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swirlsofpurpleEllie is good at pretending. She watches and listens and mimics what others say, mimics what others do. By the time she reaches adulthood she can feign compassion and caring like a pro. She doesn’t tell anyone about her desire to rend and maim and kill, to taste blood on her lips and feel broken flesh beneath her fingers.
She puts on her face in the morning, expressions well-learned and laboured over. Everyone knows she would never hurt a fly. And if everyone knows- it must be true.
No one can control what they think and feel. They can only control what they do. So if she’s only doing good things. Isn’t that what matters? Doesn’t that make her good? This is what she tells herself, staring at the mirror at some unknown facsimile.
But she’s lying, lying to everyone. It isn’t an honesty anyone wants. Truth filled with blood and bone and unmeant platitudes.
Her mask never slips.
Sometimes she says odd things though. She’s quirky that way,
“I saw a show; it had this guy who was always doing good things. But his wife said she could always see the true darkness hidden inside him, even though he never acted on it. She said he was a psychopath. That never made much sense to me.”
“Maybe he was just a sociopath,” Gabe says.
“Sociopathy isn’t a diagnosis used by psychologists anymore. People only use it to make the word psychopath sound gentler.”
“I suppose the thing of it is the waiting game, when does the mask fall away?”
“What if it never does?”
“Well that’s no fun at all.”
And she knows Gabe’s joking, but wouldn’t it be a lark if he wasn’t. “The wife also said he had no emotions. That’s weird. Why do people always make that assumption?”
“What assumption?”
“That just because someone is incapable of caring about others, or feeling empathy, that they must also be incapable of joy and excitement and sadness and regret and every other emotion under the sun.”
Gabe shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“I used to think maybe people thought that was only fair. That if people didn’t care for others’ happiness that they didn’t get to be happy themselves.”
“And what do you think now?”
“I think it scares them. The idea that someone can be unable to feel for others and still feel the whole gamete of emotions. It makes those people too much like everyone else.”
*
It’s a struggle sometimes, to not tell the truth. But she reminds herself that it wouldn’t do any good. It would only ruin everything. Besides, she makes her own truth.
Harder still is holding a knife in her hands, imagining sliding it into someone’s neck, and then determinedly putting it back down- unused.
One day Gabe says, “You haven’t gone off the rails yet.”
“There’s no yet. I don’t intend to.”
“Boring,” Gabe says. It’s a joke. He has a morbid sense of humour. Except in that moment, looking into his eyes; she knows it’s not.
She should leave, she thinks. He’s not good for her. Being good is hard and she doesn’t need the temptation.
She stays.
*
She watches and she waits and she follows Gabe.
She finds him dripping in blood.
He grins, wide and maniacal, “I knew you would come around.”
She nods.
This is the moment, the precipice her life teeters on. This is everything. Maybe her problem is that she isn’t brave enough to take the leap. Maybe her problem is that she’s spent too long lying to herself.
She can only choose her actions.
She waits until he isn’t watching. And calls the police.
*
Ellie visits Gabe in prison, just the once, for the satisfaction,
“So you didn’t drag me down with you after all.”
Gabe smirks. “Everyone will know now. You can’t hide who you are any more.”
Her responding grin is wild and wicked, “Well, if that lets me catch more guys like you, maybe that’s alright.”
She puts on her face in the morning, expressions well-learned and laboured over. Everyone knows she would never hurt a fly. And if everyone knows- it must be true.
No one can control what they think and feel. They can only control what they do. So if she’s only doing good things. Isn’t that what matters? Doesn’t that make her good? This is what she tells herself, staring at the mirror at some unknown facsimile.
But she’s lying, lying to everyone. It isn’t an honesty anyone wants. Truth filled with blood and bone and unmeant platitudes.
Her mask never slips.
Sometimes she says odd things though. She’s quirky that way,
“I saw a show; it had this guy who was always doing good things. But his wife said she could always see the true darkness hidden inside him, even though he never acted on it. She said he was a psychopath. That never made much sense to me.”
“Maybe he was just a sociopath,” Gabe says.
“Sociopathy isn’t a diagnosis used by psychologists anymore. People only use it to make the word psychopath sound gentler.”
“I suppose the thing of it is the waiting game, when does the mask fall away?”
“What if it never does?”
“Well that’s no fun at all.”
And she knows Gabe’s joking, but wouldn’t it be a lark if he wasn’t. “The wife also said he had no emotions. That’s weird. Why do people always make that assumption?”
“What assumption?”
“That just because someone is incapable of caring about others, or feeling empathy, that they must also be incapable of joy and excitement and sadness and regret and every other emotion under the sun.”
Gabe shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“I used to think maybe people thought that was only fair. That if people didn’t care for others’ happiness that they didn’t get to be happy themselves.”
“And what do you think now?”
“I think it scares them. The idea that someone can be unable to feel for others and still feel the whole gamete of emotions. It makes those people too much like everyone else.”
*
It’s a struggle sometimes, to not tell the truth. But she reminds herself that it wouldn’t do any good. It would only ruin everything. Besides, she makes her own truth.
Harder still is holding a knife in her hands, imagining sliding it into someone’s neck, and then determinedly putting it back down- unused.
One day Gabe says, “You haven’t gone off the rails yet.”
“There’s no yet. I don’t intend to.”
“Boring,” Gabe says. It’s a joke. He has a morbid sense of humour. Except in that moment, looking into his eyes; she knows it’s not.
She should leave, she thinks. He’s not good for her. Being good is hard and she doesn’t need the temptation.
She stays.
*
She watches and she waits and she follows Gabe.
She finds him dripping in blood.
He grins, wide and maniacal, “I knew you would come around.”
She nods.
This is the moment, the precipice her life teeters on. This is everything. Maybe her problem is that she isn’t brave enough to take the leap. Maybe her problem is that she’s spent too long lying to herself.
She can only choose her actions.
She waits until he isn’t watching. And calls the police.
*
Ellie visits Gabe in prison, just the once, for the satisfaction,
“So you didn’t drag me down with you after all.”
Gabe smirks. “Everyone will know now. You can’t hide who you are any more.”
Her responding grin is wild and wicked, “Well, if that lets me catch more guys like you, maybe that’s alright.”