I am not crazy. I’m not a madman, or a lonely maniac. I don’t suffer from depression, nor am I schizophrenic. This isn’t a result of my parents’ divorce, or my mother’s passing away. To understand this, you need to know that I am not crazy.
This all started about three years ago, when I met the love of my life. It was my friend’s birthday, and a bunch of us had gone out to the bar to celebrate. We’d all had a bit too much to drink, and I had gone outside to call a cab. That was when I saw her.
She was standing on the street corner, waiting for something. I don’t know what it was, but something drew me towards her. Almost like I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. We may have been the only people outside the bar, but at that moment, it felt like we were the only people in the world.
I’m not normally one for spontaneity, but my last few relationships had ended messily, and I couldn’t deny the immediate physical attraction that I had to this woman standing in front of me. I just had to get her name, at least.
I walked up to her, introducing myself. When she turned around, I couldn’t have prepared myself for the sight of her face. I was confident that she was the most beautiful woman that I’d ever seen. She had an almost ethereal quality to her. Doe eyes, lips that curved into a soft smile. Once I saw her face, that was it. I was completely sold.
We got to talking, and she introduced herself. I found out that her name was Lucy, and that she was also waiting for a cab. It seemed like the universe was giving me an opening to shoot my shot, so I went for it. I don’t usually make such sudden moves, but I couldn’t risk never seeing her again.
Long story short, we both ended up taking a cab back to my place. I’m not normally a one-night-stand guy, but this seemed like an opportunity that I would never have again. Lucy seemed like the sort of woman who you fall in love with, and then never get over. I had to get as much of her as I could.
However, when I woke up the next morning, I couldn’t just let Lucy walk out of my life. So I got her number, and it all took off. For the next few months, it was perfect. Like I had stumbled into a dream. I was convinced that Lucy had to be my soulmate. I wasn’t one to believe in fate, but if it did exist, it had definitely worked its magic to bring us together.
I was happy to brag about my relationship to my friends. None of them had anything serious, so I could boast about how much Lucy and I loved each other. Of course, my friends were eager to meet her, and I was equally as excited to introduce Lucy to them.
I tried to arrange a few casual nights out for my closest friends to meet my beloved girlfriend, but plans always seemed to fall through. Lucy got sick, or she had a family emergency to tend to. After the seventh failed attempt, I began to notice that something was up. Lucy always seemed to have some excuse to not meet my friends. It was almost like she was avoiding it on purpose.
Eventually, I had to bring it up to her. “Why don’t you want to meet my friends?” I asked Lucy. All of her excuses couldn’t be just coincidences.
“I do want to meet them,” Lucy told me. “The timing is just bad right now. I’ll meet them soon, anyway.”
That wasn’t an answer. It just seemed like another excuse. I tried again. “Lucy,” I said, firmly. “I know you’re just making excuses to not meet my friends. Why? We’ve been seeing each other for almost six months now. Why are you avoiding this?”
I expected Lucy to come back with a response, perhaps even another excuse, but she didn’t. Instead, she did the strangest thing possible. Out of nowhere, she started to cry.
I hadn’t seen Lucy cry before, not in all of our months of dating. But there she was, in front of me, tears pouring out of her eyes. I was completely shocked. I had thought of a few possible outcomes of this conversation, but crying was the last thing that I would have expected from her.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, tears still running down her cheeks. Even when she cried, Lucy still looked so pretty. “I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s all my fault. But I haven’t had it easy. It takes a lot for me to trust people, my past hasn’t exactly been easy. I’m sorry, but I’m not ready. I can’t.” She trailed off, still crying.
I didn’t ask any more questions about it. I didn’t ask about her past, that apparently hadn’t been easy. I didn’t ask about anything else. Instead, I put my arms around Lucy and let her cry into me. She wasn’t ready, and I wasn’t going to push her. My friends and family would have to wait. I would make them wait, if it was for Lucy, the girl I loved. They would wait until Lucy was ready, whenever that was. I didn’t want to push her into it. I couldn’t stand the sight of her so upset like that.
A year passed, and I never brought up the subject of meeting my friends again. Everything had been going well with us. I loved Lucy, and I could sense just how much she loved me too. I wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize that.
Unfortunately, that had its downsides. I couldn’t have anyone around to the apartment. My mother called me once, asking to see my place, and possibly meet my girlfriend. I posed the idea to Lucy, who instantly shook her head, saying that she wasn’t ready. When I tried to ask her a second time, she ran into the bedroom, and didn’t come out until I swore that I’d drop the subject.
As a result of that, my friendships all suffered. Lucy didn’t want me spending time with anyone else. She told me that she needed me, clinging onto my arm, her eyes wide with desperation. I couldn’t say no to her. She was the love of my life. I would have given anything up for her.
So, I stopped going out with my friends, stopped seeing them, and so they stopped asking. They stopped calling me, and eventually didn’t even bother to text me on my birthday. In fact, the only person who even acknowledged my birthday was Lucy. She showered me with love, and that was all I could have wanted. I just loved her so much. I would have done anything for her.
Eventually, even my own mother stopped calling. She grew angry with me, insisting that I was being controlled by Lucy. She told me that she wouldn’t have anything to do with me, until I left Lucy, and knocked some sense into myself. That was the last time that my mother ever called me.
I told Lucy about this, but she swore that my mother was crazy. I agreed. Lucy was the love of my life. If soulmates really did exist, she would be mine. I loved her, more than I loved anything else. Of course she wasn’t controlling me. She loved me. I really thought that.
A few months later, we were coming up to our three-year anniversary, when I started to notice strange things going on with Lucy. She started to act strangely, behaving differently. Almost like she was more hostile, angrier.
This went on for a few weeks, getting worse. Accidents started happening around the house. Knives being left out, toasters being plugged in and switched on, loose cables going right across the stairs where you could easily trip and fall. I confronted Lucy about this once, but she simply said that it was just clumsiness, silly little mistakes, forgetting to put things away.
I really wanted to believe her, until one day. Lucy was taking a shower before bed, and I was starting to get into bed. I lifted up the covers, and got in. As I lay my head down, I noticed something strange underneath my pillow. When I pulled it out, I was horrified.
A knife. There was a knife under my pillow, and I sure didn’t put it there. I looked to the bathroom door in horror. Lucy. Lucy must have slipped the knife under my bed, either to threaten me or do something much worse. I was instantly terrified, my shaking hands reaching for my phone.
Suddenly, all of the so-called accidents around the house recently started to make more sense. But I didn’t want to believe it. I called one of my oldest friends, Dexter. It had been almost a year since Dexter and I had had any sort of contact, but I had no one else. I called him, and left a voicemail.
“Look, I know you haven’t heard from me in a while, but I need you. Please come over to my place, as soon as you can. I really need you.”
Within fifteen minutes, Dexter was here, knocking on the door in a panic. Lucy had finished her shower, and was calmly sitting on the bed, reading. Without meeting her eye, I rushed downstairs to open it, and Dexter looked at me with confusion. “What’s going on?” he asked me.
“It’s Lucy,” I managed to say. “Look, I know it sounds crazy, but I think she might be trying to kill me. There was a knife, under my pillow, and I don’t know if I’m jumping to conclusions, but strange things have been going on. You have to help me out.”
Dexter looked stunned. “Have you talked to Lucy?” he asked. I shook my head, and Dexter sighed. “Come on,” he said. “We’ll go and talk to her together.”
Dexter followed me into the bedroom, but Lucy wasn’t sitting on the bed. She was nowhere to be seen. Even her book was gone. “Lucy!” I yelled, but there was no reply.
Dexter looked at me in horror, as I ran from room to room, scanning it and calling her name. “Lucy! Lucy, where are you? What happened?”
Lucy was nowhere. I looked back at Dexter, helplessly. “She was here,” I told him. “Lucy was just here. I can prove it.” I pulled open the door to the closet where Lucy kept her things, but it was empty. None of Lucy’s clothes were in there. I raced into the bathroom, but none of Lucy’s hair products were on the shelves. It was like all traces of her were gone.
“She was here,” I told Dexter again. “And the knife. She put it under my pillow. Look, I’ll show you.” I lifted up my pillow to show Dexter the knife, but it was gone. There was no knife. I dropped my pillow back down in shock, my hands shaking. “I’m not crazy,” I whispered to Dexter, my heart beating rapidly.
Dexter took a cautious step towards me. “Look, I know you’re not crazy, but listen to me. You need to be honest with me. I hate that I’m even asking this right now, but Lucy? Is she real?”
“Yes,” I said, my voice wavering. “Yes, she’s real.” I look around the room, but there really are no traces of Lucy around. Like she never even existed. “I don’t know anymore,” I finally admit. “I thought she was. The past three years, she has to be real. She has to be. I’m not crazy, Dexter. I’m not.”
“It’s okay,” Dexter told me, putting his arms around me. “It’s going to be okay.”
“She was real, wasn’t she?” I asked him, my voice barely a whisper. “The knife? I saw it. It had to be real. It was real, wasn’t it?” I didn’t need to finish that sentence. Deep down, I already knew.
“It’s okay, man,” Dexter said. “I’m going to get you help. You’re going to see someone. It’s okay. You’re going to get help. It’s going to be okay.”
I nodded, although my mind was still on Lucy. She had to be real. She just had to be. The knife, too. It was real. It was.
Wasn’t it?