He knows I lie here in the depths. My silence is his solace, which is how he succeeded in moving on while I lurk. Time has given him strength to bring back all the items he feared. Knives. Pillows. Water.
Oh yes. He was a wreck. And his newborn daughter? Not once was there a chance he’d hurt her. But fear is irrational. And fear is my game. Mental images and whispers, courtesy of me, almost drove him mad. I told him he’d drown her. He’d smother her. He’d cut her to pieces. He saw blood emerge from slices in her pretty skin. He saw her struggle beneath the pillow. He saw her lifeless body in the bathtub. All by his own hand. I made sure he experienced those atrocities over and over and over...in his mind.
But he’s not stupid. Seeing Dr. Jackson was a wise decision. She helped him put me to rest here in the dark while he raised his little girl to toddlerhood. Yes. Time has stitched the wound, but he doesn’t know it’s festering. I’m livid, waiting to rip open what he believes is closed. Healed. In the past.
I writhe deep inside when he thinks of the wife he lost because it was her death that brought me to life. He calls me his darkness. But I’m much blacker than he realizes. And this new love of his? The one he wants to marry? She’s much dearer than the love he lost. This perfect opportunity tickles me. Yes. I’ll strike when the time is right, and I’ll force his fears to collide with his desires. Another delicious torment.
It’s simple. Born of trauma, I’m a mental disorder with a purpose. I rule him so he learns to rule me.