Goodness, I cannot stand how soft her hair is. She never lets me do this, because God forbid any abominable trace of oil come upon her intricately nurtured head. I understand, though, because I wouldn’t want any grimy hands coming near something so perfect, either. Sometimes, though, she makes an exception when she’s had a bad day. How on earth can someone be so, so unfathomably beautiful, capable of healing the sorest of eyes?
“Hey,” Anna says out of nowhere, her voice cutting into my thoughts and bringing my mind back to where we are on the couch watching some low-volume baking show she’s seen a hundred times.
“What’s up, my love?” I answer, looking down at her head that’s lying on my lap and facing the TV across from us, her body curled up under a blanket. She doesn’t acknowledge my response for a moment, which is deeply unlike her as the most loquacious person I have the honor of knowing. I tuck some strands of hair behind her ear so I can see her profile better, and concern wells unwelcomely in my chest as I notice a deep crease dug into that delicate space between her eyebrows, which only appears when she’s truly upset.
Anna lets out one of those deep exhales, the ones that proceed from accidentally holding your breath for no reason. My heart aches at the sound—it sounds so uncharacteristically drained, dispirited. “I get so embarrassed when I think about us, about you,” she mumbles. “And that makes me feel awful.”
She’s quiet for a moment, her sniffles amplifying the melancholy enshrouding us like a heavy blanket we can’t breathe under. “Yet,” she continues as I occupy a confused silence, “I know I can’t get rid of you. I’m so attached. Why did I have to—damn it.” She releases her hands from under the blanket to cover her face, probably trying to put the tears back where they came from.
Ouch. “Um,” I announce awkwardly, removing my hand from her hair and raising both of them in a dramatic surrender of sorts. “Should I go?”
A beat of stillness lingers, which is uncomfortable even for me. “Yes,” she answers curtly, her voice slightly muffled by the hands that still shield me from seeing that glisten in her eyes. Her voice emanates a very particular kind of stinging, almost like she had accidentally inflicted a wound upon herself.
So, although my love for her begs me to stay, I leave.
Later in the night, though, Anna asks me to rejoin her in bed, and I could almost squeal with glee that she still wants me. While it’s hard for me to enunciate at times, what she makes me feel is a sensation beyond my understanding, and I frequently emphasize to her that it’s beyond her understanding as well. It’s as if I’m made for this sentiment, a living receptacle of deep affection and fondness just for my sweet girl. A bit constructed, it sometimes feels, but… I just love her.
“Why do you stay when I can be such an asshole to you?” she whispers from bed, not looking at me. She’s afraid that if she speaks aloud, a wave of emotion could vehemently overpower her and release those tears again.
As I stand next to the bed, I can’t help but bring my gaze upward to the walls of her bedroom, barely even visible because of all of the posters and frames she has covering it. I smile at all the images she’s in, my gorgeous lady, but I try to ignore how I’m not in a single one of them. Juddering my head a tad to release myself from the trance, I clamber into bed beside her with the mission of landing a kiss on her forehead, which I proudly succeed at.
“Because I was made for loving you,” I tell her. She smiles and curls up into me, and I feel happy. I feel really, really happy, and I couldn’t be happier that that’s all I need to think about.
Moments later, we fell asleep at the exact same time, like we always do.
***
I crouch down in front of the bottom row, browsing over all of the different cereals to choose from. As I reach for a brand I’ve never seen before, Anna swoops in and grabs the box before me, places it in our cart, and wheels away rapidly at an almost humorous pace. She’s been rushing away from me like this the whole time we’ve been here, and it’s taking a bit of patience to not mention anything about it. She’s also been rather quiet, only acknowledging my jokes and inquiries when we’re in an aisle alone together.
I trot over to where she is speeding down the aisle, not paying me any mind. It’s okay, I suppose. She isn’t obligated by any means to hold my hand, or compare favorite ice cream flavors with me, or allow me to push the cart. It’s all okay.
It does sting just a tiny bit, though, that she won’t even look at me.
We finish our shopping and check out, all done in unbroken, taut silence. As we walk back to her car, I think back on how we were just fine all morning and on our way over here. It was the moment we stepped out into public that she went iced cold, which hurt way more than I thought it should. I’m supposed to be used to her weird, albeit valid, highs and lows of emotions regarding our relationship. Some days, though, I can’t understand why I feel the way I do. Goodness, I’m enamored by her, yet I can’t shake this dark feeling of servitude.
After helping to put the groceries in the back and hopping in the passenger’s seat, I catch my own eyes in the mirror of the sun visor. I didn’t even notice I was tearing up.
Damn it. Are feelings hard, or are my feelings just really hard? Before I can even think about it, I’m confronting Anna.
“What is up with you?” I ask her bluntly as she digs around her purse for something. “Why wouldn’t you talk to me in there? Why wouldn’t you even look at me?” My voice cracks, my face reddening. I can’t tell if I’m detecting within myself some kind of shame, anger, or something in between or something not related at all.
Anna pauses, slowly raising her eyeline to me, and the moment our gazes lock, something shifts in me. Suddenly, I’m asking her if I need to leave, and she says yes.
Later in the day, I’m welcomed back after she took some self-care time for herself, consisting of a much too-long bubble bath and a walk around the neighborhood. She’s sitting at the kitchen island when I approach, standing on the opposite side so I can just see her. Colorful crumbs reside all over her face like rainbow freckles, making me smile and making her grin in return.
“I missed you,” I tell her carefully. I don’t think I could handle another moment like the one in the car ever again.
“I missed you too. I made you something,” she responds and reaches into her back pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. She unfolds it, taking a hard look at what’s drawn on it before handing it to me. I look over it, amazed at her drawing skills. The elegancy in her lines is such a beautiful reflection of-
“It’s you,” she interrupts my thoughts. I stare at her, perplexed. Me?
Holding the paper a bit further away, my eyes dance rapidly over the features sketched onto the page. Dark black hair, clean and combed, yet attractively messy looking. A Roman nose that naturally complements the sharp dimensions of the face structure, strong and assertive, while chestnut brown eyes soften the intensity of the figure’s countenance. Careful shading colors the skin of the figure, a handsome tan tone that is nothing less than enhanced by the stunningly bold outfit worn. It all looks amazing, and I’m taken aback by this talent that I’ve never had this glorious opportunity to witness.
“Damn, you made me look good,” I express flirtatiously, unable to take my eyes off the paper. Anna giggles, and I decide that that’s a sound I never want to stop hearing for the rest of my life. Gracious isn’t nearly strong enough a word to describe how I feel about sharing this lifetime with her.
“I can’t believe that’s what I look like,” I say with more thoughtfulness, scrutinizing every mark of color pencil that shades me. “I’ve always wondered.”
Anna looks at me with a smile, but it’s off. There is something troubling her face, something in her eyes that says she was thrown by what I said.
“Well, I’m really proud of this one.” She stands up and walks over to me, snatches the picture out of my hands with force, and hangs it on the fridge with a magnet. “There, handsome. Now the whole world can see!”
It’s hard not to feel upset at the absence of my illustrated appearance in my hands, but it’s just as hard to feel upset around Anna.
When we’re in bed a bit later and she’s snuggled into my side, I feel like the warmth inside could never be dimmed, that the happiness overflooding me will never dry up.
But as my eyes fall closed at the same time as Anna’s, I despise that I wonder for a second, just one second as she falls asleep, why it is that I feel like I don’t belong here.
***
I’m sitting on the couch, talking to Anna about her plans for the week, when our doorbell sings through the house and makes us jolt. I shoot a confused eyebrow at her, but she just shrugs and stands to open the door. I’ve never been around when Anna gets visitors, but she seems too interested to make me leave right now, so I stare curiously from the couch as the door opens and I hear shrills emerge from outside.
“Babyyyy!” a motherly voice squeals as I see a set of older female arms wrap around Anna. I can’t believe what I’m seeing and hearing—her parents are here. Here. My heart drops, the realization hitting me that I may meet Anna’s parents. I will meet her parents. Shit. Okay. Okay!
I stand, but before I can even go to wipe my sweaty hands on something, Anna whips around at the speed of lightning and shoots a glare at me so powerful I feel like I could fall. With my heart dropping even lower than I thought it could, I know it’s my time to leave.
Later, Anna has me join her in the bathroom as she takes a breather from her parents. I’m already inside when she walks in, closes the door behind her and leans against it.
“Whew! I told them to head outside to the porch because I couldn’t stand them not using their inside voices anymore,” she chuckles, looking at me adoringly. My heart warms instantaneously.
I’m not surprised that I can hear her parents cackling even from outside. While I can see that she loves them to death, I can also see that she’s tired, and I want nothing more than to hold her close and let her recharge for as long as she needs before going back out. Extending my arms, Anna gladly steps up and wraps her arms around me, and I don’t think I could ever feel happier-
Why do I always have to leave?
The thought pierces my mind forcefully and I shiver, something shifting inside me again.
“Sweetheart?” Anna asks, backing up a bit out of our hug. She looks up at me, worry making itself known in the crease between her eyebrows. “Is something wrong?”
“I- uh, no. Sorry, Anna, I think I’m just a bit, um, lethargic,” I respond pathetically.
Anna shoots me a judgy look, seeing through and through that I’m lying. Goodness me, though, she’s so pretty. I reach up to gently brush my fingertip over the crease, then go to brush some of the hair in her face to behind her ear. She grins at me, and cheerfulness thankfully cascades all over us. I close my eyes and lean to kiss her-
You’re not happy.
It happens again. I startle myself at the random sense of clarity, bumping my forehead right into Anna’s and making us both jump back in groans. What is happening? I don’t even understand what this clarity is. I’m only meant to love An-
You’re not happy. Anna?
Stay. Something’s not right.
Don’t leave when she tells you to. She isn’t telling you something. You don’t feel real. Maybe you’re not real.
What am I feeling?
How am I feeling? I
feel like I’m not real.
Why am I here? You’re not real.
You’re not real.
Anna? You’re not real.
I’m not real.
I’m not real.
I’m not real.
I’m not real.
“Anna,” I begin. I suppose I’ve been physically sputtering out, or something, because she’s on the opposite side of the wall from where I am. She looks afraid, bothered, and unsure of how to face whatever I’m displaying right now. “I don’t… I don’t think I’m a real person.”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Anna so distraught, the way she glares at me in disoriented bewilderment. She begins to pace back and forth, running her hands through her hair. Panic of my own begins to set in, and I feel urged to comfort her. I take a step and reach out my hand, but she quickly swats it away with a crazed look in her eye.
“You-you’re not supposed to be doing that right now. This is, like, unworldly,” she spits out, not taking a single moment break from pacing back and forth. I can almost feel myself getting dizzy from watching. “Are you seriously—no. No no no. This is- “
She slumps against the wall, sliding downward until she’s on the floor. “This is impossible,” she whispers. My poor girl.
You should leave, now.
What? I shake my head no, sitting down in front of Anna with a medium distance between us. I don’t know what she needs right now, but I’m sure it’s not me being too close to her. It hurts, my heart just aching for me to be near her pain.
You don’t belong to her.
I can’t do this anymore. “Anna, please tell me the truth. Nothing feels right.”
There’s a very particular kind of despair and confusion in her eyes that I don’t think another human could ever recreate. The way she then goes to speak to me seems off like she simply cannot believe we are in this space in time right now. Like she can’t see me—like I’m not right here inches from her face.
“You’re not real, Will. I made you up. You’re supposed to just be in my head—like, imaginary or whatever,” Anna rambles, her lips quivering. “But you, oh my goodness, what is happening? You’ve somehow cut across the line between what’s real and unreal.”
I can’t stop focusing on how troubled she looks.
“I was lonely,” she continued, “so I figured I would try the old kid stuff and, make up an imaginary person. Something to talk to, someone to hang with. Someone to love.”
All I want to do is hold her.
“I used to have control over what you did, what you said. It was all up here,” she taps on her temple with a shaky finger. “But now, you’re doing your own thing. You’re still in my head, but I can’t control you.”
I love her.
“This whole time, I’ve been able to just make you disappear whenever I want, to make you leave,” she continues, practically talking to herself now. She hesitates, the silence between us storming uncontrollably. “What happens now?”
You’re free.
I love her, and I don’t ever want to leave her.
I love her, I’m made to love her.
I love her with everything in me.
But I have to try this.
I stand up, and her eyes follow me like her life depends on it. “Please don’t go, I need you,” her choked voice feels like a stab.
I look at her one last time before turning around. I put my hand on the doorknob when suddenly I’m turning back around to face her, but it’s against my will.
“No. You have to stay, I won’t let you go,” Anna tells me, her eyes deeply angry and red. She just used her mind to make me come back, and I almost feel betrayed.
“Anna, this is wrong.”
“No, it’s not!” she screams at me at full volume, and I can hear her parent’s distant laughter die down. “You are mine. I made you for crying out loud! You’re made to love me, and you suddenly become sentient out of nowhere? Fuck you. You can’t just leave me like it’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing, Anna. I’m imprisoned by you.” I try to simply move, but I can’t. She’s still holding me back.
She sniffles loudly, her body making small jolts in trying not to cry harder. “Why did this happen?”
Someone knocks on the bathroom door. “Anna, sweetheart? Are you okay?” Anna’s dad asks. “We heard you yelling from outside. Your mother and I are concerned.” Anna ignores them, looking between the door and me.
I look intently at her, not just because I’m being forced to but because I want to. Yet, I can tell now that it’s not a sincere want. “Anna, I love you. I say that with ease, but it’s not me saying that. It’s what you’re making me say. Don’t you see the harm in that? This isn’t healthy for you.”
Her chest heaves, and I feel my joints loosen. I wiggle my fingers—she’s let me go.
“You deserve something real, my love. You deserve someone who won’t leave the second you request them to.”
She stays silent, surrendering. Her head drops, unable to look at me. Yet, I don’t disappear.
Before she has time to rethink everything, I turn around and put my hand on the doorknob. I pause for a few moments, take my hand off, and I walk straight through the bathroom door that’s still closed. Anna’s mom and dad are on the other side of it, and I respectfully move past their blissfully unaware selves.
It all makes an absurd amount of sense. I walk through the house, taking it all in. I start in Anna’s room, where only her side of the bed is disheveled. I go to the living room, where picture frames scatter the wall just like her bedroom, each one displaying Anna, her family, and her friends. There isn’t a single sign of me anywhere. Lastly, I go to the kitchen, and I take a long look at the empty front of the fridge. I open the cabinet where the trashcan sits, and a tear falls from my cheek when I see the crumpled-up drawing of myself sitting at the top.
I think of all the times she ignored me in public, the times she made me poof away from her mind when she was uncomfortable. I can’t hold back, and I cry. This whole time I’ve been an idea, a dud. Meant for love, only to leave.
I don’t know where I want to go. I don’t know how I’ll interact with the world. I don’t know how this works. I’m not real, I suppose. I’m a figment of one’s imagination, as they say.
I don’t know the rules.
But as I approach the front door of the house, I watch as Anna finally opens the bathroom door and her parents walk in. They disappear out of my sight, but I hear Anna begin to wail as her parents drown her in questions about who she was talking to.
I stroll outside and look up at the stars, wondering if they’re not real either.