He got home late morning on Easter Sunday. He had a small tour the two days prior. He walked up the stairs and into his one-bedroom apartment. He got into the shower and cleaned off the grime and sweat of the road. When he got out he picked out some nice clothes for the holiday and gathered his effects; wallet, cell phone, keys, and the knife her father gave him, which he hadn’t been able to look at let alone touch in months. She broke it off months ago, but he still loved her as much as he did all that time ago, if not more so. He locked the door and walked to his car. He drove past the college and into the rural area where her grandmother lived. He knew she would be there today because they were a very close-knit family; something he never had, except while they were together. He pulled into the driveway behind her fathers car and sat dragging his cigarette, listening music they used to share. when he was finished, he tossed the cigarette and walked to the door. He didn’t bother knocking as her grandmother always told him to just walk in. Her family looked shocked he was there. He made his way to the backyard, passing by people and memories of the two of them in the rooms of the house. He found her standing by the table with her new perspective boyfriend, someone he used to consider a close friend and almost family to him. He looked into her eyes and pulled her close. He kissed her and whispered he loved her. He held her head in his chest and pulled out his knife. Her family ran to her and her uncle drew his gun. He wrapped his arm around the back of her neck and then there was red everywhere. Blood streamed down his body as he slit his throat, still clutching onto her. He knew she would be happy without him, but he couldn’t live as a scapegoat, so he died a martyr to her and her happiness, his love too strong to cope with the absence of hers.
Went pro. Now I have trust issues.