Forced Into Insanity

Chapter 14: Fall From Grace

— Francesca —

For years, I thought of myself as the most brilliant mind to ever exist. I hoped that I would leave my mark on the world before I die. Little was I aware the man I loved...would push me past my boundaries.

The conversation from last night runs through my head. I have never felt so utterly useless, so completely heartbroken. How could I let myself be so blind?

Perhaps I am not remembering the words properly?

"What is this 'we' you're talking about? What am I to you, Oliver?"
"Perhaps...a dumbass?" He's right. I truly am the embodiment of dumb. He most definitely dodged my initial question of how we met. He didn't even bother with a straight answer because he doesn't have one. I went along with it too.

Oliver has to be lying. When I first saw you clearly? What is that supposed to mean? All these thoughts accumulate until I'm overwhelmed.

My knees hit the floor and I feel welcome as I lay there ever so still. Oliver is the man who patched me up. Is he also the man who sends me the ominous letters with pretty crystals? He only skimmed the envelope when he saw it, almost as if he knew its contents well; Any normal person would pause a few more seconds due to a difference in handwriting. The handwriting is clear sure, but wouldn't he be at least alarmed in response to that last paragraph? Does that also-

A knock on my door startles me. I get up to answer.

It's Oliver.

How am I supposed to respond?

—~~~—

— Oliver —

"A hi would be splendid." I voice my thoughts to Francesca as she seems to be at a loss for whatever reason. Surely strangers knocking on doors is normal, no? Regardless, my eyes meet hers and a slight blush rushes to my face.

I could get used to this feeling.

"Why do you look so surprised?" I inquire, hoping to spark conversation between us.
"I just...didn't expect you to visit me personally." She replies in a strangely melodic tone. She doesn't make eye contact.
"I wanted to ask, Oliver-"
"Go ahead." I retort, attempting to prepare myself for what's to come.
"About last night...do you remember what I asked you?" She twiddles her thumbs repeatedly, still looking at the ground.
"Yea-"
"Good. Are you familiar with sleeping pills?"

What?

"I've seen a couple in my lifetime. I believe that particular brand you have is famous." I point to the box on her desk.
"I noticed it when I visited yesterday but I thought it would be inappropriate to ask." I remark.
"You never told me why you had fallen ill yesterday." I add, hoping to steer the conversation away from sleeping pills.

How did she recognise they were sleeping pills?

"Amnesia is an interesting concept, is it not?" My expressions are no longer lively and the rush I felt earlier has dissolved into prudence. Where is she going with all of this? I do enjoy the occasional witty banter but is this not too much?
"What do you mean?" She perks up in response to my prior statement.
"Do you take sleeping pills often?" I ask fully aware of the answer.

"Yes."

This is all I need from you, my darling Francesca.