Paranoia

My boyfriend, David, is delusional. He thinks I'm his worst enemy, the person he hates most in the world. I play along, day after day, pretending to be this villain he's created in his mind. Until one day, I can't anymore. I've been diagnosed with cancer.

The house was dark when I got home. I dropped my bag, kicked off my shoes, and fumbled for the light switch. The instant my fingers found it, a plate came flying at my head. I ducked just in time. The lights flickered on. David stood on the stairs, staring down at me, his face expressionless. "You actually came back." I forced a smile and walked towards him, reaching out to hug him. "Don't be such a mopey mess, David." He smelled faintly of the cologne I picked out for him, like maybe that could somehow neutralize the coldness radiating off him. It didn't. The disgust in his eyes remained.

The crystal chandelier cast fractured light across the living room. Despite the light, the room felt icy, just like the man sitting beside me. I scrolled through images on my tablet, showing him wedding dresses. "Look, for our wedding, how about this one?" I pointed at a flowing gown. "It's a mermaid cut. So beautiful, like liquid moonlight." I swiped to another image. "I love this one too, the veil has little stars, just like the time we went to that planetarium—" A snort cut me off. He looked up, his dark eyes boring into me. "We have a 'time'?" I desperately wanted to tell him yes, we had so many good times. But in his mind, I was irredeemable. He tilted my chin up and kissed the corner of my mouth. His voice, cold and laced with a disturbingly seductive quality, whispered, "Good girl. Now, give me the drugs."

David obeyed me because I had something he craved. If he’d ever looked at the police department’s internal reports from a few years back, he’d have seen his own name listed for commendation in a narcotics bust, and later, for an injury sustained in the line of duty. David became addicted during an undercover operation. After it ended, he developed paranoid schizophrenia. Delusions consumed him. He categorized everyone around him as an enemy, including me. Including me, the woman he once said he loved, the woman he swore he’d protect with his life. That gentle man was gone, dragged into a personal hell. He looked at me like I was the entrance to a thousand-year-old ice cave. The bedroom was dim. I gripped his collar, holding him down, but his eyes remained calm. Despite his addiction, he had an unsettling air of purity, like some untouchable deity. Even the curve of his lips was captivating. I leaned down to kiss him, but with a swift move, he flipped me onto my back. He searched my pockets, found the syringe, and expertly injected it into his arm. That syringe, to him, was his fix. It wasn't. It was an antipsychotic, mixed with a gradually decreasing dose of the drug he was addicted to, tailored specifically for him. I suddenly understood why he hated me so much. In his eyes, I wasn't his loving gi...