I Don’t Regret Killing My Boyfriend

After I killed my boyfriend, I hid his body in the basement, where he was swallowed by the stone, becoming nothing more than a shadow. Even in death, he still finds ways to surprise me. Many nights, I wake to find him staring down at me, and I know he wants to kill me. But apparitions can do nothing but bloom on the walls like flowers, pleading to be noticed.

It’s never enough, but it’s all they have—and all he ever deserved.

“At least you’re never alone,” I whisper to his silhouette. “Isn’t that something?” I’m not alone, either. Finally, completely, he belongs to me.

Killing him was an act of mercy; some might call it fate. I did what was necessary to save him. I love him, and now, he finally understands how much.

I dance in the golden light streaming through the hallways, my fingers tracing the walls, caressing his outline. I press myself against his shape, imagining his arms wrapping around me. He’s so warm, so happy—we’re both so glad I killed him.

I never turn on the lights, and I’ve thrown out all the curtains. I love him most when it is night, especially when the moon is bright. I follow him around the house, laughing at his frenetic movement, marveling at the shapes he contorts into. He’s always had such a vivid imagination that death could never dim. He’s the personification of perfection, everything I’ve ever wanted.

Years have passed since his transformation—decades, even. All that’s left of him in the basement are shreds of hair and shards of bone embedded in crevices, the remnants of what he has become.

I’m an old woman now. I’ve watched countless sunrises and worshipped every phase of the moon.

It’s harder to dance with him now. My joints ache, and my vision has blurred. Some days, I can do nothing but lie in bed and stare at the ceiling.

But now, it’s he who reaches for me. He emerges from the ceiling, sputtering into existence like static, his arms slithering like snakes, crackling and hissing like fire.

I don’t quite remember when he broke free from the walls, but I’m so happy he’s become more than a mere shadow. My fingers tremble as I trace his form; he mirrors the gesture. We both know we belong together. I need him as much as he needs me.

I know I’m dying, but I’m not afraid. I have no regrets. I’m so glad I killed my boyfriend, and I can’t wait for the night to fall.

Soon to adorn this space with him, and together we will dance in the light.