SHADOW

Cloaked

One...two...three.

I counted my heartbeats. It was slow and labored.

I was dying.

The pain had subsided. I felt numb. I was fading.

And I was...terrified.

I didn't want to die.

I felt so cold on the hard asphalt. Blood and coffee splattered beside me, a sickening mixture.

One...two‒

I trembled fiercely, eyes wide, with my head resting against a wall.

It felt just as real as when it had actually happened. I relived it time and time again, and each time it chilled me to the bone.

It made me crazy. It hung on my conscience like dead weight.

I saw reminders at every corner.

Reminiscing without control made me feel unstable; unhinged even. Some days when I was at my worst it was hard to even look at my reflection. I couldn't recognize the person that stared back at me. I looked purposeless.

My death served as a constant reminder of the "life" I lived. Whatever I could categorize my existence as was a curse. It took me so long to realize eternal life was the worst part. I was so wrapped up in the power I held I didn't realize that this second chance at life that I was given was laden in impending pain. For once I didn't feel oppressed, I had the power to behave the way I wanted­‒ to behave in the manner that I had suppressed for so long because there were no repercussions anymore. Nobody could kill me again for being different because I was already dead. But the truth quickly reared its ugly head.

I fell in love. I found the love of my life. She accepted everything I was and could never be.

I revealed what I was to her and she loved that part of me too. As time went by she aged and I didn't. I couldn't control the way life took her from me. That was the day I had realized how cruel this life could be.

That was the most pain I had ever felt. My death couldn't even begin to compare.

The unfair reality took me years to comprehend, so I started this hobby, where I had power over time. I had control over when they died.

I fell in love with these women every single time. I took their life out of love. I wouldn't let them live a life without me.

Killing them gave me a taste of pain so I never truly lost myself. It reminded me that I was still partially alive.

The pain made me feel human.

The want to have contact with anyone alluded me at the moment, I couldn't handle it. I had become a recluse in the span of less than 24 hours. As soon as I dropped her off, I could feel myself begin to decline and now I felt out of it.

I didn't want her, I didn't want to eat. I didn't want to kill.

I felt numb.

My thoughts were dull and scattered. My psychosis had even subsided. There were no thoughts of mass murder, obsession‒ nothing.

The shadow had thrown it's cloak over my entire being and I had no intention of fighting it off. As perfect as I was on the outside, I was a disaster on the inside.

Two weeks passed by without any type of contact with the outside world, not even she could bring me back. This was detrimental to my process, but I didn't care.

The mess that was waiting for me to clean up was going to be huge, bigger than a few touches and compliments could fix. I knew I was in the wrong.

In her words, I wasn't hers, but I was still obligated to apologize to her.