Change to 1st person

That night was easily the worst and best night of my life.

It was a dark night, even by Brooklyn standards. I shouldn't have been out so late, but nightshift at the hotel gives me time to work on my art. It's a silly dream if you ask anyone else, but it's the only thing I've ever really enjoyed. I'm not looking to sell out big time like everyone always assumes, just trying to waste some big time, but I do make a little bit from conventions.

None of that is really relevant. What matters is that I could feel it coming. Maybe it was just the creepy way the street light flickered up ahead. Maybe I heard his footsteps behind me, or maybe something more mystical was trying to warn me, but it was too late.

Before I could turn around, a sting pricked the side of my skin, and a fire erupted inside of my gut. From the very tip of my flesh to the middle of my stomach became a furnace. I watched the blade slide out of me, and my art case exploded against the ground. Colored pencils and loose pages scattered to the windy city. What fell nearby had become so doused and dripping with blood that the weight kept it from the sky.

One of those pieces was a pencil sketch of a bundle of flowers with a wide assortment of pedal shapes, but the blood surrounded them like a stencil in the shape of a knife.

The little green man on the crosswalk light had just popped up. The fire spread into a slow throb. My side was a valcano of blood. My vision blurred so that the little green crosswalk man looked like he was actually walking. Then, I could hear his footsteps as he walked around me. He had loud shoes for a green man.

Then the green man came up and knelt down beside me. He came into focus under the flickering lamplight. His features were uncertain with my vision blurring out of focus, but he was a man about my age with his lips pursed in concern. I remember fumbling for my pocket with a shaky hand and a final burn churning in my stomach before I passed out. My phone clattered to the floor without a button pushed.

The pain eased slightly when I went unconscious, but I felt it in my sleep. Like the warmth of the sun when you close your eyes, except stab wounds are much hotter than sunlight. The city wind was a feverish contrast.

Then I woke up. You know that feeling you get when your leg goes numb from sitting on the toilet too long? Yeah, that feeling was in my head now and my whole right side, of course.

He was there when I woke up. The man that saved my life was tall, dark, and handsome; and holding a massive bundle of get well flowers.

Apparently, when Jeremy showed up, the attacker ran. He hadn't even pulled out his service pistol or badge. The attacker didn't even get my wallet. Just goes to show you that a real man will always win.

Anyway, he said he put pressure on the wound and called the ambulance. They wouldn't let him ride in the back even though he was a police officer. So he stopped for flowers and a card on the way to the hospital, just to see if I was okay. Someone else had to file the report.

He sat there, and we talked for hours about all of my favorite things, which were all of his favorite things. I'll admit I was a little skeptical about a guy liking Justin Beiber, but he knew all of the words to 'baby'. Not that there are many words to baby, but hearing him sing it always made me laugh.

We've been together for three years now, and we're engaged! We're getting married in three months! I guess that's less exciting now that I know what I know. I'm writing this down because I'm struggling to process everything.

The other day, he asked me what it was like to be stabbed. I mean, it's weird that he'd bring that up at all, but it was more about the way he did it.

We were standing in front of the mirror, and he was rubbing my side almost sensually, when he said, "What was it like for you?"

"What?"

"The day we met."

"Well... that night was not very comfortable, but when I woke up and saw you with flowers, I fell in love immediately."

"Yeah, I know, but what was it like being stabbed."

I refused to give an answer, and he stopped pushing for one.

-----------------------------------------------------------

That conversation bothered me a little at the time, but by the end of the day, I had put it out of my mind. By the end of the week, I had completely forgotten, but something happened that reminded me.

I was going through some old stuff in the bottom of our closet when I found a small lockbox. On the top was a symbol made from several curves and a couple of points. The pattern was painted onto several sliding squares in a puzzle. I've spent several hours while he was at work, just sliding the pieces around. I have to write down the moves each time so I can rearrange them into the first pattern. I don't know if he would notice, but I don't want to risk anything at this point.

On day three, I finally slid the pieces into place. The symbol formed a heart. There was a click near the front of the box, and the lid opened. Inside the box was a large kitchen knife, a large vial of blood, a lock of black hair like my own, and a video tape from a police officer's body cam.

The tape showed the image of a young woman with a breifcase walking under a flickering streetlight. A blue cuffed hand with a knife came up into the woman's side. It seemed to go in too easy, and then she fell to the floor. The camera lingered on a hand-drawn picture of flowers that fell from the breifcase. Then, the attacker casually sheathed the knife and walked around the woman. He asked her if she was okay. Pretending to be some concerned savior by covering her wound, my wound, and calling 911.

I can't believe this. Every inside joke, all of the pet names, every sensual look he has ever given me now sends shivers down my spine. When I stand, it feels like I'm going to puke. If I lay down on the bed, I get goosebumps everywhere and start to tear up when I think about the place he cuddles with me in that bed. It took me a while to text my friend Rebecca through a cloud of tears that I needed to stay with her for the night. It took even longer to text him. I told him that we should isolate until the wedding. That it would make seeing each other even more magical.

He was not happy that I had just decided this all of a sudden, but he accepted it. He didn't really have a choice since I'm not going back. I can't think of what to do now, though. I know I should take the evidence to the police, but he is a police officer!

I've been in a panic all week. Sleep didn't come for two days, even then it wasn't much and even now it is wildly eratic. The wedding is tomorrow. I told my friend I'm running away, but I can't. No, I won't. He can't win this way after all he's done.

I bought a new wedding dress and I tucked the knife he'd stabbed me with inside. The cold steel pressed up against the small buldge line of the scar it had given me.

The walk down the aisle was more satisfying than I could have dreamed. The way he stood there at the end in front of a field of flowers, like a prize dandilion waiting for me to pluck it. The way that the band, playing Let Me Love You, stumbled over notes when they saw me, giving it an eerie tone as their fingers were nervous and their voices cracked. Most satisfying of all was the old women gasping at my red dress. I either looked like a devil seeking the fruits of thier bargain, or an angel seeking retribution.

My red dress flowed like waves of blood, making their way down the aisle. My raven black hair covered everything the black veil didn't, giving the impression of the Grim Reaper's inpenatrable cowl. It was fitting because that night I did the Grim Reaper's work.

Despite the murmurs from disaproving guests trying to ruin my perfect wedding, he only had eyes for me. The violent persona approaching him was more alluring to his twisted side than the amount he cared to be afraid of. Or perhaps it was fear that kept him rooted to the spot with a nervous smile.

I stood face to face with the Devil but refused to lift my veil until the last moment. They say the Devil is the King of Lies, so it only makes sense that he dress in the uniform of a hero. I guess the King of Lies doesn't understand the truth when he sees it because it was so obvious what my intentions were.

The music slowed to a stop, and the silent murmurs finally overwhelmed the priest between us.

"Um... right... so, are we ready to begin?"

"We... we are gathered here today... to witness the sacred union of Jeremy Riburg and Rosalee Cantez. We stand here to honor and celebrate the love shared between these two people, as they come together to start their new life with a solemn vow, surrounded by their closest family and friends."

My 'beloved's' eyes were misty with lust. It wasn't until then that I realized just how much the taboo turned him on. Anyone else would have had at least a question or a raised brow, but not him. He just stood there trying to contain the drool in his mouth.

"Do you take Rosalee as your lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish until death do you part?"

I could feel the preacher's gaze trying to penetrate Jeremy's foolish stupor. Trying to cast some holier-than-thou warning. Then he looked to me and I met his poorly disguised discust with a smile.  He shook off the feeling of treachery. A feeling he should have listened to.

"I do."

"Do you take Jeremy as your lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health—"

"Til death do us part."

That's when I stabbed him. Right in the gut. I leaned in and said, "Now we're even." I made him say 'I do' again, and then we kissed.

I guess I wanted more than even though because I stabbed him again and again. His blood smeared across my lips and sprayed onto my red dress.

I'll never know how much blood covered the dress, but my arms were drenched. It was a beautiful set of matching red gloves.

The video shows one of the groomsmen tazing me, but I had blacked out long before then and kept stabbing long after. All I can remember are the little red waterfalls flowing down the white steps and the smile on my lips. It was the happiest day of my life.