PENDANT’S KNOT.

I can barely recognize myself in the mirror. The deep scars on my once beautiful face are only what I see. Nothing more but a scarred soul, staring at its imperfect reflection. I fear that he will come back to finish what he started, like waiting for a nightmare that will never end, all over again. It was nine months ago but I can still feel his icy hands choking my neck, taste his foul breath beneath my tongue and his distant voice keeps me awake every night. He haunts me as a ghost haunts its flesh, its demons. But he is in prison still. So I am safe. I am safe. I am safe. I have to say the words out loud to believe them but I don’t think it’s working. I need something stronger like the drugs my therapist prescribed. The ones I take in double dosage. I am almost out now, I’ll need more soon. Too soon. And she’ll ask why they ran out so fast. What will I tell her? That my ex won’t leave me alone? Won’t stop talking to me in my sleep? That he stalks me even in my mind? No, I have to make it seem like we’re making progress. I will think about that later, though. Because now I have to go home for the Holidays. Tell my mum and dad that I’m doing perfectly fine since the man that destroyed my life. That my ‘job’ is awesome and my ‘friends’ have all been so helpful these past few months. I can’t wait!

Suddenly, I hear shuffling outside my apartment. I stop brushing my hair to listen. Nothing. Then the sound of footsteps receding. I rush to the door hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious ambler. I open it quickly but see no one, except a large shadow fading down the dark stairwell. Who was that? Maybe some lost person, or a loiterer. One never really knows in this town. So I dismiss it. I am, in any case, running late. And won’t catch the next bus out of town at this pace. As I move back to close the door, I feel something coarse beneath my foot so I bend to inspect it. A small black jewelry case with dozens of glittering gems at the top. The kind used for an engagement proposal. Pompous, pretentious. I open the case, already curious to see what’s inside. A pendant in the shape of an eye lies on a black velvet cloth. Suddenly, my vision is blurred and I can’t seem to carry my own weight. I recognize the pendant. It’s the same one he gave me a year ago when he said I would be his forever. That he would always be where I was, watching. Like the eye on the pendant that watches me at this moment. The voices around me distort into hellish drones. I can’t believe he found me. I can’t believe I let myself think I was safe.

I lock and bolt the door shut, windows too. What else could I do? He knows my every move, he knows how to get to me and destroy me from the inside out. I can't even think of anything else other than to snivel while curled up in a ball on my carpet. That’s how much he has me twirled around his pinky. And he knows it all too well. What does he plan to do with me? Do I report him to the cops? And tell them what? That I found a gift on my doorstep on Christmas eve?

I get up to look for my meds. They must be capable of easing my mind so I can think clearly. That’s when I see a note in the case, hidden underneath the necklace. It is written in cursive, “Hi there, darling…865 Palmview Street 10 PM.” I couldn’t hear myself breathing over the sound of my own thoughts. Thoughts pulsing in my exhausted mind. Telling me too many things at once, all with the same meaning…to end it once and for all. I would go to the address and kill him, the same way he killed my spirit. That way, I would be safe. And it would be true. I just need something crude. Like a knife or hammer. I think a crowbar is better. That way, it would seem like a spur-of-the-moment attack, unlike using a gun or a knife. That he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Nothing will be tied to me.

The janitor’s closet above my floor must have the very tools I need. So I take the stairs and make my way there, occasionally pretending to be on my phone whenever I pass by someone. I reach the tiny room and turn the doorknob, silently praying that it isn’t locked. It clicks open just as a crowd of drunk college kids enter the hallway. I cannot find the light switch in the closet. So I use my phone to rummage through the pile of clutter. My heart pounds in anxiety but this is the first time in a long while to feel an adrenalin rush of this sort, to feel this alive.

I hear someone fidgeting with the door knob from outside and I drop my phone. Picking it up, frantically, I spot a screwdriver from the messy pile of rags and mops. I quickly hide it under my sleeve before the door swings open and I am met with the most inquisitive eyes I have ever seen.

“What are you doing in there?” The janitor asks, empty bucket in hand.

“Uh…I was looking for…some bleach. Spilled some paint on my carpet…” I say, wanting to sound casual and hoping he’s buying it.

“Oh, I actually have some here. You can use the whole thing. They’re restocking soon enough.” He says ardently while reaching into the closet and handing me the bottle of bleach.

“Thank you! It’s just what I wanted,” I tell him, feigning enthusiasm.

“Of course, merry Christmas.” He says, reminding me that I was to go home before I found the gift. But this is more important. I need to finish what he started. Avenge myself as he will not stop until I am dead. That’s what he does. Gets under my skin and toys with my head even when he isn’t here. Oh, how I hate what he’s made me become. A hollow mind in a void body, scarred with past mistakes I always regret making.

It’s 9:55 PM and the cold, bleak wind forces me to sniffle a bit. So I adjust my scarf and hoodie to cover half of my face. This street is lonely. Too lonely, I feel like I’m being watched. Maybe it’s the pendant I put in my pocket. Judging my every move, listening to the cold air warning me against my impulsivity, my need to be mended. But none of that matters now. I am alive at this moment. I can feel the warm blood coursing through my hand, warming the tool that holds my happiness within it. And there’s the man who stole it, sitting on a lone bench in the dark, flowers in his hand. Does he really have the nerve to bring me flowers, thinking I’ll just forgive and forget? After everything he put me through?

I feel a pure rage well up inside me, making me glower coldly as I stealthily move toward him. I can see the headphones he has on his ears. With one swing, I jab the screwdriver in his throat and watch him slumping on the bench, his blood turning the pink roses to red.

The calm night becomes an echo of noises, invisible creatures cursing me from the shadows. Or just me cursing myself? I realize the magnitude of what I’ve done. I run. Maybe it’s just a bad dream. I will wake up from this, won’t I? I take the bottle of pills I stashed in my pocket together with the necklace. But they all spill on the road as I run from my mistakes. I arrive at my apartment, drenched in guilt. I wash my bloodied hands and…where is the screwdriver? I left it there. Stuck in his neck, suffocating the life out of him. No, nothing will lead them to me, right? Pills? They’ll believe it’s a drug deal gone wrong. Flowers? A not-so-bad disguise to hide the pills. Okay. I need to calm down. You are safe now. You are safe…I hear a knock on my door. I check the peephole and see my next-door neighbor on the other side. I put on a beanie to hide my messy hair and adjust my wet sleeves. Then I open it.

“Hi, sorry to bother you,” she says, apologetically. And I nod as I can’t seem to find my voice.

“I was wondering if you saw the jewelry box my boyfriend dropped this morning. He must have got the apartments confused again…Uh…are you okay?”