Anne-Marie
von Anne RobertsAll I wanted was for someone to tell me they loved me.
But when I found Jake and Sarah together in OUR spot—the park bench where he’d first kissed me—the words he’d carved into the wood felt like a lie. “Forever,” it said. Turns out, forever lasted 2 Years.
"As I dragged my leaden legs through the deserted streets, the neon lights of the 24-hour diners and pawn shops blurring together like a cruel mockery, the rain-soaked pavement seemed to stretch on forever. The weight of their betrayal threatened to consume me, just like the bike that careened past, its horn a jarring scream that echoed the shattering of my heart, leaving me lost and alone in a city that suddenly felt vast and unforgiving."
I scrubbed my skin raw that night, trying to wash away the memory of his hands on her. But the ache stayed. I stopped painting. Colors felt too loud. Too alive
But after the breakup I didn't leave my apartment for a month, the silence in my apartment felt like it was crawling under my skin. The paintings I tried to finish just stared back at me—half-formed faces, empty eyes.
My friend advised me to start dating again, she said the best way to get over a man was to get under another man
So I downloaded Tinder.
The first matches were… underwhelming. Gym selfies, cringey pickup lines, thirst traps and men seeking for hookups .
Then he popped up on my screen. His profile was different, he was different. No mirror pics—just a shot of him holding , his eyes crinkling with a smile.
He messaged me at 2 a.m.: “Your paintings… they’re like staring into a storm. Tell me about the girl who wields such chaos.”
He seemed perfect—kind, funny, and so genuinely interested in me. After weeks of feeling invisible, he made me feel seen again.
He finally asked me out on a date I was elated
"As I stood in front of the mirror, smoothing out my dress for what felt like the hundredth time, I couldn't help but feel a flutter in my chest. He'd asked me out just a few days ago, and I'd been counting down the hours ever since. I slipped on my heels, took a deep breath, and tried to calm my racing thoughts. What if we had nothing to talk about? What if he didn't like me? I shook my head, trying to shake off the doubts.
I almost canceled. Twice. But I'd gotten ready, I looked good, and now all I had to do was be myself. Easier said than done, I thought, as I grabbed my purse and headed out the door."
my Uber arrived,
As I stepped out of the Uber, the cozy "Brewed Awakening" cafe beckoned, its warm glow and rustic decor instantly putting me at ease.
He stood when I entered. Old-fashioned. Chivalrous. His laugh was low, honeyed. He asked about my Portrait of Grief series. No one ever asked.
“You paint sadness like it’s sacred,” he said. His fingers grazed mine as he passed the sugar. My pulse fluttered—a trapped bird.
As we finished dessert, he gently brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, sending shivers down my spine
When he suggested his place, I hesitated. But he mentioned a studio—natural light, a view of the river. “
he said. I ignored the chill down my spine. I’d ignored that chill with Jake, too.
We pulled up to a Gothic archway, the words "Jenkins Memorial" etched in stone above iron gates. The grey building loomed, its narrow windows like empty eyes. I felt a growing sense of unease as my date smiled and led me toward the entrance.
It’s… a morgue?” I laughed, thinking it a joke. His smile didn’t reach his eyes.
The door creaked open. The air smelled of bleach and rot. Like a hospital crossed with a butcher shop.
He offered me wine with a smile, his eyes watching me intently as I raised the glass to my lips. I felt a shiver run down my spine as he hovered close, his breath on my skin, waiting for me to take a sip.
"I tried to brush it off as mere politeness, but something about his gaze made me feel uneasy. The wine burned going down, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.
"The next thing I knew, my vision began to blur and the room started spinning. I felt myself falling, but I couldn't move, couldn't react. Everything went dark.
"When I came to, I was disoriented, my head pounding. I tried to move, but my wrists were bound to a cold metal chair. I was trapped. The fluorescent lights above hummed loudly, making my head throb even more.
As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw him standing in front of me, humming a familiar tune.
"I saw shoes labeled on a shelf. So many names. Lydia. Mara. Sofia. My heart sank as I realized I was just another addition to his collection."
he whispered, tracing a scalpel down my cheekl
I screamed. He laughed. The blade bit deeper.
he crushed my fingers with a hammer the unbearable agony coursed through my brain
My scream echoed through the walls , i could feel my fingers being crushed , my blood being drained from my body. I closed my eyes and prayed to wake up from this nightmare but it was all real
I begged him to stop to lemme go,
i was my sick mothers only child.
but he whispered to me
I passed out and i woke up to him dragging me across the floor, my dress tore, my skin scraped across the cold tiles. I felt lie a rag doll helpless and limp. The sound of my blood smearing across the floor is a sound I will never forget.
He kissed my forehead, tenderly as if he was saying goodbye to a loved one. But it was a twisted, sadistic gesture, a final act of cruelty as he shoved me into the burning furnace
The furnace roared in flames as if excited to consume me, it grate beaming with heat it was a terror I've never experienced before
The heat blistered my skin. I thought of Mom’s pancakes. Jake’s stupid origami birds. My unfinished painting—a self-portrait, half-shadowed. I never got to finish it.
He stood watching me burn, reveling in my demise
As the flames swallowed me, I realized: love didn’t kill me.
My
hope did.
