I Used To Be Happy

I used to be happy. I used to be in love¦but that was a long time ago.
I stood there, the empty bottle that was once filled with vodka was now tucked under my left arm. It stuck to the sweaty flesh as I admired my handiwork. A deep laugh escaped my throat. I knew, I knew that this would be good. I knew that I'd finally be able to take control of my¦life once again.
-----
White. All I could see was white. Walls blended in with ceiling and floor, there was no dimension. The vast blankness scarred my eyes and left my head pulsing. My stomach heaved as I pushed my forehead to the padded floor and grasped the thin gown that sheathed me. Once again, I screamed.
-----
The year was fading. Crisp October air swept the dehydrated leaves from the cracked pavement. She passed by while we were having an argument over the intelligence of Darwin after our class in the university. The distinct smells of musk and peppermint chewing gum lingered as much as the echoes of her laughter as she walked passed us. Her long blonde hair gleamed even in the dim autumn light. To this day, I swear she turned around and winked at me.
------
I saw him one day in fall after my course in psychology. The typical corduroy jacket, denims, and glasses. Somehow, he caught my eye. I pulled a sheet of paper out of my notebook, leaned against the stone rail and jotted down my phone number and the words "Noire Café, 10 o'clock". As I was hurried by him to catch up to my friend, I nonchalantly slipped the note into his coat pocket and ran by laughing.
------
The note caught me off guard. Not only hadn't I seen her place it in my pocket, I didn't know it was her to begin with. I had to ask Tom who's brother was Adam who used to date Jess who had a friend named Ashley who's ex's ex was Isabelle who once lived with Henry who had her number. They recognized it.
"Lucky you. It seems like your blonde-haired blue-eyed goddess admires you too. Go get 'em¦just wash your hair beforehand."
-----
By the time I arrived, twenty minutes late, he was already there. He sat at a small table to the far right of the room, and I almost didn't recognize him. He was just so clean. His usually shaggy dark hair was neatly combed. His face had a little more color then the times I'd seen him before, and his glasses were missing. When he saw me arrive, his face lit up. And, God, those eyes, those eyes were what I really fell for.
-----
My company had taken off, and I received a six figure paycheck. I started building my home, some might call it a mansion. It was going to be the next Rose Red, without all the disappearing and ghosts and that sort. I kept adding on, addicted to building new rooms that I knew I would never spend time in.
Just recently, I finally completed it.
-----
It's funny how your mind finds a way to trick itself to escape from the terrors you might have to deal with. The white turned into colors in my mind, leaving me with elaborate schemes of golds and reds and mauves. And I started singing, humming to myself. I would just go to the soft corner and rock on my heels, murmuring a song.
-----
We were married six years after Noire Café. The sixth year anniversary of our first day was spent inside the small white church she had grown up in. Women always seem to want to carry on traditions. Only about one hundred people attended, our closest friends and relatives. The rain that day was only one sign of the future.
-----
A man appeared. Always the same, he would be dressed head to toe in white. The only color came from the eye slits in the plastic mask that showed a hint of green, but only if you stared at them. He would never look directly in my eyes, but avoid them by staring down at the floor while handing me the usual food: toast and a plastic bottle of water with the wrapper removed. He seemed so mysterious, so concealed by the facade created.
-----
I really loved her. I really did. I was there for her first miscarriage, and her second. I was there when she had pneumonia. I was there when she was too afraid to leave our two-roomed apartment in the city. I really loved her; however, I do not believe in love anymore.
-----
I awoke to find a change in the small white room I inhabited. The difference wasn't of the walls or floor or lights, or of the room itself at all. The change had occurred to me.
My feet had become dry and cracked, the nails overgrown and yellowing. My hands traced up my legs, trying to grasp the sallow skin. All I could were bones. Even the unshaven hair on my shins was getting scarce. My knees jutted out, unnaturally sharp. I groped at my angular hip, my shrunken thighs. I felt my distinct collarbone. My hands dipped in a space where cheeks were supposed to be present, and my eyes seemed but the sockets of a bare skull. Tear drops sat idly on cheekbones, unmoving. My once treasured blond hair was shaved. All that remained was the hint of fuzz, like t hat of a military boy.
I knew if I didn't get out soon, I was going to die.
-----
My house was finished. Oriental rugs ran from wall to wall, glass from Austria was used in the many chandeliers. Forty-two rooms were built. That is, the rooms my visitors knew existed.
The forty-third was my little secret.
-----
"Why are you doing this to me?" I screamed to the man, still wearing the white mask. I knew my pitiful voice did not register the slightest bit of remorse through his thick skull.
He crept closer, closer still. The hand from behind his back revealed itself. It also brandished a pair of sharp, gleaming scissors.
"Because¦" a muffled voice said, "because you once promised me that you loved me."
He removed his mask.
-----
"I still love you," I confessed, still grasping the shears tightly in my sweaty hands.
She wept when she glimpsed my face, "And I love you. I always will, but you know that we can't be together. Don't do this!"
She was cornered. I was two meters from her squirming body, arm out, sharps pointed at her. "Watch me. Goodbye, my Love."
And I killed her. I stabbed the scissors right through my wife's heart; just like she did to me.
Tonight, I'm going to kill myself. I already have it planned. The new bottle of Aspirin, the razor, the plastic bag; they are all in place. The final sleep is my only event to look forward to now.