there for her where I couldn’t be. The panicked feeling started to manifest itself once more at the thought of how it was over, that I would never see her again, her sandy hair, cherry lipstick for as long as I was alive and maybe even longer than that. I wanted one last chance; I knew that we could be together. The car sprung into drive before I could put up a fight.

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