~Your Heart's in My Hands~

~Your Heart's in My Hands~



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  ~†~

She looked down at the blood that had dried into the dust of the floor in her makeshift operating room. Amanda clenched her fist around his blood-soaked organ. Rivulets of thick dark fluids spilled from between the digits on her hand. Amanda clutched his still beating heart in a vice-like grip, marveling at its sinewy, tough texture. For an amateur surgeon still in med school, it looked like a pretty clean job. With the exception of having to pry Matt's ribcage open with a pry bar, it looked professionally done. A scalpel was a cinch to steal, but a sternum spreader was entirely different. She wasn't getting that thing out of the med lab tucked under her skirt.

Amanda remained under the impression that hers and Matt's relationship was monogamous. However, Matt was anything but a one woman man. Like an experienced fisherman with a mess of freshly caught trout, he kept five different girls alive on a stringer. It wasn't until Amanda showed up late to their meeting place that she realized how far from the truth that was.
 

She'd sent Matt a text, letting him know to go on to dinner without her. “If I'm not there before eight-thirty, sorry lover, I'm not coming,” she'd sent. His reply was a curt “Whatever." Amanda exited the cab in front of the huge plate-glass window of the all-night eatery, now realizing she was not the most important thing in his life after all. The brunette sitting cross the table from him, caressing his face, was all the proof she'd needed to dispel that notion.

She watched them from a bench on the sidewalk for over an hour, observing them as they cuddled and kissed, laughed... held hands. Amanda wanted to be sure. Especially after the note Matt had written to her last night. He'd slipped out after they'd made passionate love, leaving the note on the pillow as she slept.

My heart is in your loving hands, Amanda. Don't break it.

Lovingly Yours,

Matthew

The wheels began spinning inside of Amanda's head, churning—whirring—like a well oiled gyroscope. She would have his heart in her hands, just as he'd wished. She'd prepare her storage shed, complete with her deceased father's hospital bed, then cut the bastard's heart out of his contemptible cheating chest. After luring him to her apartment, drugging him and making sure he was tied up so he couldn't get away, Amanda would perform the surgery, just as she'd seen in her autopsy sessions. The main difference, her subject would be very alive—at first—completely aware of everything going on around him. She'd learned how to keep a dying patient coherent.
 

Amanda was a very studious pupil.

~†~

11:25 pm, still no word from Matt. The soft yellowish hue of the street lamp cast an eerie effervescent glow on the snow-covered lawn. She waited by the phone, looking out into the darkness through the frosty patterns forming on the window pane. Matt promised Lyra he'd call, but no call would ever be forthcoming. Feeling a bit melancholy about drinking the entire bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon the two of them were to share by herself, Lyra placed her wine glass in the sink, going to bed alone.

Lyra peered out between the blinds of her darkened bedroom window in a last gasp effort, hoping to see Matt pulling up in front of her complex. Instead, she spied a young woman, standing beneath the streetlamp, glaring up at her window from below. Odd, Lyra thought, closing the blinds, then climbing drunkenly into bed.

I hope she's okay...