Ragdoll

An older woman tries to come to terms with her false memory syndrome, while endlessly pursuing the man that first said he'd loved her.

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1. Ragdolls || Entry 1

 

“One,” I said.

 

Exactly one bullet was lodged into the chamber. There was a one out of six chance that If I had pulled the trigger then I wouldn’t have been me right now. Yet, that answer is still so decided. I sat up. That night, as I stared into the dreamy stars behind the red voile drapes, just listening to the shouting and wrestling the thought of suicide, and I heard his voice.

“Don’t do it, please don’t do it,” he said.

 

His words were short, and my tears were never ending. I held the gun, pressed deep against my temple with a quivering hand that embarrassingly expressed my fear of death. He laid there, his hand gently on my back, and he quivered as much as I did. He didn’t care, I knew that. He had told me that from the start. This was just business, and I was just being used.

“I only have myself to blame, don’t I?” I replied.

 

I got too attached, I wanted so badly to have someone like him. Someone who didn’t give me shit for every little thing I did. Someone who understood my situation and why I did what I had to. Someone that...

“I love you Katelyn,” he gasped in tears.

 

My trembling stopped, taking note of his last words. I love you Katelyn. I slowly took the gun and placed it in my lap, before he wrapped his arms around me; burying his face in my back. Suddenly, he had changed his mind and decided to love me, lied to talk me out of suicide. I fell for it like all the other times, it was so nice and comforting to hear. His voice, his breath, I didn’t want to lose either one of those. It had become a prescription that I took at least once a day. He pushed himself upwards, sitting on his knees and kissing my neck softly with passion.

He said no more words, just sat there, his head resting against my neck. He hands eventually began to wipe away my tears, his heartbeat returning to normal against my back. This was the type of relationship we had, we dealt with bullshit like this every day. He and I had committed on being strictly business and then was utter those three complex words over and over…

“I love you too Joey,” I finally said.

 

He gave a sigh loud enough for the neighbors in the next room to hear, but no one came to check on us. It was just us, alone in this dark room with nothing but salty tears to keep us alive. I reached to touch his hand but felt nothing there, instead there was just my own chest. I quickly turned, trying to get a glimpse of him but he was gone, my hands rummaging through nothing but sweaty sheets. Then suddenly, the tears began to fall again, sliding between the cracks of my bruised fingers until finally I realized…

 

Joey had left weeks ago.

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