I May Be Back Someday

"I may be back someday," he said and grinned, trying to cheer her up with jokes. But she didn't laugh as always.
"I'll be waiting," she promised, her voice breaking. "I'll be waiting, 'cause I love you."
He kissed her in the forehead. They stood like that for couple of minutes more, holding hands and looking each other in the eye, when suddenly a loud whistle let them know that the train would leave in a moment. He kissed her cheek and jumped into the carriage just before the conductor closed the door.
By the time the station disappeared behind town's buildings, he saw her, standing on the platform and gamely trying to hold back her tears.

He was away for a long time, it's true. But real love won't cool, even after two years, will it? After all, he did come back. He believed, with his whole heart, that everything was alright and with all this carefreeness he didn't think it was fit to call her and say that he would soon appear in her duplex in the town center.
The door was open, which surprised him, because he knew she usually locked it. But he wasn't alarmed--people can change through two years. He left his bag by the wall and threw his coat onto the leather couch's back. He turned the light on. In a second, glimmers of the town's street lamps altered into his reflection. He raked his fingers through his hair and headed towards the winding staircase leading to the second floor.
The bedroom was empty. Her clothes lying everywhere, white sheets on the bed, usually neatly arranged, today were in disarray. He picked up her black thong and held it for a moment before hanging it on the headboard. The bathroom door was slightly open--he saw pale light of the over-mirror lamp and flickering brightness of the aromatic candles she'd always lighted to the bath, seeping from the gap. He pulled the handle.
She was naked, lying in the bathtub with her head slightly tilted and eyes closed. The foam had gathered on her light breasts and hair, and hot water still trickled from the faucet. One of her hands fell beyond the bathtub--bloody cuts on her wrist wept with the scarlet tears, which flowed down the hand and dripped from the fingertips. On the other side, on the shelf, there was a  kitchen knife.
He staggered and leaned against the wall. He felt the sweat that had covered him get cold and dribble down his neck, causing shivers and leaving stains on the gray shirt. How... She... What happened? Why? His mind was teeming with unaswered questions, almost driving him crazy; despair paralyzed him. He started to scream. No--he started to howl, howl like a wounded animal; he fell to his knees and clenched his fingers on his hair, rocking back and forth, wailing with pain and despair. He tried to calm down, he really tried, but this was beyond his powers, and is... This overwhelming feeling of an unpenetrable void... Sob tore his throat apart.
He was alone.
So terribly, so horribly...
...alone.

He didn't know how long he was kneeling like this, giving in to the despair and suffering. But he stood up at last. Each and every muscle of his body, even the smallest, throbbed with a dull pain, but he stood up. He tottered closer to the bathtub and looked at her calm, pale face. He brushed his finger upon her blue lips and felt the tears return. He choked on the suppressed sob, he clenched his fingers on the edge of the bathtub. When the first of salty drops flowed down his cheek and fell into the hot water, he clenched his teeth. He took off his shirt and his pants. He stripped naked, went in the tub and fell on her stiff body with a sigh. He reached for the knife. Then he felt the pain and smelled the blood. The red fog covered his eyes, so he closed them and nestled his head into her neck, reveling in the aroma of her dead body...
Till death do us together...
And then he felt nothing, no more.

And beyond them, on the white tiles, blood-written:
I may be back someday...