“I have a glass heart,” she said. “It’s fragile.”
Of course, I thought she spoke figuratively, who wouldn’t? But it didn’t matter, I was a good man, an honest man. But aren’t we all until proven wrong.
I heard the crack as of dropped crystal before I even stepped on the porch. When I opened the door in a panic, she sat on the bottom step awaiting me.
“Is it cold?” she asked, her dark hair an oil slick in the candlelight.
“No,” I replied.
All she did was touch her lips. That’s all.
The second crack came the moment my head slipped to my chest. I jolted back upright like a startled rabbit. She looked shattered, her hand clutched to her breast.
I didn’t know what else to say, my head whirled with deception and broken dreams.
“I told you,” she said. “I warned you all those years ago.”
She tapped her chest to a clink-clink.
My face said more than words ever could, as I dropped to my knees at her side.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Too late,” she whispered, peeling open her blouse.
I didn’t want to look. I didn’t want to see. But some truths are unavoidable and I leant in close.
I felt nothing as the shard of glass she’d concealed sliced through my jugular. I heard nothing as that piece of heart dropped to the carpet at my side. She just stood and walked away.
She thought her glass heart killed me, but the shame of the blue lipstick got there first.