The Delusion

The ending is a work in progress, but this is what I have so far.

            I could feel his stare blazing into the back of my skull as if it were literally burning my flesh. I subconsciously brought my hand up to feel my skin rotting away, but as soon as touched the back of my head I realized my mind was playing tricks on me again. Bringing my focus back to him, I could feel the sheer hatred he had for me, just by the immense sensation his body let off. I couldn’t bring myself to turn around and meet his gaze, because I didn’t want to confirm what I already knew. It was me, it was always me. It was my fault he didn’t feel as if he belonged with anyone. It was my fault he didn’t feel at all. I knew if I turned towards him tears would roll down my cheeks and I wouldn’t be able to stop them, so I decided to leave. I decided to leave him, and I would have chosen differently if I had known that was the last opportunity I would have to see him alive.

            If I would have known the outcome of all my actions, I would have never taken that blade and glided it along my skin, but it felt so good. The adrenaline rushed through my veins, my heart pumped a little faster. It made me feel so free. Seeing the red run down my arm, it made me feel alive. I never thought it would affect him. I never thought he would take it as far as he did.

            I should have never taken the pills. I almost took one too many and It would have been me who was six feet under right now, not him. They were just another way of making me feel good. Another way for me to forget my home life and escape for a while. The high didn’t last for more than a few hours, but the remarkable feeling I had for those short periods of time were incredible. I have never felt anything like it. I don’t think I will ever feel anything else that could come close. The best part though? Mixing the blade and the high. It was pure ecstasy. Nothing could top it, not even him. Maybe that is what pushed him too far?

            He would never do it with me, he didn’t like being out of control in his own body. When I did it, he would sit by my side and hold my hand until it was over. He always longed for it to be over faster than the time before, but it never happened. He still sat there with me and waited. Always waiting on me, always wanting me.

I wish I would have realized it sooner, but I was too engulfed in my own demons to see anything around me. I was too self-involved. My thoughts told me to do things, they told me to hurt my body because that was the only pain I wanted to feel. I was numb to being the punching bag at home, the kicks and slaps only left physical marks, they no longer haunted me. I could walk through my house without bursting into hysterics, and I liked that. If the price was simple as a cut or a pill, I was willing to pay it.

He knew what I had to deal with at home, I don’t get why he had to pile more nonsense into my mind. Nothing made sense anymore. He was supposed to be there always, he was supposed to hold my hand. Now? Now I only have me. No one to wait for me, no one to hold me, no one, and it is my fault.

What I find funny about this whole thing is that I want to slide the blade across my skin and make line after line of blood. Watching it spread and drip. This isn’t normal, this is what killed him. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing me to my nightmares, so he made sure I lost him first. I can already feel the loneliness getting to me, it is hitting me all at once. I can’t handle being here without him, so I take a couple more pills than usual, hoping it would turn out the way I wanted it to.

I can feel my body being taken over by extreme bliss, the feeling is in the pit of my stomach and it sits there. Thinking about him not being here puts a strange smile on my face. He went out so dramatically, making it out like he was the victim in all of this. He was never the victim, I was. I am the victim of my own life, of my own mind. I can’t escape any of it. He took the cowards way out and just up and left everything behind.

Sitting there, in the dark, with my head on my pillow, I started to smell his cologne. I knew it wasn’t real, I knew the ghosts inside my mind were trying to mess with me, but at that point, I didn’t care. I took comfort in thinking he was there. He always let me lay my head in his lap. While lying there, he would hold my hand with one of his, and play with my hair with the other. It was nice.

Amongst all the silence, I could have sworn I hear someone calling my name. At this point in my high, I can’t tell if it is real or not. I hear it again. I’m starting to not like this. I’m alone, I’m sure of it. There is no way I can be hearing someone calling my name.

Scarlet.

There it is again. It is a man’s voice, and it sounds ever so familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Then it happened. There was a faint flash, and I saw it. He was lying there on the floor, covered in his own blood. No, I don’t want to see all of this again, I can’t see all this again. His eyes were blank, his wrists were open. I think I am losing my mind. This isn’t real, we have had his funeral, and I saw them bury him.

In an instant, he was gone, and the room faded into darkness again. I have no idea what just happened. He was just there, I smelled him, I heard him call my name. At least I’m pretty sure it was him who called out to me.

Everything became so overwhelming, I grabbed the spare blade I kept under my mattress. It was calling to me, so I answered the call. I picked it up and drew a vertical line on my inner wrist with the edge. It didn’t bleed at first, but I went back over the cut and made it deeper. The deeper, the better. I could no longer see the tip of the blade, because it was buried so deep inside my skin. Blood was pooling around it and spilling out onto my floor.

The rush of delight fled down to the tips of my fingers. Delight turned into numbness. That was the way I preferred it, I liked hurting myself to the point of no return. The point where it didn’t matter if I stopped, the damage was already done. The feeling of my blood pumping out of my body, with every beat of my heart, was indescribable. I longed for the feeling. This is all I wanted to feel. I don’t want to feel the heartache of him being gone. If I am going to be here on my own, this is how I am going to live my life.

My self-inflicted wound started to heal itself and scab over. This was the part where I usually took a couple pills, just to add to the already wonderful sensation, but I decided not to. I wanted to feel every bit of the pain I caused myself. I wanted to feel what he felt when he went.

My eyes fluttered with lightheadedness, and I could feel the blood propelling through my body. It felt like I could feel every last drop. Then, I heard it again.

Scarlet.

I know no one is around, I know for sure I am alone, but I hear him. Was it all in my mind, was I making it all up? I know he died, I know he isn’t here, right?

Find me, Scarlet.

Find him? How can I find him, when he is dead? I know he is gone, I’m the one who found the body. I found him on our bathroom floor, he had been dead for a couple hours. At least, I think he is dead. I don’t remember calling an ambulance, I don’t remember there being cops or paramedics anywhere that night. Did I not call it in? Is he still alive? I don’t know how to answer any of those questions. I am out of my mind with paranoia right now.

I’m here, I’m always here, you just have to look.

I heard that, but I don’t know where it came from. It sounded like it was ringing inside my head, but that can’t be it. He can’t be in my head. He is gone, and I know he is. My thoughts are scaring me now. Was he ever here? I think I am losing it. Just then, there was another slight flash and he was standing in front of me. He was smiling.

You need to open your eyes, you need to see where you really are, Scarlet. You’re not where you think you are. You’re not doing what you think you’re doing. You need to wake up, go back to reality.

I don’t know what is being said. I am in our room, on our bed. My blood is dripping on our floor, but something about what he said is intriguing me. Wake up? I am awake. Or am I? Maybe this isn’t real, just like I thought.

At that instant, I felt a sharp poke in my arm. It was strange, because I have no idea what did it, and it is bleeding. Everything has gone blurry, I try to get up, but I stumble and fall back on my bed. I close my eyes and I tried again to get up, but this time it felt like someone was holding me down. I don’t understand.

I started to open my eyes, and what I saw when I opened them was not what I saw when I closed them. I was in a bright white room. There was nothing on the walls, and no windows. I try to bring my hand up to my face, but I find that I can’t. My hands and feet were strapped to the bed. I was restrained from moving at all. Turning my head, I saw someone in a long white lab coat. He had a folder and pen in his hand. His arms were folded and he was staring at me. Is this real? Where is this place?

“Scarlet, I’m Doctor Noah. Do you know where you are?”

I tried to open my mouth to respond, but I find that I can’t. No voice was coming out of my mouth. When he got no answer, he just shook his head and sat in a chair at the far corner of the room.

“You have been brought to my facility by the police, Scarlet. We find you to be unstable and you are a direct harm to yourself and others. Do you remember why you have been brought here?” Again, I had no reply. “You are here, because you are being charged with first degree murder of your husband. Do you remember anything now, Scarlet?” First degree murder? What is he talking about? My husband killed himself. He did it to himself.

“Your husband was found on the bathroom floor of the home you two shared together. He was covered in blood, his own blood. You drugged him and took a blade and stabbed him. He was dead for a couple hours before it was called in. You were found passed out on your bed, and it has been found that you have methamphetamines in your system.”

I laughed at him. He can’t be serious. I would never hurt my husband, I loved him. As I thought more and more about this, the more I thought it to be true. I don’t remember walking in to the bathroom, all I remember is seeing him drenched in blood, and his lifeless eyes. Did I do it? I couldn’t remember. I had a strange feeling that I did it.

Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. I saw it all happen in my mind. The argument about my drug habits that set the fight off. Me lashing out, sticking my used needle in his neck, him falling, and me stabbing. It wasn’t me who I thought I was hurting, it was him. How could I do that to my own husband? I started to scream and get frantic. The doctor didn’t like that, so he gave me another shot, and I fell back to sleep.

Waking up in a daze, I look over and see my husband. He was holding me, like he always did. We were on the floor of our bathroom. This seemed to be my safe place, this is the place I will always remember. Here with my husband, forever.

Author's Note

Please keep in mind that I am not done with this story, this is just what I have after a sleepless night. I am also probably going to rewrite the ending.