Borokkuei Alan
So here I am, lying in bed at night worrying myself to tears again, with my pillow atop my face and my right arm curled atop it over my eyes, making a pillow sandwich between my skin. I’ve been doing this every night lately because I’m afraid that something might be wrong. Every day it gets worse, too.
Nearly a year ago, I noticed that my love interest was acting a bit off somehow— I couldn’t quite pinpoint exactly what it is that was off, but my intuition tells me that something about her behavior was, and still is, indeed, a bit off. The next day, I mentioned and insisted to her that something about her behavior seemed off, but she looked at me with a slightly saddened face and responded with, more or less, »Nothing is wrong— I’m sorry you think I’ve been acting differently, but I promise I’m still happy with you and I only want you to be happy» and finished with a smile and a kiss, but I couldn’t help but notice that something about her behavior seemed a bit off somehow. Either her words or her smile or her kiss didn’t seem completely genuine, or maybe none of those things did. That night I decided that I was going to get to the bottom of this, and I cried myself to sleep with my pillow covering my face so the darkness couldn’t mock my loneliness.
The days following have been similar— something about her behavior seemed a bit off and I couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, and it became more noticeable each day but still somehow continued to evade exactitude. I frequently brought up to her the awkward behavior that I’ve noticed, such as the way she chewed her food at lunch or the firmness of the hug she gave me while we were cuddling in front of the television or the way she took slightly longer in the bathroom that one time at night or how she said she wanted to start reading a new book. All of these things make me feel like she’s only pretending to be happy around me, and that she truly feels a burning, or perhaps even violent hatred towards me. She says she loves me and wants me to be happy, but my intuition knows that she intends to rid of me, either socially or by mortally wounding me. Based on what I’ve seen on the programs on the crime-based television channels we watch together, the most popular method of murder chosen by women intending to rid of unwanted men in their lives is subtle poisoning. Since realizing this, I’ve avoiding drinking and eating edibles that she’s prepared for me to avoid dying, using stomach ache as my excuse. The stomach ache is very real though, and I still feel it every night when I sleep with the pillow over my face.
And so, fast-forwarding nine-or-so months, I’ve successfully avoided death this far and she’s still wearing her mask of happiness. She still sleeps with her arms around my torso and face buried in my armpit, and I can still see past her simple facade. I honestly have no idea how she can’t understand how I can see her ill intent and how she won’t give up. It’s also surprising to me that nobody else can see her ill intent in the way she acts in public with me. Not once has an onlooker whispered to me in private »You’re in danger» and given me some advice on how to deal with the situation. She still consoles me pathetically when I bring up feeling slightly odd about the way she’s been behaving. I feel like I shouldn’t bring it up because it makes me feel weak, but despite my desire to avoid death, I fell in love with her and that love of the docile woman I knew still remains and I will in turn remain with her, even if we have to play this constant cat-and-mouse game. I hope that someday she’ll decide that I am worthy and will be less intent on ending my life. I hope this because, if this keeps up or elevates somehow, my desire to protect my own life may become stronger and I’ll have to defend myself if I need to. As much as I love her and want to spend my life with her, if she becomes worse, I’ll off her before she can off me. Right now, I can’t really tell if it’s gotten worse or better, but she still seems a bit off and I can’t really pinpoint it, though my intuition tells me that something about her behavior is, indeed, off a bit.