She’s my muse. She’s my everything.


Belle Aisling has an aura about her that no one could ignore. It is bright, commanding a person’s attention with only one glance. She’s smart, confident, and wildly beautiful. Her brilliant golden hair shines in the sunlight and her piercing cerulean eyes are dazzling. Belle isn’t just a lovely face, she is truly the kindest person I have ever met. Her life has not been easy; I admire her strength and bravery. She has this way of living in the moment, approaching life with a smile on her face. Oh, and her smile? It has this glorious effect on me, something I have never felt before. She always has something funny to say; I am jealous of her wit. Some may argue that Belle is arrogant, rude, and perhaps even crass. They say I am beguiled by her good looks; they beg me to stay away from her. Obviously, most of them must be envious, secretly hanging onto her every word, living vicariously through her now exhilarating life. She hangs out with the wrong crowd and I know they are trying to change her. She is terribly misunderstood; I wish I could find a way to be everything she needs.

I, Isaac Brennan, have fallen in love with her. Belle has taken a piece of my heart which I can never get back. She is in my mind, my body and my soul. However, I feel so far away from her, as if there is a wall between us. Tearing that wall down is an uphill struggle. I am afraid she is slowly slipping away and I may never be able to reach her.

Tonight, I have resolved myself to remove this barrier between us. I devised the perfect plan. I waited patiently until she drove to her afternoon meeting. Using the key under the vivid pink flowerpot, I sneak in through the back door. I carry my grocery bags to the kitchen counter, sitting them down gently. I hurry about, cooking a perfect dinner for a perfect girl.


Belle doesn’t like the dinner.


She struts through the door to find the lights dimmed and candles lit carefully around the table. At first, I think her face displays happy surprise. However, she quickly switches on the lights, not appearing pleased. There is intense yelling with endless profanity. There is a man attached to Belle’s arm; he looks like an Abercrombie model. I do not believe the sight before me. She has betrayed me. Cheating on me, as if our love meant nothing to her. I gave her my heart and she crushed it. Shaking, I run out of her house with tears streaming down my face.



I buy a gun.


I can’t deal with this pain. Never in my life, have I ever felt anger like this before; I'm numb. Who would have thought that Belle Aisling, the most perfect girl, could cheat on me? Driving to her house on Seventh Street, I comb through my memories of her. The first time I saw her beautiful face, the first time we met, the first time I told her I loved her - every memory was attached with feelings of excitement. She was truly the only girl for me. Not anymore. She decimated our chances for a happy future. I can’t forgive her for that.

I walk to her backdoor. She doesn’t hear me arrive. Silently, I approach her bedroom door, throwing it open. Much to her surprise. Her blue eyes widen as she takes notice of the gun in my hand. Protests escape her lips, turning to begging before I utter a word. I tell her what she’s done to me. How she is turning my life inside out without a care about my feelings. My mind races as I contemplate my next move. Flipping the gun from hand to hand, Belle attempts to slink past me. She doesn’t make it very far. I pin her between myself and the wall, only letting her go when I trust she won’t run again. She urges me to spare her life, as if her pathetic outcries could change my mind. A loud noise echoes from downstairs and I am momentarily distracted. Belle tries to wrestle the gun from my hands. Stumbling backwards, I take one last look at her - point the gun and...


BANG!
______________________________________________________________________




No one told me Isaac was mentally ill.


His parents had known something was wrong. Isaac refused to take tests, refused to go to the hospital. They decided to wait, not push him into treatment. I wish they had. Everything would have ended differently.

I remember the first time we met; it was on the beach on a warm summer evening. I was hanging out with friends when I felt someone staring. Catching his eye, I gave him a slight smile. He walked over, introduced himself and we talked for quite a while. Isaac had the biggest smile of anyone I had ever met. I then began to see him everywhere I went. He had been following me for two months before the first restraining order. He claimed he was in love with me, that we had a future so bright no one could get in the way. I tried to tell him it was never going to happen for us. I let him down easy, vowing not to lead him on. Discouraging him at every turn did nothing to halt the obsession. There was nothing left for me to do. I had to make sure he was stopped.

The night he ended his life is ingrained in my memory. I am forever traumatized. I don’t believe I can get the images out of my mind or the feelings out of my heart. The fear passing through me when I believed he would point the gun in my direction. The dread in the pit of my stomach when instead he pointed the gun at his own head. Screaming, I could not stop what happened next - although I tried. Blood splattered against the wall, his head jerked and his body crumpled to the floor. Looking down at the blood that covered me, I quickly vomited. I then ran for the phone, uselessly calling 911. The EMTs came, taking his body away in a black bag. I couldn’t stop the tears; I was barely able to give my story to the police. Every time I closed my eyes, his broken body was all I saw. I could not escape the nightmares. I spent months in therapy and I’m still not fully healed. It seems selfish to talk about me when a young man is dead. But I do grieve for Isaac just as his family does. Not in the same way though. No one else was there; no one saw what I saw. And I can’t unsee it.



I could have saved him.


There must have been something I could have done. I live with his death every day of my life. My friends don't get it. Of course, they're glad I'm safe, but to them Isaac was just a crazy stalker. They claim I should be happy I’m not dead, but that happiness is at his expense. I'm not built that way; I can’t be glad he's gone. Everyone tells me I am an innocent victim. But am I? I never helped Isaac; I figured someone else would help him. I could have saved him.