Trust by Mea Z., 15-17 category, from the Bothell Library.
I trusted him. I trusted every single venomous syllable that slipped from his beautiful lips, lips that promised that mine were the only other ones they would touch. I trusted getting lost at sea in his intriguing eyes, not drowning in the puddle of lies they revealed to be. The devilish grin stained my face as I couldn’t seem to wipe it off as easily as his red paint from my blade, watching it mix with the water as it swirled down the drain of the bathroom sink in the apartment that he promised we would be in for long. I wiped some of it off my forearm with my finger, placing it on my tongue; it was sweet like warm nectar. As I closed my eyes to embrace the sweetness, I started hearing the enchanting echos of his pathetic screams, begging for his worthless life in my head. I made way back to admire my art, the nectar painted on his delicate skin just right. As carefully kneeling down next to my masterpiece, I placed a kiss of appreciation on his intoxicating lips, plunging my hand into the incision I had made. I replaced his heart with the ring in which he had promised it as, dropping it into the emptiness that didn’t seem new. The last bit of life he had pulsated against my fingertips as I held it tightly until it stopped. My grin had now turned into that of the Chesire cat’s smile, letting laughter boil out of my throat as I squeezed the dead muscle with absolute joy in my palm. After the boil came to a simmer, I stood up slowly to bask in the glory of my work once again as I let the muscle fall to the ground before lifting one of the shoes I planned to wear on our wedding day, piercing it with the heel. I trusted him. I trusted him with my life, but he should have never trusted me with his.
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