The tile floor next to the tub suffocates under the blood leaking from her arm, trickling down her fingertips into my cotton socks, between my toes, making them curl. My stomach ties a knot around itself, I'm too weak. The turkey on sourdough sandwich with the melted American Swiss I ate at lunch kicks my stomach and forces escape, dragging its nails along my esophagus, and spraying onto her slow to decompose body. The ripples make her feet appear to move. I put my hand up, but the salad we had shared at dinner last night [she's vegan] pushes through with the angered step of a jilted groom. A whole in the wall right next to the towel rack.

I pick up the razor blade once more and reach for her far arm with skin as smooth as Roman marble and no scars. My eyes burn and blur, I bury my palm into them, wiping the tears away and hopefully rendering myself blind, but they open and her corpse lays before me. Images of worms drilling through her body as it lays in the ground wrapped in wood and silk like she would have wanted flash in and out of focus. Must finish the task. Push her arm against the wall and cut along the veins the permanent marker map I drew on earlier, so she wouldn't fuck up/I wouldn't screw up.

The blood seeps into the water, turning from blue under the skin to red on the white tub to translucent in the water. My doctor told me that, because blood has no color to an abused child. I want to see colors, so orange bottles sit on the counter. I see black under the skin, black painted on the tub, and translucent black of a stream in the mountains, so peaceful, in the water. I ease the arm into the water so it doesn't splash, dragging my arm across my eyes to smear the salt and water into my hair.

Her bowels unload and bathroom fills with the stench of nausea, shit, and death, but the mixture of the three resembles a crinkled silk rose. I gave her one at her prom. It was red, matched my tie.

I drop the razor into the pool of blood and reach for the bottles of prescription pills on the counter. Pop the cap off each orange vial of freedom filled with a different color of the Skittle's® rainbow. I lean me head back against the toilet and let them rush for my stomach, knowing they get to serve a Freudian purpose.

I was never as strong as her. Red.

Zoloft. Orange.

She could get over things like this. Yellow.

Xanex. Green.

Me, I broke up when she said other people. Indigo.

Vicodin. Violet.

My doctor told me to seek a psychiatrist. Pink.

Percoset. The rainbow.

Gave me a number. In the bottom.

Codeine. Of a vial.

I said, thank you. He said, get help. I said, don't struggle. She listened. I kissed her lips.

She smiled weakly. I pushed my thumbs against her wind-pipe. She wheezed, this was a fantasy. I smiled, tears accentuating the sorrow.

I couldn't stop myself. I wanted to, but I couldn't. I climb into the tub with her and hold her body. Close the eyes; sigh. They'll find us together, happy.