Blood on the floor. Glistening against the white tiles.

Your body. Mangled and broken. I shut my eyes. Open them again. This has to be a dream.

What happened, I ask.

You open your mouth to speak. No words escape. Just a dry cough that seems to take most of the energy you have left.

I kneel beside you, placing one hand on your shoulder.

Hold on, I say. I am going to get you some help.

But as I pull away, your hand catches mine. I look down at you.

Just–hold–me.

The whisper is harsh and broken and nearly silent, but I hear it clearly all the same. Nodding weakly, I lower myself to the floor, lying beside you, and wrap my arms around you.

You are cold and light and shivering slightly in my grasp. I take a shaky breath. Your brown eyes are wet with tears of pain. I want to kiss them away. I have always wanted to. I realize that this may be my last chance.

Can I –Can I kiss you?

You glance over at me, your eyes widening slightly. Slowly, you nod.

I turn towards you, leaning my face in close to yours. Our lips touch gently, ever so gently. It sends fire through every part of me.

When I pull away, my own cheeks are wet with tears. I can see that the rise and fall of your chest is becoming less even.

I hold you tightly. I feel your body go slack. But still I hold on. My heart is breaking. I can feel it crumbling inside of me. There is a deep whole where you used to be. Your body feels like a mannequin. Not like the person I loved so much.

I hesitate before letting you go. Your eyes are on the ceiling, blank and unseeing. I close them and run my hands over your freckled face one last time. Your red hair is matted with blood and I find myself thinking that I wish I could wash it before you are buried. My hands go to my own hair and I suddenly feel the need to shower. To wash your wounds off of me.

I enter the bathroom and stop in front of the mirror. What I see causes anger and misery to rise within me. Your brown eyes. Your hair. Your face. Even the freckles are the same. Identical in every way. I think of your dead body, lying in the kitchen floor.

My fist collides with the mirror, shattering the glass.

It falls in shards to the floor, taking me with it.