The Last Lie

Be true to yourself. Faking it will only end up hurting you and everyone you're faking it for

The Last Lie

 

 

 

What have I done?

 

I’m sitting in this empty room - white walls, stucco ceiling, wood floors - full of boxes still needing unpacked. The only furniture, besides the stool I am sitting on, is the massive, drawer-less dresser sitting in the middle of the floor, her dresser. It looks skeletal sitting there stripped to its bare frame, like a shell of what it should be; perhaps that emptiness is what drew me to it. Perhaps, that’s why I’d been sitting here, staring into the mirror mounted on its back all morning.  Empty, but still able to project the image it was given, as it was expected to; still able to keep appearances. I’ve always hated this dresser.

 

What have I done?

 

I sit on the stool, looking at him. Where did he come from? I mean... I understand where he is coming from now, but where did he come from in the first place? And how had he known to come?

 

I just stare at him.

It was just us, now.

 

He is supposed to be me. He is supposed to be nothing more than my own light, fed to the glass and silver and shown back to me.  But how can that be? Look at him. He’s young, he’s handsome; sure he looks tired, but he does not look weary, does not look fatigued, does not look as though life itself is becoming a burden too heavy for him to bear. Look at him; nice teeth, glowing skin, cute hair. He looks like he’s ready to take on the world - perhaps first he’d take on a toothbrush and a cup of coffee, but then the world.

He is supposed to be me? This man, in his universe of silver and glass, was born of my light? How is that even possible when I have no more light to give? My light is dying, has been  for years, it could not satiate the hunger of the mirror to produce such a pristine image. Yet, he is supposed to be me, or better yet, I am supposed to be him.

I’d like to blame him; his smiles, his joy, his energy. I’d like to say that those things are what had gotten me here, but he had only done what I’d asked him to do, what I’d done so long and couldn’t do anymore. I invited him in, instructed him, and watched idly as he fooled the people in my life as I once had.

All I wanted was to hide my pain from them. I wanted to spare them from having to know what I was going through, what I was feeling. I wanted to spare her especially. I still do. I’d dug myself into this happy hole. I could’ve avoided it early on with honesty, but instead started living this charade. So now what could I do? Tell them the truth after years of lies?

 

I’m sorry, but I don’t love you, I don’t know if I ever really did. I didn’t want to hurt you, I still don’t want to hurt you, but living this lie is eating me away inside. It’s killing me. I can’t do it anymore.

 

I couldn’t do that. Not now. It wouldn’t just hurt her, it would hurt them all. No, I put myself into this and now I just have to deal. But dealing was becoming all the more painful - the fake smiles, the fake cheer - it was all becoming too heavy, and I was cracking under the load.

Now, I had to let him do it.

He came in and began to give everyone the feigned smile I could no longer deliver. The lies, the look, the life; they all killed me inside, slowly sucked from my light, but everyone else was happy. I was sparing them all the pain of knowing the truth, or perhaps I was sparing myself from having to watch their pain. Either way, he played his role well.

 

“How excited are you, Hon? Our own place!” I remember hearing her say to him one day while sitting on his lap.

 

“It’s wonderful, Babe,” he lied. “I can’t wait to finally start our lives together.”

 

While I wept, he looked her in the eyes and smiled.

It was the most perfect smile I’d ever seen.

 

“OK, Hon! You love me?”

 

I was going to tell her the truth Right then, I was going to do it. I was going to apologize for all the years of lying and just come clean. I just hadn’t wanted to hurt you, but I can’t go through with this. I can’t give my whole life to you on this pretense of love that doesn’t exist and maybe never did!

That’s what I was going to say, but his resolve was stronger than mine. He did not stray from his assignment.

 

“Of course I do, Babe.”

 

He was good.  That’s why I had needed him, that’s why he’d come. The happy face, and the lies that were becoming like load of lead to me, he could easily handle. He knew the cost of the truth; he knew that it would ease no pain, only transfer it, and if either she or I had to bear it, then it was I that deserved it. That it was why I now sat in this empty room, gazing at him through this barrier of glass, asking myself one question.

 

What have I done?

 

“You OK, Hon?”

 

I turned to the doorway where she stood, a concerned look on her face. I turned back to him for help, but I had temporarily trapped him in his prison of silver and glass. He could not help me now.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I muttered to the floor.

 

“Why are you just sitting there in your underwear, staring at the mirror like a weirdo?”

 

“Uh, I don’t know, just tired I guess,” I said through a forced half-grin. “Just zoning out, or something.”

 

“Um, OK,” she said through a small giggle. “Well I’ll be downstairs unpacking, come down when you get a little more awake. Love you.”

 

I simply nodded and grinned. I didn’t have it in me to tell another lie; I had told my last.

 

I looked back toward him with envy. It was so easy for him to wear this guise of happiness, he didn’t have to feel the pain that came with it.

Why can’t I be stronger? I say I lie to spare them, to spare her, but have I spared anyone? Or have I just trapped us all in this downward  spiral of an empty loveless life, full of resentment and self-loathing. Have I really spared anyone?

 

It doesn’t matter, I though as I used the razor to trace the big blue vein in my arm from wrist to shoulder.

 

Now we are all freed.

 

And as my head lie down on the dresser, watching the beautiful, crimson falls, flow away from my body, he reached down and began to softly stroking my face. Lovingly.

 

I smiled.

And for the first time that I can remember…

 

It was weightless

Author's Note

Sorry this got a little longer than expected. If you notice any out of place quotation marks from the stupid glitch, let me know :)

This was partially inspired by a message I sent to London and JoshuaDeathdealer encouraging them to work together on a poem. I said to them "It'd be so dark and sad I'd probably slit my wrists right at the desk, but it'd be so good I'd die smiling" which put an image in my head I had to explore.

PS
if anyone can find a better picture LET ME KNOW haha

Enjoy! ^_^

Reviews

[lostboy]

we all live in a much greater light than our own ..a light that makes ours a shadow when we look in a mirror we see a reflection when we look in our heart what do we see ? i say the truth from the start is still the best ..if for no other reason than it causes less pain.

[SparksLC]

First off...WOW. That was really deep. This was so vivid....I felt like I was standing in the room, watching this scenario unfold. I could FEEL the agony the main character was in as he reminisced on all the lies he'd told, all the hurt he'd caused, all the betrayal he felt. This was dark, yet beautiful. It was a clear look into both the character's heart and mind, and you managed to do it easily. Great work! If I could I'd rate this 110/100 haha. Can't wait to read more!!

[Veronica Chandler]

Dark, foreboding and yet there is a lightness and a certain familiarity which rings true and sort of comforts me in it's honesty. Enjoyed the read!

[jimagain]

Intriguing. I didn't see the end coming. So very well written. I particularly enjoyed the perspective of the subject as two separate sides of the same person. Such pathos. Great inner conflict and tension in the story. Excellent!

[TL Boehm]

He is supposed to be me. He is supposed to be nothing more than my own light, fed to the glass and silver and shown back to me.
I found that line riveting.

[PaperDoll]

I like this. I love how your character had split himself into two different people, one painfully honest and the other a consummate liar. Really well done.

[rishika]

your piece is so well written that im sure no one would mind the length.

[Barry S. Maltese]

Very nice composition. I love the sarcastic humor woven within. Never getting distasteful, never overindulging your audience. You paint a distinct story of truthful despair. Yes, doing the right thing often comes with a price - in this case it is loneliness. Very enjoyable.

[ambur]

This was really well written. Thanks for sharing!

[Jasmine]

It was a good story so real.