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cw: obsession, delusion, psychosis, possession. written from the perspective of someone going through psychosis.
Separation.
The word felt funny in my mouth. I flicked my tongue around to try and get a better taste for it.
Separation.
Not a divorce which, I thought was a blessing, but in hindsight it might have just kept me clinging onto a false hope.
Separation.
No matter how many times my tongue wrapped around it, it only ever tasted bitter.
I guess this is the story of how my wife left me.
I met Laney in university. Pride USC had set up a panel of lectures to shine light on Unknown Queer Icons in times gone by. I swung by a lecture on Emily Dickinson. I wish I could say it was informative, but I spent the whole time distracted by the organizer. Sitting off in a corner, writing notes, was Laney. I made sure to take a long time to collect my belongings so that I could be one of the last out and catch her alone. I had to rely on what I was able to pick up to strike a conversation. We started chatting and I asked if she wanted to grab a coffee. I felt like I wanted to listen to her talk forever. Our first date ended two days later. Three months later, the semester ended and Laney moved in with me.
Ten years since we met. Eight years of marriage.
Laney and I never really had any problems. We fought occasionally, but we were both good at compromising. Nothing was ever important enough to justify not compromising over. Laney was always more important. Or at least, that’s what I had believed.
Three years ago, Laney and I had bought a Victorian home. Or a fixer-upper in the shape of a house. It had been weekend after weekend of calling friends and parents over with the promise of pizza to help carry drywall or pour cement or any number of other things we needed extra hands for. Calling in favours for discount deals on anything we couldn’t do ourselves. Laney was recording it all on her YouTube channel, which was admittedly helping with the costs. She was smart like that. Pragmatic.
About a year ago, we decided it was time to move into the home. Honestly, it was mostly necessity. We couldn’t afford the cost of paying rent and a mortgage. We had already finished the basement, and there were a few holes in the floor here and there, but mostly, upstairs was finished. It was the main floor that needed the brunt of the work. Laney wanted to expand the dining room and create a sort of ‘grand ballroom’ feel in the main room. She’d always been a planner; she was hoping to throw dinner parties and dances. I was happy to indulge in her Disney Princess fantasies. As long as I could be her prince.
Six months ago, I was tearing through a wall into the main room when I called Laney over. It wasn’t unusual to find little notes in pencil from previous renovations, and Laney liked to document those for her channel, but this was something else.
A 6’x4’ portrait of a woman stared back at me from inside the wall. A deep phthalo green sat as the backdrop, a stark contrast to the woman’s paper white skin. She wore a brassy-red, off the shoulder gown and held a small reticule in her lap. Her head was cocked slightly, her expression unreadable. Her brow was furrowed in concern, but she was smiling. It made her emotion indiscernible. Laney came up behind me, peeking over my shoulder, before sprinting away.
The word felt funny in my mouth. I flicked my tongue around to try and get a better taste for it.
Separation.
Not a divorce which, I thought was a blessing, but in hindsight it might have just kept me clinging onto a false hope.
Separation.
No matter how many times my tongue wrapped around it, it only ever tasted bitter.
I guess this is the story of how my wife left me.
I met Laney in university. Pride USC had set up a panel of lectures to shine light on Unknown Queer Icons in times gone by. I swung by a lecture on Emily Dickinson. I wish I could say it was informative, but I spent the whole time distracted by the organizer. Sitting off in a corner, writing notes, was Laney. I made sure to take a long time to collect my belongings so that I could be one of the last out and catch her alone. I had to rely on what I was able to pick up to strike a conversation. We started chatting and I asked if she wanted to grab a coffee. I felt like I wanted to listen to her talk forever. Our first date ended two days later. Three months later, the semester ended and Laney moved in with me.
Ten years since we met. Eight years of marriage.
Laney and I never really had any problems. We fought occasionally, but we were both good at compromising. Nothing was ever important enough to justify not compromising over. Laney was always more important. Or at least, that’s what I had believed.
Three years ago, Laney and I had bought a Victorian home. Or a fixer-upper in the shape of a house. It had been weekend after weekend of calling friends and parents over with the promise of pizza to help carry drywall or pour cement or any number of other things we needed extra hands for. Calling in favours for discount deals on anything we couldn’t do ourselves. Laney was recording it all on her YouTube channel, which was admittedly helping with the costs. She was smart like that. Pragmatic.
About a year ago, we decided it was time to move into the home. Honestly, it was mostly necessity. We couldn’t afford the cost of paying rent and a mortgage. We had already finished the basement, and there were a few holes in the floor here and there, but mostly, upstairs was finished. It was the main floor that needed the brunt of the work. Laney wanted to expand the dining room and create a sort of ‘grand ballroom’ feel in the main room. She’d always been a planner; she was hoping to throw dinner parties and dances. I was happy to indulge in her Disney Princess fantasies. As long as I could be her prince.
Six months ago, I was tearing through a wall into the main room when I called Laney over. It wasn’t unusual to find little notes in pencil from previous renovations, and Laney liked to document those for her channel, but this was something else.
A 6’x4’ portrait of a woman stared back at me from inside the wall. A deep phthalo green sat as the backdrop, a stark contrast to the woman’s paper white skin. She wore a brassy-red, off the shoulder gown and held a small reticule in her lap. Her head was cocked slightly, her expression unreadable. Her brow was furrowed in concern, but she was smiling. It made her emotion indiscernible. Laney came up behind me, peeking over my shoulder, before sprinting away.
“Don’t move, I’m grabbing the camera!” she shouted.
I hadn’t wanted to move. I was fascinated by this woman we had found in the walls.
I heard Laney’s voice carrying from the other room.
“…never believe what Kace just found. She was knocking out this wall, and bam! Isn’t that so gorgeous? Kay, can you bring it out? Ohmygosh, that is gorgeous. What’s that say on the plaque?”
I rubbed my sleeve over the gold inscription on the bottom.
“Isabella. 1843.”
“Must have charged by the letter,” Laney joked. “Maybe we can find out some more about this Isabella, and share some of her history.”
She clapped her hand to the front of the lens, cutting the shoot. I stared at the portrait for another moment.
“What the hell was she doing in the wall?” I asked.
“Seriously. What a shame. This is gorgeous,” Laney stepped into my line of sight, I had to shake off a vague notion of irritation. “What if we put it up in the main room, once we were all done renovating?”
I cradled the back of her neck in my hand.
“I think that’s a great idea.”
I put Isabella in the corner of the room while I worked for the rest of the day, then the rest of the month. I was tasked with the dining room expansion; I called Laney for help when I needed it but I got pretty comfortable with Isabella supervising my work. Laney did try to look into the history but with only a first name, a year, and an address, she was having trouble finding anything concrete.
I think the trouble started when Laney walked in on me talking to Isabella. I’d made it a habit over the past weeks to think out loud, and sometimes I’d jokingly ask Isabella for her feedback. It was a joke, as much as Laney says it isn’t. I’d ask a question, I’d consult Isabella, and then I’d just do what felt right. It’s not like she was answering me.
I’d floated the idea of adding additional outlets into the room, and I was leaning towards three, not two. Obviously, I asked Isabella. My gut was leaning towards two but it really made sense to have three. I asked Isabella again, and felt a pull towards two. I asked her why she was so insistent on two, if I’d already committed to three. We argued as much as a person and a painting could. I told her she was impossible and stalked out of the room, or I had tried to, but Laney was in the doorway.
“Are you feeling okay, baby?”
I knew what it looked like, but I couldn’t explain. Laney didn’t know Isabella like I did. Didn’t know how bossy she could get.
“Everything’s fine,” I insisted, pushing past her.
When I returned to the room, Isabella was gone.
Laney had moved Isabella into the spare bedroom. She told me that she felt that “having eyes on me all day” was stressing me out. She didn’t want to see her baby stressed, she told me, before giving me a kiss. She told me to take a break on the dining room, and that we could work on baseboards upstairs together.
The reprieve was nice, but I missed Isabella. Sometimes at night when I couldn’t sleep, I’d sneak out to the guest room and sit and talk with her. I’d catch her up on all she missed that day. It was like there was an invisible string that connected my heart to her. I’d never felt like this before. Any moment I was free, I found myself wondering if I could see Isabella, if Laney would notice.
Eventually she did. Our affair couldn’t be hidden forever.
I was catching Isabella up on a particularly busy day. I had stopped whispering, I was too excited to tell her everything. I was so focused on every minute detail that I didn’t notice the door opening. I guess I noticed Laney walk in, but I didn’t want to hide anymore. I looked over and made eye contact, but didn’t stop. I was talking to Isabella, and if Laney wanted to speak with her, she would have to wait her turn.
Eventually Laney left the room.
I fell asleep again on Isabella’s breast. Her warmth radiated. It felt like home. I had never felt so comfortable.
When Laney came in in the morning, I pretended to still be asleep, if only so that she wouldn’t interrupt us.
It was a few days later at dinner when Laney finally snapped.
She had been yammering on about something unimportant. When finally I felt her yank my wrist. I hadn’t realized I’d slid my chair away from the table.
“See, this is what I’m talking about, are you even listening to me?”
I felt like she had pulled me from a dream. What day was it?
“Kaycee, I am worried about you. I really think we should go. Take a vacation. Go visit your parents for a few weeks.”
My heart ached. The look in Laney’s eyes reminded me so much of Isabella’s.
Laney’s jealousy was pathetic.
“I won’t leave her,” was my reply.
Her parents came over some time later, helped Laney pack up her things. She didn’t have anything in the spare bedroom; that was nice. Nothing to interrupt us. I barely registered the door slam. All I heard was the quiet, the peace. I laid down on Isabella’s bosom. I would be content to never wake again.
I hadn’t wanted to move. I was fascinated by this woman we had found in the walls.
I heard Laney’s voice carrying from the other room.
“…never believe what Kace just found. She was knocking out this wall, and bam! Isn’t that so gorgeous? Kay, can you bring it out? Ohmygosh, that is gorgeous. What’s that say on the plaque?”
I rubbed my sleeve over the gold inscription on the bottom.
“Isabella. 1843.”
“Must have charged by the letter,” Laney joked. “Maybe we can find out some more about this Isabella, and share some of her history.”
She clapped her hand to the front of the lens, cutting the shoot. I stared at the portrait for another moment.
“What the hell was she doing in the wall?” I asked.
“Seriously. What a shame. This is gorgeous,” Laney stepped into my line of sight, I had to shake off a vague notion of irritation. “What if we put it up in the main room, once we were all done renovating?”
I cradled the back of her neck in my hand.
“I think that’s a great idea.”
I put Isabella in the corner of the room while I worked for the rest of the day, then the rest of the month. I was tasked with the dining room expansion; I called Laney for help when I needed it but I got pretty comfortable with Isabella supervising my work. Laney did try to look into the history but with only a first name, a year, and an address, she was having trouble finding anything concrete.
I think the trouble started when Laney walked in on me talking to Isabella. I’d made it a habit over the past weeks to think out loud, and sometimes I’d jokingly ask Isabella for her feedback. It was a joke, as much as Laney says it isn’t. I’d ask a question, I’d consult Isabella, and then I’d just do what felt right. It’s not like she was answering me.
I’d floated the idea of adding additional outlets into the room, and I was leaning towards three, not two. Obviously, I asked Isabella. My gut was leaning towards two but it really made sense to have three. I asked Isabella again, and felt a pull towards two. I asked her why she was so insistent on two, if I’d already committed to three. We argued as much as a person and a painting could. I told her she was impossible and stalked out of the room, or I had tried to, but Laney was in the doorway.
“Are you feeling okay, baby?”
I knew what it looked like, but I couldn’t explain. Laney didn’t know Isabella like I did. Didn’t know how bossy she could get.
“Everything’s fine,” I insisted, pushing past her.
When I returned to the room, Isabella was gone.
Laney had moved Isabella into the spare bedroom. She told me that she felt that “having eyes on me all day” was stressing me out. She didn’t want to see her baby stressed, she told me, before giving me a kiss. She told me to take a break on the dining room, and that we could work on baseboards upstairs together.
The reprieve was nice, but I missed Isabella. Sometimes at night when I couldn’t sleep, I’d sneak out to the guest room and sit and talk with her. I’d catch her up on all she missed that day. It was like there was an invisible string that connected my heart to her. I’d never felt like this before. Any moment I was free, I found myself wondering if I could see Isabella, if Laney would notice.
Eventually she did. Our affair couldn’t be hidden forever.
I was catching Isabella up on a particularly busy day. I had stopped whispering, I was too excited to tell her everything. I was so focused on every minute detail that I didn’t notice the door opening. I guess I noticed Laney walk in, but I didn’t want to hide anymore. I looked over and made eye contact, but didn’t stop. I was talking to Isabella, and if Laney wanted to speak with her, she would have to wait her turn.
Eventually Laney left the room.
I fell asleep again on Isabella’s breast. Her warmth radiated. It felt like home. I had never felt so comfortable.
When Laney came in in the morning, I pretended to still be asleep, if only so that she wouldn’t interrupt us.
It was a few days later at dinner when Laney finally snapped.
She had been yammering on about something unimportant. When finally I felt her yank my wrist. I hadn’t realized I’d slid my chair away from the table.
“See, this is what I’m talking about, are you even listening to me?”
I felt like she had pulled me from a dream. What day was it?
“Kaycee, I am worried about you. I really think we should go. Take a vacation. Go visit your parents for a few weeks.”
My heart ached. The look in Laney’s eyes reminded me so much of Isabella’s.
Laney’s jealousy was pathetic.
“I won’t leave her,” was my reply.
Her parents came over some time later, helped Laney pack up her things. She didn’t have anything in the spare bedroom; that was nice. Nothing to interrupt us. I barely registered the door slam. All I heard was the quiet, the peace. I laid down on Isabella’s bosom. I would be content to never wake again.
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