Creepypasta Corner

The Cure For Fear

The greatest fear...

I loved her. Since the moment I met her I had loved her with all my heart. There is something that I can't explain. It is something intangible, something that I always try to explain to my friends, to my coworkers, but there are no answers. It was simple love.

Her name was Laura. We first met only a few months ago. We knew then that we were meant for each other. She was the opposite of me. She was compassionate, kind, gentle, caring, her only flaw being her own fear.

Her own anxiety. She feared death so very much. In only the first two or three months on which I met her she and two breakdowns. She and nightmares of her own demise. I would try to console her. I took her to a string of doctors, who gave her medication to quell her fears.

I was cocky, headstrong, and sometimes at my worse, narcissistic. I would always need things to go my way. I recognized that, and that alone I felt sometimes gave me my strength in the most destitute times. No matter the times, no matter the brevity of what I am forced to deal with, deal within myself.

People said always opposite attract. I failed to believe them. It seemed like love would never been possible. But, sometimes fate works in strange ways.

I worked as a psychologist myself, perhaps the very reason I was so infatuated with her. I knew from the start that she was hyper sensitive, hyper emotional and neurotic. Even in the very first days I could sense it. In fact, I remember some of our first conversations.

"What would the feeling be like, John?"

"The feeling, the feeling of death?" I stared at her as though I was staring into her soul.

"Yes. Can't there be just a simple answer?"

"I suppose we'll all find out some day. You can't boggle your mind with such endeavours."

I had what some would call a eidetic memory. Tests done on other people claiming to have the same skill yet failed to show the ability being in fact, real. Despite that, and my knowledge of the ramifications of believing a lie, I continued to believe in it.

I continued to believe, no not believe, use my ability in the fullest. I would ask her the same questions day after day, remembering each response after another. I wouldn't need to right it down. I could just remember it.

Days went by where there were no issues. I had talked to colleagues who convinced me, she was bipolar and that she needed more medication to function. They knew she was unemployed, and that during the day she did little. I had supported her, and would continue to support her despite her emotional struggles. I didn't care if she would never work, as long as she would care for me.

During these days she would often call me at work. Sometimes with patients, and the patients would listen to the disturbing messages related. I would often tell the patients not to worry, and that it was another patient of mine. I would sometimes take the call, sometimes not depending on the brevity of her words. If I didn't pick it up she would be sour with me for a few days but she would eventually get over it.

Every single conversation etched in my mind. I would repeat them in any spare time, trying to think of any way to help her. So many medications. So many things I have given her, against her will. I had to tie her to a chair at once and force her to take her pills. After the first time, it wasn't so bad. She would pick up the routine, realising that it wasn't so bad.

But it was stressful for me. Sometimes I felt like I couldn't take it anymore. That I was stuck. I would love her no matter what. But I hadn't been hesitant on engaging to her. It just didn't feel right. No, not right - more, just fearful. I was worried how she would react.

I knew she loved me despite my eccentric nature. Still, she might be overwhelmed and... and I don't know what I would do. Finally I decided that there was no other choice. I would do it. I would cure her fear, her fear of death.

Weeks passed on and she stabilized. She was beginning to feel as though she were just "normal". But I would look into her eyes, and not see the woman I loved. I could see her slowly losing her. Through drugs, through pills.

One free another. She began to lose weight rapidly. She began to lose herself. She would not eat. She would not move. But she smiled. All the time.

And I felt, strangely happy. I dragged her limp body around the house. She began to rot slowly,but I failed to care. She was still the woman I loved. I still would never forsake her. I hung her in a case, as she stared at me on the couch. I smiled t her, we were both smiling. She no longer feared, and I was no longer afraid for her safety.,for she was already dead....