Eros – Short Story

I should have known he’d be the one. I should have known his eyes weren’t blue, but black, and his voice wasn’t inviting, but compelling. I should have known he’d be the one to kill me. But his hands were soft yet strong, and when his fingers slid across my skin I thought there was no better ecstasy. I was lost in those deceitful eyes with no intention of finding my way out. When he told me he loved me, I believed him. The days were made for rolling around in the sheets. The nights made for drinking elixir from dark bottles, consuming the whiteness that made us feel invincible. Flashing neon lights illuminated our dilated eyes and the music carried our bodies until the sun met the horizon and we were stumbling home. I thought he was my home.

I also thought that when his fist broke the glass in a blinding rage, I could fix him. But his wounds weren’t healing and his blood was staining my hands. I learned not to ask him where he went during the night, when I would find myself standing alone in a bathroom with music vibrating through the walls. I would wait for him to come find me and whisk me home, where I would forget he ever left. In the morning I would wake up to a red rose and kisses down my back. I should have known that the roses and laughter wouldn’t last. I should have known that the man I loved had secrets that no human being could hold inside without losing their sanity. Still, I remained by his side to kiss his cheek.

And then the bad days became more than the good, and those flashing lights began to scare me. The alcohol tasted like blood and the white lines gave me nightmares. The nights began to haunt him too and I would awake to his cries with nothing to calm him but stolen pills. And then his bloodshot eyes turned into a dark abyss, and his voice only held menace. His hands weren’t soft anymore and though his fingers would still trace the shadows on my skin, all his touch left behind were burnt trails of hopelessness. He would disappear more and more, claiming he had to. He had to give himself to those who needed it. I didn’t understand what he meant at the time. Not until my last moments with him did I know who he was. He would come home with black and blue tattoos on his knuckles and though I would kiss them and wrap them up he wouldn’t speak about them. He would stare into the broken bathroom mirror and challenge his distorted reflection to end the pain.

And when my bones began to scream at me to run I silenced them by kissing him so deeply that for a moment I thought he had returned to me. I couldn’t deny that my heart had his name scratched into it, and my hands always found his in the dark. And on my last night on earth, I stared up at the moon and hummed my favorite melody until it gave me the strength to walk away. With each step, my eyes burned and my mind spun. And then he was in front of me and I was screaming,

“I’m sorry!”

And he was saying “I forgive you darling.”

I took his face between my hands and whispered, “Baby let me go.”

And that’s when I looked past those sad eyes and saw the desperation only true lovers can feel. His love for me was all he had left. And then he was crying and his fingers tangled in my hair as his lips reminded me of all that we had. I should have known those fingers would tease their way down to my neck. I should have known those hands, once so gentle against my skin, would curl around my throat. All I could think about was how fucked up it was that I still adored his touch. Suddenly I understood. I understood why he was the one.

He was love, and though it was a burden for him, he still said my name as if I was his last hope on this fucked up earth. I understood why he did it. Why he couldn’t let me go. I was the only person who could love him for who he was. I loved him even with the deathly pressure of his fingers against my throat. He hurt himself so he wouldn’t hurt me. Until I betrayed him by trying to break our promises. With my last breath, I felt hatred for those rapacious love crazed people who took piece after piece of him until there was nothing left for himself. Nothing left for me. Eros baby, I’m sorry I let go. I’ll see you soon and we’ll rule the sky.

This is a short story I’ve been working on in my Fiction Writing class. Please let me know what you think, your feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank you! 

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7 thoughts on “Eros – Short Story

  1. Reblogged this on Barn Town Children Books and commented:
    Let me introduce myself. My name is Eve Culley. I am a writer, blogger, and soon to be published author – children’s stories. Hopefully, it will be out by the end of June 2015.
    I am always interested in how other writers work.
    Look forward to following your work.

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  2. I can’t say I enjoyed reading this short story. But I found it written well and delivered it’s promise. Drugs and abuse are never easy to write about tastefully but you did good.
    I look forward to more of your writing.

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    1. It wasn’t very easy for me to write. I’ve been obsessed with this idea of the god of love, Eros, more known as Cupid, and what it would be like to love him when he’s in charge of love itself. So I didn’t always expect it to take a nasty turn but that’s the way it came out. Thank you so much for your comment, I really appreciate it!

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      1. My process is pretty unorganized actually. I read a poem once about Eros back in high school and my teacher asked us to write an interpretation of him and that’s where this all started. So I’ve done a bit of a character study on him and put my own twist and interpretation in there. But other than that I usually get an image in my head and daydream about it for a few days and then put some music on and just write what I see and then I go back and try to connect it.

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      2. No it’s alright! I try to write a little every day, even if I don’t necessarily like it. I do work with a variety of ideas and characters. I’m constantly going back and forth between new ideas to add to my pieces. I really need to be more organized.

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