Cold little heart
When I close my eyes and think about my night with Annika, the first thing I picture is the incredible dress she was wearing. “Tailored fit” would be a wild understatement. The jet-black fabric effortlessly hugged every curve of her body, the color mimicking her neatly cut hair. An amber pendant rested on her sternum, a family heirloom no doubt. I could tell it was from generations ago, but it glowed like it was right out of the box. It rested just above the opening of her dress, constantly tempting me to sneak a look. Her 5-inch heels perfectly matched her elegant beauty. Put simply, she was stunning.
I wonder if she knew that it would be the last outfit she would ever wear.
If I’m being honest, our first and last night together wasn’t exactly a chance encounter. I had found Annika through what some call “stalking” on Instagram. I prefer to use the term “romantic research,” but to each his own. Lucky for me, her profile wasn’t private, so I was able to get a pretty good snapshot of her life well before meeting her. Her feed was an endless stream of photos from all over the world. Paris, Reykjavík, Malibu, Tokyo, all captioned with positive quotes, emojis and things like: “#LivingMyBestLife” or “#HappyPlace”.
Annika was full of life; I loved that about her. After just a few hours of research, I knew that she was the one for me. She didn’t know it yet, but I knew she’d come around soon. I studied each post and comment for months, absorbing every part of Annika Miller’s history. It was like we had already shared a life’s worth of memories together. I was nervous to finally meet her, but eventually I worked up the courage to introduce myself. It was true love. After all. There was no room to be afraid. One night, after I had clocked out from a long day of work, I showered, gelled my hair, and put on my best outfit. Annika didn’t know, but I already knew exactly where to find her.
When I finally introduced myself on that lovely night, Annika didn’t seem thrown off by the randomness of it all. She was actually quite welcoming. She didn’t even ask why I was carrying a picnic basket. I guess she appreciated my confident approach. Our conversation took off naturally right away. Annika was a little quieter than I had imagined, but then again, we had just met. Besides, there are lots of bad guys out there. A girl’s gotta keep her guard up. I could understand that much.
The more I told Annika about myself, the more I could feel the magnetism building between us. I pulled out a sandwich from the picnic basket and offered it to her. It was bologna and Swiss, my favorite. Instead of grabbing it from my hand, she paused seductively, signaling for me to make a bold move. I understood her cue, so I reached out with my free hand, pinched her chin between two of my fingers and gently opened her mouth. She stared deep into my eyes as I fed her the sandwich and watched her chew. Annika was enchanted.
Lust continued to fill the air as the night progressed. Soon, I found myself standing in her bedroom, engulfed in the darkness. I was barely able to contain my excitement for what would come next. Annika’s bed was fancier than any I’d ever seen. The wood of the frame was smooth and impeccably polished. Small steel accents were spaced around its perimeter, giving it a regal feel. The white, satin sheets massaged my fingertips as I stroked my hand across them. I’m no carpenter, but I could tell the bed had a price tag that only her parents could have covered. There is no love, like the love that is given to an only child…I wish I knew what that felt like.
Eventually, without a word, Annika motioned for me to join her in bed. I squeezed in beside her and wrapped my hand around her leg, placing it just below the seam of her dress. Her body was cold, but we burned with passion. Before things escalated, I paused as an unexpected wave of sadness rushed over me. I suddenly remembered that this would be the last night that Annika Miller would ever make love to a man. I felt bad for her, only because I knew this, and she didn’t. After a brief moment, the thoughts passed, as all bad thoughts do, and I moved my hand just inside of her dress. I gently held the back of her head with my other hand and whispered, “I love you” before giving her the deepest and most passionate kiss of her lifetime. The air was filled with a beautiful silence.
I began removing my clothes, piece by piece. While taking my shirt off, I noticed Annika staring at the large scars that covered my chest and stomach. For the first time, I felt comfortable with sharing their story. I told her about the kids who gave them to me when I was 11. I told her how painful the knives felt as they dragged across my flesh. I told her about the revenge I took. She listened without a single hint of judgement in her face. My story had moved her. After a moment of relief, knowing my past wouldn’t scare her away, I continued undressing myself before removing her black dress.
It was an incredible night. We lied intertwined for hours. It felt like we had known each other our entire lives, only we had just met. It wasn’t just lust, it was connectivity, osmosis, whatever you want to call it. We were two beings as one, one life, one moment that would never be recreated for all of time. It’s a moment I find myself reminiscing about to this day, even in the presence of other women. There was something special about Annika. Perhaps, it was because she was my first.
I didn’t mean to stay over that night, but for the first time in my life, I felt an overwhelming sense of peace and tranquility. Together we rolled to one side of her bed and stared out into the darkness as I brushed her hair with my fingers. I wept silently at the beauty of it all before finally dozing off.
After a few hours of sleep, when the moon sat high beyond the clouds, I stepped out of bed and walked over to my picnic basket. The scissors I had kept hidden in the bottom were still there. They were waiting for me. I slipped my fingers through the handles and opened and closed them a few times.
The time had arrived. There was one more thing that I needed to do with Annika Miller.
I approached her bed with small and calculated steps, making sure to be as silent as the night itself. I spread the scissors with my fingers as I approached and watched the moonlight slide along the steel blades. Closer and closer, my anticipation swelled. I stopped with the blades just inches from her neck. I grinned boyishly as my hands quivered with excitement. Then, in one quick movement, I struck quickly and violently.
Annika lay motionless. I struck once more.
I took the handful of black hair and placed it into a little white baggy I pulled from my pocket. I pinched the seal closed and gently placed into my basket. A wave of pleasure washed over me. I crawled back into bed with Annika, kissed her motionless forehead and slept like a baby. I dreamt a lot that night, but only of good things.
The next morning, a ray of light woke me up earlier than expected. Regardless of how tired I was, I sprung to my feet and felt incredible. For the first time in my life, I was truly alive. Like all good things, my time with Annika ended just as quickly as it began. I put on my fancy clothes and wiped the dirt off my pant leg. I grabbed my picnic basket and stepped onto the grass outside of Annika’s bed. I looked down to see her face one last time before picking up my shovel and covering her from head to toe.
Each scoop was bittersweet. I knew I wouldn’t be with Annika again, but I also knew that the memory of our night together would live on with her until the end of time. I enjoyed that sentiment.
After the job was done, I made the short walk to my trailer and punched in for another long day of work. The graveyard had a particularly aggressive weed problem that year, but nothing could wipe the smile off my face that morning. By noon, the sun was too hot to bear, so I decided to have the other bologna and Swiss sandwich from my picnic basket. I was so excited spending time with Annika the night before that eating hadn’t even crossed my mind. I sat in the grass under the cool shade of an oak tree and felt the bread shrink between my teeth. I stared at the marble slab in front of me while I ate, reading it to myself over and over again, slowly running my fingers along each letter and number. The marble read:
Our darling Annika Miller. 1992–2020. Always loved. Never forgotten.
