Warm Sweater

I couldn’t believe it. It was her. The woman of my dreams was standing just ten feet away at the copy machine, staring at me. Me, of all people. Her nose was scrunched up and her beautiful cheeks were contorted in disgust; a look most reserve for anger, but I could tell she wanted me to read between the creases in her face. She felt the same way about me as I did for her. I could see the yearning in her eyes; the desperation on her lips. She wanted me.
For months, I had watched her from the safety of my small, but quaint cubical. I knew every detail about her life; when she had lunch, who her friends were, and where she would be at any given moment of the work day. I even knew where she and her husband lived, as she and I both took the same bus to work. Even on the long rides to work, she never so much as batted an eye in my direction, but today was different. This was my chance.
I smiled at her as she made a somewhat perturbed look at me. She then looked away, seemingly frightened. Love is a strange mistress.
By this point, my synapses were firing off at an alarming rate. I could bear the distance between us no longer. I stood up and started walking to the copy machine. I felt such a strong need to reach out and touch her. Just before I took my final step in her direction, my boss came over and pulled her aside to discuss some work-related issues. My march was impeded, but the ever-growing desire in me remained constant. I needed to be with her.
Although we went to work at the same time, she always left an hour before I did, just in time to catch the last bus. My projects ran late, so I would usually have a co-worker bring me home. Sometimes in the summer, I would even travel by bicycle. On this day, however, it was the middle of winter, and there was a storm coming. Most of the staff had left early to beat the snow. I would have been smart to do the same, but finding a way home was the last thing on my mind. She was the only thing rattling around that tortured skull of mine. She was waiting for me; I could just feel it in each and every one of my eager bones. How can you go home when home is a person? A feeling that can't be anchored to a single point on any map? She was my only destination.
With no means of transportation, I walked out of the building and headed towards her house. I knew the route by heart. I didn’t have a jacket or a hat, but I was warm. It must have been love. What else could it have been? Surely it wasn’t my button-up, short-sleeved shirt or my tie. I know it wasn’t my khaki pants. It must have been love. I had a warm sweater of love to keep me safe from the bitter, cold air of winter. I was not only warm, but elated at the same time. I was going to march all the way to her house so we could finally be together. My plan was perfect, much as she was.
I guessed that it would take me four hours to get to her by foot. With this in mind, I made long and firm strides in the hopes of minimizing the amount of time it would take me to reach her. While walking down main street in this fashion, I noticed a lot of the businesses closing up for the night due to the approaching blizzard. One of these shops was the local florist. An idea sprang into my aroused mind. I couldn’t show up at her house empty handed. That just wouldn’t be right. I needed a gift – one that would profess my love for her in material form. I needed a rose.
I pushed the door open just as the florist was about to lock up, startling the hell out of her. I grabbed the nearest rose I could find, threw some money down on the counter, and left in a haste. I had a mission, after all.
I began power walking towards her house once again, hoping I would beat the storm there. Before making it too far, I felt a sharp pain in my hand. I looked down and saw droplets of blood spattered across the ground. It was the rose. I had grabbed an uncut one, thorns and all. My palm was now bleeding profusely, but I kept walking. It was merely a wound received while attending to affairs of the heart. I was focused on the bigger picture.
I trudged through harsh winds, my pace never wavering. The storm was closing in. At about the halfway point, I felt snow. It began falling at a swift and steady rate, making it almost impossible to see in front of me. Still, I pressed on. My love for this woman was insatiable and desirous. I needed her. I absolutely needed her.
I walked and walked, feeling the sting of the snow on my bare face. After an hour or so, a mark formed on my arm. It was beginning to turn black. This was the onset of frostbite, I guessed. This in no way slowed me down. I still had my sweater of love keeping me warm, every step of the way. I neither felt the chill in my arm, nor did I care about the risk to my health. I had made up my mind, and it could not be altered; not by a human, or the frozen forces of mother nature herself.
My arm grew darker as I walked. The other soon followed suit. I could only assume my face was turning as well. This did not bother me in the slightest. I only cared about the task at hand. As the gusts of wind turned harsher, I clenched the rose harder with my now gray hand. I was determined – more so than I had ever been before.
After another long and treacherous hour, I finally arrived at her street. This was it. My love would finally be reciprocated. I could hardly contain my excitement as I made my way over to her house. Luckily, her husband wasn’t home yet. The lawn was covered in snow, but I could still see the stone walkway leading the way to the front door. I took a step onto it, but quickly fell to the ground, slipping on a sheet of ice. I landed on my arm. It was more than likely broken, but I couldn't feel a thing. I stood up and kept walking, calling out to her as I did. She would soon hear my shrieks and come running out to see me.
Just then, the front door opened, and she walked out, proving my cries to be effective.
She said nothing. She simply looked at me with the most frightened look I had ever seen. She didn't use her hands to pull me into her loving arms like I had expected. Instead, she raised them over her mouth in shock. I reached up and presented her the rose. My voice was tired from yelling her name, but I managed to offer her a couple of words.
“…For you…”
She stared at me, just as she did earlier at work. Those eyes of disgust. That look of confusion. It was now turning into sheer terror. Love truly is a strange mistress. Before I could speak again, she began to scream. She screamed so loudly that a splitting pain consumed my head. This was the first time I had felt any pain at all during the long and arduous day. The second pain I would feel would be in my heart. She was... terrified of me. I knew I was frostbitten and disfigured, but my love for her remained intact. Why couldn’t she see this?
Rage overcame my emotions. I could now feel the bitter coldness of the storm. The immense amount of emotional and physical pain that overtook me in this moment caused me to lash out. Using my good arm, I took the rose, thorns and all, and started swinging at the woman I loved. I slashed open every inch of beautiful skin that I could see. As the blood dripped from her body, she screamed. I kept cutting her skin, but she wouldn’t stop. The sound of her voice pierced through the cold night as well as my aching ears. With one last swipe, I sliced open her throat with the rose. She finally stopped.
Her lifeless body fell to the snowy ground. I laid down with her, trying to provide her with some warmth.
She looked so faultless; so attractive. Her beauty was staggering, even after death. I smiled, happy that she was no longer screaming; happy I had provided her with peace. She could now rest. We both could. I placed the bloody rose in between us, and let our bodies envelop it. I looked at her eyes once more before closing mine. Maybe now we could finally be together.
Category:Mental Illness