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I remember how intriuging it was to me, to see the water forming in little beaded droplets on my fingernails. Intriuging how the rest of the water poured forth from the chrome showerhead with an almost chaotic determination.

And here, on the tips of my fingers, the water was serene, lucid. It was then I realized how long my fingernails had gotten. Not so noticable, really. Just a little longer than perhaps a normal mans. They made the water seem elegant, as the droplets slowly rolled off the luminous, smooth texture.

My fingers wrapped around the cold metal of the knob that controlled the waters temperature. Turning it slowly, towards the red-colored mark in the chrome, I felt a stubborn shiver run across my body, as the heat increased.

From beyond the tiled walls of the shower, out in the cold open air of the bathroom, the music flowed in a gloomed, almost guilty rhythm. I remember mouthing the lyrics, the chorus of the song I loved so much. I didn't dare to sing along, for I feared my voice would fail me and then I would give in to the inevitable tears. Again, the chorus consumed my emotions.

"The mystery's gone
So bring back the sun
We'll bury this hate,
And build it with love.."

I cannot express what the words meant to me and how my soul trembled hearing Raine's voice shimmering with hope and regret. Oh, it meant so much to hear the thoughts voiced, etched and lined with just as much pain as I hid inside.

I brought my knees up against my chest, then wrapping my arms around myself, huddled in one corner of the steamed room. I leaned my head back against hte wall, then forward, so that my hair fell down my face, the long dark curls reaching down my chest. Turning my head side to side, I watched as my hair swayed, dripping and hanging low with the weight of the water.
Running my fingers through my hair once, before tossing it over my shoulders, and then once more. I closed my eyes to absorb the music.

As the first verse poured into the chorus, I opened my eyes, though I was unable to focus my vision upon anything in particular.

Inhaling deeply, I cringed as a memory formed within my thoughts. Shutting out my vision once again, I decided to embrace the image, to let it consume me.

'I don't care if it hurts. I deserve this, give it to me.'

And there she was. My darling girl. My fragile lover.

Her shoulder-length hair, blonde yet red at the same time, appeared somewhat mused, perfectly out of place. No smile graced her ruby lips, just a resigned look of longing. I watched as she reached up and tied her hair up against her head, so that only a few strands were left dangling here and there.

Her arms fell to her sides and she cocked her head slightly, mouthing something silently. After a few moments, I understood her quiet plea, as she mouthed "join me" once more.

My body convulsed with shivers as I opened my eyes to find she wasn't there. I must have let out some sound, a cry of anguish, perhaps. Maybe just a gasp. I could hear the reverb from the sound fading quickly away.

As I felt the hot water rolling across my body, it seemed I was becoming more and more numb and the heat was no longer so great. Frustrated, aching, I remembered the taste of blood from her lips, that one eternal night playing over and over in my heart.

"God damnit," I whispered. "I miss you. For the love of Christ, forgive me."

I looked up, eyes open despite the water pouring down on my face, filling my mouth. Oh, how to ease this pain, the bloody scar I had been picking for over a year.

My love. Gone. Help me.

Once again, the song repeated and I couldn't resist singing along, the raw emotion overflwoing as my tears came freely.

"I'm sorry I let you go, don't die.. please, God." The words came in a river of tears and sounds of despair.

The lyrics condemned me, as I cried, singing.

"I know, I know I failed you,
I hope, I hope we get through.. somehow."

All the buried pain of losing her washed across my soul, in beautifully tragic waves.
Reaching above me, my fingers feeling around on the shelf in the shower. The water that had collected there was cold and I kept exploring until I came to the handle of the little dagger we had shared.

Clutching it, I brought it carefully down near my body. The black handle shined with the moisture, as did the silver, six inch blade.

I remembered all the nights of despair, puncuated by arguements and phone calls that inevitably ended with a slam on one end or the other.

Nights of torment. Guilt, hate, through it all, this masterpiece of steel and plastic had served me.
It had obeyed my whims of self-destruction, never betraying, always faithful to the numbing sting; it's swift kiss. Was I weak? I was weak. I was always so weak.

"Save me now," I heard myself mumble.

If ever in my life I knew anything to be true, it was that my blood would flow, as my tears, to mourn the night. I brought the blade across my arm in a single stroke, ending my reverie.

Pain. Regret, instantly. Incredible, this flash of emtion, as deep and scarlet as the life which ran in small trickles down my arm, over my wrist. I watched as it rolled off of my outstretched fingers. Drop by drop, the blood fell to the shower floor, only to be lost in a swirl of red-tinted waves, which then disappeared down the ever-consuming drain. Realizing I had been holding my breath, I exhaled deeply.
Music played.

Darkness came, as I tried to stand.

The wound bled.

Almost tripping over myself, I managed to push open the glass door and stepped onto the cold, tile floor. Water dripped down my body, falling to the tile with a furious rhythm. I heard the shower water still running and came to my senses enough to turn it off. Almost like magic, the steam cleared.

I could see and was no longer dizzy. The stinging kiss upon my arm still bled, it's tears flowing in a way that seemed beyond anything I could comprehend.

Blood on the floor. Water on the tile.

I was shivering, freezing from the moisture collected upon my skin.

A towel, yes. Pulled the thick, warm material against myself and embraced it until I was dry.
Minutes later, I ventured into the hallway, which was dark, save for a flickering glow, which spilled out of the living room doorway.

Silently entering the room, I felt a twinge of pain in my arm, where the gash in my skin was now bleeding only slighty, the abused tissue slowly healing itself.

However, the horrible feeling that was twisting my heart and soul made all physical comprehension seem impossible. Unlike in my past, the blade did not light my soul with the life flowing from the wound.

Rather, the scarlet streams flowed heavy and dark over my emotions.

Knock.

Knock knock.

'Pay attention, I can't think.'

A knock upon the door. Oh, yes, the door.

"Perhaps I should op-.."

Knock.

I made my way to the door and my hand was already turning the knob before I realized my wound was blatantly exposed. Not to mention, I had only managed to slip on a pair of boxers.

Black, of course.

Like silk, perhaps.

The door opened and the humid air of the outside enveloped me as I focused on the figure before me.

Her eyes were fixed upon the wound.

She shimmered with an attractive fragility, her red-tinted hair up, as always. Her face wrought with emotion.

"Cosette," I whispered.

Her eyes met mine in a desperate flash.

"Marius."

Her voice filled my mind.

My soul.