My friend is unwilling to move on

Her hair, her skin, her eyes, they were all perfect, almost perfect. Her teeth were set a little too deeply in her gums, a few degrees off from their normal angle. Her hair flowed in a clumsy motion. As if it was trying to escape casually. Her eyes. Something was wrong with her eyes.

Were they the wrong color? No.

They were broken.

Some people say the eyes are the windows into the soul. The soul that I was staring at through these windows was shattered. The only thing that remained were the fragments of who she once was.

“Where is he?” I asked, pulling her from her chair.

“Who? My darling Richard? Oh, he won’t be back until later,” she said as she stared emptily at the picture frame sitting across from her.

She was kept in the most secluded and darkest room in the apartment. The apartment reeked of chemicals and secrets. The lights were dim and the windows were all sealed off.

I knew that I was not meant to see this place.

I knew that Richard kept this place quiet, like that deep part in the back of your head.

“What was this all for?” I thought to myself.

The room was lit by a singular light. It stood over the table which held the picture frame. The one Molly couldn’t take her eyes off of.

“I need you to come with me,” I commanded her.

Her broken eyes remained fixed on the picture in front of her.

“Come on, Molly, we have to leave,” I pleaded, pulling her as she resisted.

“No! Stop it, I can’t make my little Ricky angry.” she said with a strong defiance.

“Please just leave with me.” I begged.

She sat back down, her eyes still glued to that damn picture frame. I turned and looked at what had captured her attention.

The room was filthy, but that table and frame were pristine. I approached it, seeing two figures embracing each other. I began to realize that it was not Molly and Richard in the picture, it was Richard and his ex ,Chloe.

“Oh my god,” I whispered under my breath.

Bile floated up my throat as thoughts ran through my head.

I approached Molly with a new sense of fragility.

Her eyes remained unblinking. Her face seemed pristine from a distance, but slowly I could start to see scars. Hundreds of them on her face. Small and thin, almost imperceptible to the naked eye. They flowed down her jaw and sculpted her forehead. They dug deep caverns into her cheeks, making dimples I hadn’t remembered her having the first time I had met her.

The thickest line of them all was on her hairline. It was one long stroke following her hair around her skull. It appeared to be knitted together by loving hands, like a quilt made for a baby’s birth.

The night I had first met Molly was a good one.

The whole friend group was relieved to hear that Richard had finally moved on from Chloe.

He had spent years mourning their breakup, hoping to find a way to bring her back.

Molly had been a breath of fresh air. She was the perfect match for Richard’s moody persona. She was light and full.

She also adored Richard. You could see that from the very beginning.

Molly was short and slender with dark hair.

She looked extremely similar to Chloe, but we all brushed this aside, just assuming that Richard had a type.

Her eyes were the most similar thing about them. They both had striking blue eyes. They were like looking into the sun, except they shone a rich and royal blue.

That blue had faded from her eyes when I looked into them tonight. They had turned almost grey.

Yet they still remained fixed upon that photo.

I began searching the apartment for anything that I could use to lure her out. In the front room I found an old dentist’s chair, rusted and frayed with time. I could see fresh bandages and scalpels strewn across the floor.

” This is where he worked on her,” the thought rang through my mind.

I walked in and saw there were pictures of many sizes taped and strewn across the walls.

All of them were of Chloe.

Some were of Richard and her together; others felt different.

Some were shots of her in the mall, going to shops and eating.

Others were far more personal. She was standing in her room. The photographs were obviously taken from a hidden location. Some seemed as innocent as you can be with these sorts of pictures — her smiling in the mirror, brushing her teeth, talking on the phone and such. Others were not so innocent. Her changing. Her scarlet hair against her pale skin. Her lying in bed, doing the things she would only do in the privacy of her own home. As I looked I saw more of these. She was in bed with a mystery man. There were so many of these kinds. It was as if with every new night the photographer grew closer and closer to her window.

I could feel my skin crawl as I felt her space being invaded by an unwanted guest. The pictures began to become up close while she slept, and some were even of her feet as she hung them off the bed. The final picture was of just her red hair hanging off the bed.

How could Richard do this? It made no sense — he couldn’t hurt a fly.

I knew it had hurt him to be left like that.

He made sure to tell me that in the nights after Chloe left.

He seemed to think the world would never turn again. That his sun would never rise again.

I would tell him, “Hey dummy, the sun rises every day.”

He would smile and agree, but I could see that he felt like his sun would never rise again.

He lived with me for a couple of months after that. He seemed to be getting better as the days passed by. Or maybe I had selfishly convinced myself that he had. In the nights I could hear him shuffling around restlessly. I could hear the empty dialing of a phone. I chose to ignore those facts. I chose to believe it was something else. It was even easier to ignore the facts when he finally told me he would be moving out. I had hoped he had moved on, and I decided to move on as well. My friend is fine now. Cured.

The door opened with a quiet click. My skin tensed as I heard the old hinges swing open and close slowly.

The footsteps were light and careful, like those of a cat stalking its prey.

I rushed towards the closet in the room and closed it behind me, careful not to make any noise. The closet was full of tufts of hair. I could see the kitchen from the closet.

Standing at the counter I saw him — Richard. He looked just like my friend, but I saw him in a different light. His eyes were dark and I could see a deep desire burning behind them. I had thought that was his desire to make a better life. I suppose he never told me he wanted a better life. It was the idea I had implanted into my own head and made to be true.

He placed the camera that was around his neck on the counter and washed his face at the sink.

Once finished and dried, he called out:

“Chloe, baby, I’m home.”

My stomach turned.

“Oh yay, sweetie,” a voice called from the back room.

He walked into the back room, his eyes scanning the apartment as he did.

I heard her embrace him with pursed lips.

“I need a shower. Wait for me when I’m done, will ya, love?” Richard asked in a soft, pleasing way.

“Of course, my love. Let me know if you need company,” Molly said with a sensual undertone that turned my stomach.

Once I was sure he was in the shower, I rushed into the room and found her sitting and staring just like before.

“We have to go now,” I whispered to Molly. “We can go to the police and they can take you far away from him.”

She slowly turned and looked at me, her eyes and smile wide. I could see where the cuts made her lips pull unnaturally against her teeth. Her teeth sat in near perfection, minus a slight change in angle.

“I will never leave my little Ricky,” she said with an iron tone.

My guilt was immeasurable. I had heard this monster’s birth and done nothing. I had ignored his pain just so I could get a full night’s sleep.

I had to end this.

I ran to the kitchen and grabbed a knife.

I had to end this.

The handle was cold. The tip was heavy. My legs felt like lead.

The bathroom was steamy. Richard hummed as he washed his hair, unaware of my presence.

I raised the knife above my head, heart pounding in my ears.

A cold pain sifted its way through my side. I fell to the ground, caught by a pair of arms. A hand wrapped around my mouth to muffle the sounds of my pain.

I had been dragged back into the room that held Molly.

She had pulled me out, a bloody scalpel between her teeth.

“You can’t ruin this,” she whispered in my ear. “I’m almost ready to be shown to the world.”

My heart sank.

“I asked for this,” she said, looking down at her newly shaped hands.

“I always knew that my sister was perfect, and now he’s making me perfect just like her,” she said, looking deep into my eyes.

Her glowing blue had returned.

The water stopped and her head turned to see

Richard exiting the shower.

I took that moment and ran.

I ran as far as my hurting body could take me.

I moved as far away as I could. I erased everything I could from that night.

I always ran from the real Richard. This was always my fault.