A Man Spoke to Me

I remember the first night I heard his voice. Whispers hard to understand were entering my ears, breaking into my skull, freezing my thoughts. Time seemed to move slowly as the man was singing to me. Singing to me with words I could not comprehend. A certain dangerous sensuality was dancing in the air and on my skin, and I could tell, I could tell it was him.

Like a vicious demon, he would speak to me in a tongue I could not decipher, occasionally caressing my face too. One time, he briefly touched my lips with his finger. It was cold, but something inside me was burning, a desire driving me insane. I had not seen him yet at that point. He always vanished in thin air as soon as I opened my eyes.

But I knew he was not a dream. In the morning, I could still smell him in the room. For this reason, I called him "Vanilla". A part of me was terrified. A part of me was corrupted by his existence. I looked at myself in the mirror and, every single time, I felt like I was a stranger. My flesh felt like a prison. Sometimes, I would put make up on for some reason, only to stare at myself. Admire myself for hours. And I knew it was his influence. I never did those things before. He made me look at myself like I was my own experiment.

It took me more than a year to understand his language. "Hello", he would tell me every night. "Hello" is what I wanted to say too, but my lips were sealed by some unknown force. His powers over me were absolute. My body was no more than a marionette for him. I was heartbroken to think he never respected me. But at that point, I did not know what to believe anymore. I wanted to scream at him at night, but cried endlessly all day instead. I craved his touch. It was absolutely intoxicating. Misery was my companion before and after he would press one of his fingers on my body, but during that short moment I was a god. I felt my soul leaving my body and falling back inside.

One time, I was standing in front of my window. "If I jump, I will escape this shell", I thought to myself. But I continued my day as usual afterwards. Like nothing happened. Just a mere thought being lost in the passage of time.

Another time, I thought of using poison in my coffee. I even searched up which poison was the least painful. I closed my laptop soon after and laughed by myself. And that was when I first thought something might had been wrong with me.

But I did not act on the spot. I did not ask for help until the day I bought that poison. As I held it in my right hand, my heart felt shrinking into my chest. I was afraid. Not just partly afraid. Fully afraid. I decided to schedule an appointment with a therapist and I did. Someone my sister had worked with in the past, after her husband died. I took a deep breath afterwards and decided to get something to drink. I looked at a TV show I cannot remember the name of and truly enjoyed myself for some unknown reason. I rarely enjoyed myself.

I went to sleep that night without him being present. For the first time in more than a year, I was completely alone. I woke up. Dressed up. Admired myself and decided head to my appointment. I felt at peace, but I was lonely. I truly thought I had a chance to heal myself from the darkness of my mind, but I was so wrong. I realized I left my phone in the living room so I went there to grab it. I opened the same old door and spotted the phone immediately.

It was in my hand. I was dead.

On the couch, right next to me, a man was reading a book. He slowly placed it on the table and parted his hand from it, as I realized what I had done the day before. "Hello", he said smiling with a unworldly softness. And I recognized the voice.