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Trigger Warning
This page may contain material that is disturbing or graphic which might be sensitive to some readers. The page may also contain flashing media that might affect photosensitive users. Continue at your own discretion. |
“I’m doing this for you, my love,” I whispered, looking into the bathroom mirror and touching my cheeks, “If I do this, then maybe we will be together forever, my love.” My fingers began to shake as I swirled them around my chest to my stomach. The faint piano echoed the outside door as my eyes flickered around the bathroom, staring at the mirror and then looking up at the bathroom light. My husband’s lovely fingers were playing the piano, his rendition of Lacrimosa. “How ironic, my love,” I muttered, grabbing the orange bottle and opening the cap, “Lacrimosa…Weeping.” My fingers plucked a white pill out, lifting it to see with my eyes. A small round white pill that was changing my life, altering the way I see things and how I act. “I’m doing this for you, my love,” I repeated, placing the pill on my tongue. The dry medicine was going down my throat, making me wince. Shallow breaths, twitching right eye, and hands shaking. If it happens again, then he’ll leave me. Does it matter in the end? It was too late, in the end.
The bathroom lights began to flicker, and the humming of the light was getting more audible. “No, my love,” I said while looking at the bathroom mirror, “Stop it, please.” My eyes wandered around the bathroom while I bit down on my tongue. The light blue walls were shifting right before me. Blinking, I saw a red substance dripping down from the walls, making small puddles around my feet. The more I blinked, the faster the liquid would pour down, but then came a foul scent. The metallic smell filled my nose, making me feel weak in my stomach. I clenched the sink and began to gag as the aroma grew stronger. I looked around to see the red substance pouring down harder, filling the bathtub beside me. My eyes locked on the bathtub, and the liquid slowly overflowed. I stood straighter and slowly walked over there. My feet were covered in liquid as I reached out to the bathtub. My hands hovered over the filled bathtub; then, I slowly put my hands inside. The liquid felt warm and familiar. My hands moved around the bathtub, trying to find the bathtub plug. If I were to remove the plug, then maybe the liquid would go away, just maybe.
As I moved my hands to the middle, I felt something solid, and I gripped my fingers around it and decided to pull it out. Maybe it was the plug? My eyes widened as my shoulders dropped when I pulled it out. It was not the bathtub plug. It was an infant. My vision got blurry as tears streamed down my face; I cradled the infant and saw it had deep tears around its body. The chest had a deep slice wound, with the front covered in small slits. The infant was naked and covered in red liquid. My twitching fingers moved the liquid off of its eyes, and I wanted to open the eyes, but a feeling in my stomach stopped me. My hand touched the deep wound, but when I shifted my eyes to the baby's lower half, my mouth opened to let out a scream. The baby’s genitalia was cut off, leaving an open wound. It was a jagged hollow hole, and when my fingers touched the injury, the infant let out a piercing scream. The cry echoed throughout the room, and I covered my ear with my right hand.
My eyes began to twitch as the items around the bathroom began to shake because of the crying. I ran against the wall, with the infant in my arms, when the mirror broke from the screaming. The bathroom mirror crumbled to the floor. I slowly fell to the floor with the baby still screaming. My head slowly twitched to see the baby trying to grab something, but I pushed its arms down. The crying continued to echo, making everything shatter to the ground. Tears began flowing down again from my face as I placed my hand over the baby’s mouth. “Please, shut up, please,” I began to cry while applying more pressure on the baby’s mouth. I pinched the baby’s nose to make it stop breathing. If it stopped breathing, it would stop crying; if it stopped crying, I would become normal. I began to tell the baby to be silent while applying more pressure to the mouth and nose. “Just shut up. Shut up,” I began to say louder and louder, “Shut up, please!” The baby started to shift in my arms, but my hand was firm on its mouth. My tears spilled on the baby’s head as I continued hushing it with my hand. The tears mixed in with the liquid from the baby’s body, falling to the floor.
The baby stopped moving, with the crying coming to an end. My head tilted to the left as I pushed the baby off my lap. The baby rolled to the ground, and I looked at my hands. My fingers were stained with blood. I knew it was blood; it had to be. I wiped my tears away and slowly got up from the bathroom floor. The bathroom was still stained with blood, but the baby was nowhere to be found. I walked over to the sink, my feet still wet from the puddles of blood. My fingers lingered on the sink handles; I switched them on. Hoping it was water, my hands were met with more blood. My hands began to tremble, and my stomach began to twist and turn. I repeatedly screamed, ‘No,’ and ran out of the bathroom. My husband was still playing the piano with the Lacrimosa melody. My body slammed against the hallway wall in front of the bathroom door, and I tried to gasp for air. Tears streamed down my face as my hands clutched my stomach, and I could still see the blood staining my clothes and hands.
I used the walls to guide me to the living room, where I could see my husband’s back facing me. His fingers are still touching the piano keys and playing the melodramatic melody. “My love,” I cried out, reaching for him, and he felt cold when I walked over to him and clung to his back. “My love?” I questioned when I moved to see his face, and I closed my eyes and screamed when I saw his face. His face filled with deep lacerations, seeping blood reaching his neck, the emptiness of his eye sockets, and his mouth cut open, showing his tongue hanging.
When I opened my eyes, I was in a different room. The room was painted a soft gray, with bookcases filled with books, and I heard someone speak. “Have you been taking your medication,” The man sitting in front of me said; he wore a buttoned-up white shirt, with black glasses and black hair framing his face. I stared at this unknown man who was writing down on his notes and sighed, “I am going to assume not.” I looked down on my lap to see my hands were clean, and my clothes were in perfect shape. “Where’s…” I asked softly, “The baby…My love?” I glanced at the man with a stoic face and cleared his throat.
“They’re gone,” He replied, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but did you have a flashback?” I tilted my head and whispered, ‘flashback’ He hummed in response and began to write down his notes again. “Ten years ago, you were found in your house with those people you mentioned, decreased. You plead insanity,” The man explained, “I think I will have your legal guardian moderate your medication for now. This session is over for today, and I’ll see you next week. Please sleep well.” The man closed his notes and stood up. I followed the man, and he led me out the door. As I left the office, I could hear the faint melody of Mozart’s Lacrimosa and the faint baby cry. Turning around, I saw my husband holding the baby, waving goodbye at me. When I blinked, they were gone, but the melody and cries still lingered in my head.