Cassandra

Thank you so much to everyone who tagged along for this story. I loved writing it and I loved the feedback I received from it. You all are wonderful. Hope you enjoy! :)



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"This evening, around six-thirty, one of the neighbors of David and Cassandra Wilton had called police, stating that she had heard screams from the other house. Police arrived at the mansion around six forty-five."



"When we went into the house," Officer Robert Lewinksi said emotionlessly, blue and red lights flashing against his pale skin, "and found a woman on the floor, bleeding profusely from her abdomen. The man had been upstairs with a gun to his head. We had managed to get the gun away from him."



"Cassandra Wilton was found dead at the scene. Investigators believe that she was stabbed repeatedly in the stomach by her husband, David Wilton, and that he was going to take his own life when the police arrived.



"David Wilton is currently being held in prison for the homicide of Cassandra Wilton."



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You have no idea how many times I\'ve listened to the different voices tell me the same thing over and over and over again.



You have no idea how much it hurts to listen to them lie in my face, telling me that she\'s gone over and over and over again.



You have no idea how often my mind is invaded with the images of Dave bringing the knife back and thrusting it into her body over and over and over again.



You have no idea how horrible it is to hear her scream, then gasp, and then whimper before she dies. And then it\'s over. It\'s all over.



You have no idea.



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Cassandra\'s funeral was on Sunday.



I went alone, telling my parents that I needed closure without them there. I knew they were trying to be supportive as I dealt with my loss, but they didn\'t know half of my emotions swirling in my gut. They weren\'t aware that I had been in love with her. They didn\'t know anything.



Amongst the trendy cars in the church parking lot, I, again, felt out-of-place, like I had for the interview a month ago. The sight, actually, made me especially queasy. I wondered how many people there knew Cassandra for real. If they knew her disease, her love for art, her contagious laugh, her beautiful smile. I wondered if anyone had known her better than I had.



Pushing down my black, silk skirt, I entered the chapel, taking in all of the other men and women dressed in the same grieving attire. Almost everyone in the lobby took a glance at me, half their ages at least, and offered curious glimpses to their parties. "Who is that?" I could hear them mumble. I was more to Cassandra than any of them.



I walked quickly past the groups of older people and into the larger room with seats and flowers and other people nestled in corners, crying and laughing and smiling and frowning. My heart ached. None of this seemed real at all. Just days ago, Cassandra and I were making passionate love on her bed. She had the softest touch, grazing her fingertips across my chest to my belly. I loved to kiss her neck. It was always so warm.



In the front was a rectangular prism dressed in thick fabrics and surrounded by large bouquets of exotic flowers. My heart stiffened as I held my breath. She was in there. Waiting for me to see her one last time.



Slowly, I walked up to the display. Her eyes were closed softly, and her skin was chalk-white. She looked like she was only sleeping; that I could kiss her shoulder and bring her out of slumber as I\'d done countless times before. She wore a dress that did nothing for her curves. It made her look like an old woman -- something that she would never be.



My bottom lip trembled as I stared at her lips.



Please, just kiss me.



She was everything I\'d ever wanted. She was an angel to me. She was a tree that always bloomed and never wilted. Never turned gruesome. She was given an opportunity to have someone that cared for her and loved her more than she\'d ever asked for. I was willing to give her everything.



He took that all away from her. From me. From us.



Tears streaming down my cheeks, I heard myself sniffle and hold back a sob. She was never coming back. She was never coming back.



"Hun?"



Startled, I turned and gasped. A woman was staring back at me. Her eyes were hazel, but shaped exactly the same as Cassandra\'s: almonds. Her hair was jet-black with streaks of silver gray that she\'d pulled up into a tight bun upon her head. Millions of wrinkles cluttered around her eyes and her lips and her forehead and everywhere in between. It was clearly Cassandra\'s mother.



"Are you alright?" she asked me in a soft voice.



I made a cough-like noise as I attempted to clear my throat. "Yes," I breathed, wiping my eyes with the backs of my hands.



The woman stared at me for a moment, considering, and took a look down at her daughter. I saw in the corners of her eyes that they were stained with red. I\'d expected her mother to be overwhelmed with sorrow, like I was, but then I remembered that she had probably anticipated an early death for her daughter anyway. But still, it made my blood tingle as I stared at her, lacking the grief for her deceased daughter.



I had followed her eyes, anyway, and peered at the frozen face once more, taking in Cassandra\'s stone-like features. Like Dave\'s.



No, never like his. Not that monster\'s. Not that abusive, murdering bastard. Never.



"Did you know Cassie well?"



I darted my eyes in her direction. Scowling. My bottom lip quivered again, but not for the same reason as before.



Her name was Cassandra. No, her name was not Cassie. Her name was not Cass. Her name was not Sandra. Her name was not Sandy. Her name was not Mrs. Wilton. Her name was not Ms. Wilton. Her name was not any of those names.



"Her name was Cassandra," I whispered, angrily and bitterly. "And we were in love with each other."



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The end.



happy note? uhm, therapy sequel is next in line? :)