The Weight of Nothing

The knife’s handle is wrong. Too smooth, almost soft, like soap when it’s about to slip out of your hands. My fingers keep tightening around it, but everything’s wet now—sticky, stubborn—and the more I try to hold on, the worse it gets. I’m holding it, but it feels like it’s holding me back.

I steal a glance at my hand—quick, just a flick—and the red is thicker than I thought it’d be. You always imagine blood as this thin, watery thing, right? Like it’ll just pour out and be done with it. But no. It’s heavier, syrupy. It clings. It’s too dark in some places, almost black. Alien.

It’s not mine. Not his either, really. Just… blood. Like once it’s outside of us, it belongs to no one.

The dripping on the floor’s keeping time with the clock. Drip. Tick. Drip. Tick. It’s in sync now, mocking me. Counting down to something, but I don’t know what. Maybe nothing. Maybe I’m just imagining it. Wouldn’t be the first time. The whole thing feels unreal, like a scene playing out for someone else, not me.

Still no sirens. No pounding at the door. There’s a car passing by somewhere, distant enough to feel like a different world. But here, in this room, it’s just me. And him. And the mess that’s left of both of us.

I told myself not to look, but my eyes keep sliding to the corner. A shoe, a leg. Just lying there, like it belongs to a mannequin, not a person. A part of him. Part of… what used to be him.

God, focus. Don’t think about that. Don’t start thinking.

I could’ve sworn he was still breathing just a minute ago. Or maybe an hour ago? I can’t tell. Time’s all screwed up, like a tangled mess of string you don’t even bother trying to fix anymore. Just cut the whole thing loose. Let it fall apart.

The blood on my fingers is drying now, stiffening like a scab you keep picking at. I wipe it on my jeans, automatic, like it’s any normal day, like it’s just spaghetti sauce or something, not… not this. I can’t feel anything about it. Not yet. Maybe that’s the scariest part. How normal it feels.

But I’m still holding the knife, aren’t I? The weight of it doesn’t make sense, lighter than it should be for something that can do… this. Do you just let it go? Is that what you’re supposed to do? Just drop it, like nothing?