My Personal Demon

11:53

Morning came like two people making love in a closet: quietly, but not without a reaction. Muted tones of a gloomy gray sky greet my eyes, accompanied by the soft whispers of the rain.

A deceptively peaceful scene considering the tumultuous night I endured.

I sit up in the sheets, half expecting to see him in bed with me. I pat the spot next to me, looking for the fine red dust.

Seeing only the clean, smooth surface of my blanket, I let out a sigh of relief. He wasn't here to torment me yet.

I let my feet touch the hardwood floor, steadying myself. A part of me was afraid that the floor would transform into quicksand again, repeating the events of last night.

For a moment, I imagine my heels sinking into the floor.

The thought terrifies me enough to make my head spin. I'm tempted to collapse in my bed again, but the sound of the birds chirping outside the window brings me back to reality.

The floor steadies. I manage to make it to the bathroom without falling apart.

I look at myself in the mirror, rubbing the sleepiness out of my eyes. I half-expected to see Charles behind me, but he was nowhere in the pale sanctuary of the bathroom.

Was I finally going to have a peaceful morning?

I turn the faucet and blood gushes into the sink, thick and warm. I scream, twisting the knob of the faucet back into place, but the blood keeps coming, filling up the sink and spilling onto the white tiled floor. I stand in a growing puddle of blood, frozen with horror.

It takes me three seconds to come to my senses. I step away from the blood, backing up into the bathtub. As the puddle travels across the floor, I think about all the bleach I'm going to need before this bathroom ever looks the same again.

I twist my head, hoping to crawl into the tub to avoid the blood. What greets my eyes is something out of a crime scene.

Charles is lying in the tub, his head tilted to the side to expose a deep cut in his neck. Blood trickles down his skin and into the water, staining the liquid pink. He clutches a razor in his right hand and I notice that his beard is full of shaving cream like the whole thing was an unfortunate accident.

No, no, no please be alive. I should have never left you alone.

Pause.

None of this is real, I remind myself. He's messing with you again. You know that. Charles didn't die like this.

But that didn't mean I wanted to cry and vomit any less. It was like I had to relive his death all over again.

I frantically dig through the medicine cabinet, searching for a roll of bandages. Desperation seizes me. I need to fix him.

I gently cradle his head between my hands, slowly moving it back into place. I keep my hands on the back of his neck while wrapping the bandage around the cut. He bleeds again and I can't keep up with the flow of blood. No matter how many layers of bandages I put on his skin, the red still soaks through.

Give up. It's futile, I tell myself. He's dead already.

I wanted to believe otherwise. He was dying, not dead. Just like he was in my bathtub and not six feet under. I could still save him.

He was going to live no matter how much it damaged him. I can't bear the loneliness of this empty house anymore. I'm insane without him, saving a corpse that's already dead.

If I was truly being honest with myself, I was never mentally stable in the first place. But with him, the walls stopped moving and the invisible voices quieted in my troubled mind. He was my wonder tether to life,