Do Not Disturb

by Freida McFadden

And my husband is still lying dead on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood.

When I was younger, before I met Derek, I would hear stories about women stuck in abusive relationships. I never understood why any of them stayed. I thought they were foolish or weak. It never made sense to me until it became my life.

“Nick always leaves 201 empty.” I nod. “Because of the leaky pipe, right?” “No,” she says. “Not because of that.” “Then… why?” “Because...” Greta pulls a ball of socks out of the trunk and gets back on her feet while holding onto the wall for support. “Because a couple of years ago, a woman was murdered in there.”

“I love mirrors,” Greta tells me. “Mirrors are the barrier between the conscious and unconscious mind. Everyone has an inner concept of themselves, but mirrors are reality. What you see right now—that is the truth that everyone else sees.”

But she could still do everything she used to do if she wanted to. Instead, she doesn’t want to do anything anymore.

Same

But even if you do not know your fortune, that does not keep it from coming true.” “If you know your fortune, are you able to stop it? Or do you just have to try to look surprised when it happens?”

I wonder why she’s on the second floor. If she can’t walk, why wouldn’t she want to stay on the first floor? Why would she trap herself upstairs?

Back when I was a kid, we used to have a real phone. A landline. And when you were mad at someone, you could slam it down. It’s just not the same with a cell phone.

I let out a breath. I thought he was going to turn me away for being fifty cents short.

“Do you have anything for dinner here?” He shoots me an irritated look. “I can make you a sandwich.” “Is it included with the price of the room?” “I suppose it will have to be, since you didn’t even have enough money to pay for the room.”

I’m not dead. Did you think I was? That I’m some corpse my husband propped up in front of the second-floor window to frighten his guests? I’m not. I’m very much alive. And I’m afraid my husband is a murderer.

Have you ever just met somebody that you clicked with? That you felt was an extension of yourself? The missing piece.

Ultimately, I’m just too tired to go through with it. I’m literally too tired to kill myself.

Me af

Maybe we used up all our happiness. Maybe everybody only gets so much.

The search immediately brings up a suicide hotline. But that’s for normal people, who are just depressed. My life is actually hopeless. I would be better off dead, and I know it.