Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
The darkness began creeping in on him. It was a type of suffocation he couldn’t bear. The dimming sky with dark shades of orange was making fun of him. The self-doubt started small and then began building to heavy regrets and emptiness. He couldn’t escape this daily regimen, no matter how he tried.
He stood up from the kitchen table and walked to the small window above the sink.
Right before his eyes, the sky dulled and was ready to turn off its light for another day.
It had been another day of caged loneliness.
Something had a hold on him and he knew it didn’t exist, but that didn’t ease the burden.
His work didn’t help or make him feel better either. He felt like the walking dead.
Grabbing a glass, he filled it with water and drank as if he was dehydrated. Feeling the water glide down his throat to nourish his body made no difference. Shouldn’t it make you feel better? Quenching your thirst? It didn’t.
He threw the glass across the room, where it shattered against the refrigerator.
The shards lay on the floor until he decided to clean them up.
A weird feeling overcame him—an almost calm where he thought things would be okay again.
But things would never be okay again. He knew that fact his entire life—he was different and what excited him and gave him purpose was to feel alive.
He walked over to a desk where paperwork had been strewn along with various women’s driver’s licenses and other personal items. He picked up a pearl earring and rolled it around in his hand, remembering the woman it had belonged to. He slipped it into his pocket.
At the end of the kitchen counter, there was a knife holder. He stood a moment, making his choice. He finally decided on a short and small but very sharp knife. It felt good in his hands and fit his grip neatly—unlike larger ones.
He sat at the table and rested his left arm facing up. Carefully rolling up his sleeve, revealing the calloused forearm, he felt his body relax as it waited for the relief. Pressing the knife flat against the inside of his arm, feeling the cool blade, prepared him for the ultimate release.
Slowly and methodically, he turned the knife where the blade and tip made contact with his skin. With the ease and skill of a surgeon, he pressed just hard enough to make blood seep. He pulled the knife. The blood continued to appear like magic along the incision. It was beautiful.
He enjoyed his moment, but seconds later the pleasure began to fade. He knew he had no choice but to continue his life’s work.