I'm down to just one thing and I'm starting to scare myself
She's gone. Isabella is gone. I've tried to make sense of it. To understand why she just walked on me, on us, but none of it makes any sense. Last night, I had to leave. I couldn't watch her walk out the door. Ended up at a bar and had too much to drink. Got behind the wheel of my car and ended up getting pulled over two blocks from home.
I honestly hoped they would take me in, but of course they saw my last name. Made a phone call to Dad and I guess their checks are in the mail. I was just given a verbal warning and told that my father wished for me to call him once I slept the hangover off. Of course he wants me to call him. Nothing better than rubbing salt in the wounds of my broken heart. He never liked Isabella. Never approved of the woman I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with and it turns out he was right. She didn't love me. She didn't want me. I was just...something she wanted to try out.
Sleep. I should sleep. It's been a long night and I'm obviously not going to classes today. The moment I open the door...all I can smell is the lingering scent of Isabella's perfume. The perfume I bought her when we were in Venice. I'd planned to buy the villa we stayed in on our honeymoon. It was going to be my anniversary present to her.
Her stuff is still here. Mocking me. The presents I bought her. The pictures and letters and everything that reminds me of Isabella and what I thought was real. It's too much. I gather everything up. Stuffing pictures, jewelry, letters, anything that reminds me of my wife and stuff it into bags. If only we lived in a house I could burn the entire place to do the ground, but I live in an upscale condo in Boston. Other people's homes are in this building. I can't risk anyone getting hurt.
I carry the bags across the street to the empty lot. I'll have to buy the lot later today. There is a canister of gas in the basement of the building. I grab it and a pack of matches that I picked up from the bar last night. The bottle of Jack Daniels in the trunk of my car, the bottle the cops didn't take from me because they were too busy kissing my father's ass to check my car for liquor, I grab it too. Best way to fight a hangover is to stay drunk. I'm laughing, crying, shaking, as I pour the gas over the bags. Taking a long drink from the bottle, I close my eyes, concentrating on the feel of the whiskey burning it's path down my throat, warming my body in a way that the fire I'm about to set will soon do.
I strike two matches, toss them on the bags and take a couple steps back. There is something poetic and cathartic about standing on the edge of the lot, drinking straight from the bottle of whiskey, as I watch my hopes and dreams burn in front of me. I can barely hear the screams from my neighbors and ignore the sounds of the sirens. I guess they were worried the fire would get out of hand. Spread across the street and hurt their precious homes. If they only knew that I wanted to burn their homes to the ground, but I was being nice by crossing the street...
I look right through the fireman who pulls me away from the blaze. He grabs the bottle from my hand and I punch him. Next thing I know the cops are there. Daddy won't be able to buy his way out of this one, but who am I kidding. Julian Covault can buy my way out of everything. Ev is gone. Isabella is gone. My mother is gone.
Julian is the only constant in my life. How fucking pathetic is that?
They read my rights and push me into the back of the police car. I look out the window, watching as the firemen put out the fire, as they try to save what Isabella left behind. Joke's on them. It was never real to begin with.
I honestly hoped they would take me in, but of course they saw my last name. Made a phone call to Dad and I guess their checks are in the mail. I was just given a verbal warning and told that my father wished for me to call him once I slept the hangover off. Of course he wants me to call him. Nothing better than rubbing salt in the wounds of my broken heart. He never liked Isabella. Never approved of the woman I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with and it turns out he was right. She didn't love me. She didn't want me. I was just...something she wanted to try out.
Sleep. I should sleep. It's been a long night and I'm obviously not going to classes today. The moment I open the door...all I can smell is the lingering scent of Isabella's perfume. The perfume I bought her when we were in Venice. I'd planned to buy the villa we stayed in on our honeymoon. It was going to be my anniversary present to her.
Her stuff is still here. Mocking me. The presents I bought her. The pictures and letters and everything that reminds me of Isabella and what I thought was real. It's too much. I gather everything up. Stuffing pictures, jewelry, letters, anything that reminds me of my wife and stuff it into bags. If only we lived in a house I could burn the entire place to do the ground, but I live in an upscale condo in Boston. Other people's homes are in this building. I can't risk anyone getting hurt.
I carry the bags across the street to the empty lot. I'll have to buy the lot later today. There is a canister of gas in the basement of the building. I grab it and a pack of matches that I picked up from the bar last night. The bottle of Jack Daniels in the trunk of my car, the bottle the cops didn't take from me because they were too busy kissing my father's ass to check my car for liquor, I grab it too. Best way to fight a hangover is to stay drunk. I'm laughing, crying, shaking, as I pour the gas over the bags. Taking a long drink from the bottle, I close my eyes, concentrating on the feel of the whiskey burning it's path down my throat, warming my body in a way that the fire I'm about to set will soon do.
I strike two matches, toss them on the bags and take a couple steps back. There is something poetic and cathartic about standing on the edge of the lot, drinking straight from the bottle of whiskey, as I watch my hopes and dreams burn in front of me. I can barely hear the screams from my neighbors and ignore the sounds of the sirens. I guess they were worried the fire would get out of hand. Spread across the street and hurt their precious homes. If they only knew that I wanted to burn their homes to the ground, but I was being nice by crossing the street...
I look right through the fireman who pulls me away from the blaze. He grabs the bottle from my hand and I punch him. Next thing I know the cops are there. Daddy won't be able to buy his way out of this one, but who am I kidding. Julian Covault can buy my way out of everything. Ev is gone. Isabella is gone. My mother is gone.
Julian is the only constant in my life. How fucking pathetic is that?
They read my rights and push me into the back of the police car. I look out the window, watching as the firemen put out the fire, as they try to save what Isabella left behind. Joke's on them. It was never real to begin with.