Identity by Era Millings

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The tip of my blonde head touched hers. "This. Is. Wrong."

The look upon her face grew venomous. "Who cares what you think?" she hissed, spittle flying from her pale lips.

I was shocked and scared. "Ella!?" I asked, hurt and upset. She turned to glare at me, opening another bottle of beer, and I knew she wasn't there anymore. Someone else had taken control of the soul I loved, and it wasn't my Ella. She drowned herself in the can, some of the little droplets flying onto her face and neck as she poured it into her mouth, glistening as the low, pulsing lights caught the specks upon her face. When the entire can was drained, her small pink tongue flickered out and licked the edges. Then her head lifted, and she gazed at me in hatred.

"I'll do what I want. I don't have to listen to a foul little pig like y..."

Then suddenly her small mouth formed a little "o," and a shudder flew through her body, as violent as if she had been electrocuted. Her breath cut off, leaving her blue in the face and her eyes were white in fear. The can fell from her hand, and suddenly it was very quiet in the room. Those who had been laughing at our relationship-gone-wrong were now curious, and a little frightened. I heard a gasp from some bystander as the can hit the floor, for suddenly, Ella was falling too, her mind unable to handle the effects of the innumerous bottles of alcohol she had consumed.

It was so sudden.

I watched her falling to the floor, as if in slow motion. I know that's how everyone describes it when horrible things are happening before your eyes, but if you haven't experienced it, you wouldn't know that that is exactly what it's like. I noticed every detail of her body as she fell through wide eyes: her pale skin, the way her eyes shut tightly, never to open again, and the mad shaking of her long pianist's fingers. Every single atom of her body was clear and outlined in my mind as she at last hit the floor, a spasm rippling once across her body as it made its way down her spine.

And then she was still, sprawled upon the floor in horrible contortions, and yet seemingly uncaring.

I cast myself down upon the ground beside her without hesitation, heart beating frantically in my chest. I could feel it spluttering, as if gasping in disbelief at the scene that had occured before me. I couldn't believe it myself. My knees were cold as they pressed into the ground of the floor, but not as cold as her body, which I picked up with trembling hands. I gently lifted her into my arms, and her head lolled backwards, golden brown tendrils falling back from her forehead. A wisp of hair remained upon her face, and my large hands tenderly brushed it away from her face. A tear from my eye took its place.

I hadn't meant for this to happen.

I hadn't known what this would do to her.

But, like every cliched, tragic love story ends, it was too late.