Paralyze

A Story by CocaineCasper

A Short Horror Story

Paralyze

The routine had become especially stale by this point. Everyday, for six years, I was lifted from my bed in the morning into my chair. I was wheeled out to the dining room where I was fed. The entire house had become sterile since my accident, but the kitchen and dining room were especially untouched since I could never move about on my own terms. The countertops were without stains, the table without rings or crumbs. Much to any visitor’s awkwardness I always joked that maybe the accident had killed me since there were no messes left in my path. After eating I was moved to the balcony to drink coffee or juice until it became too warm for me. Here I found the only variables to my day. The green of the 8^th hole of a golf course sat in-between our house and the bay. Either it was a tricky hole or no good golfers came to the course, almost every day at least one amusing person cursed into the sky at his own bad luck. When there were no golfers there were animals. Birds, deer, squirrels, and somedays a curious gopher that reminded me of Caddyshack.

After I decided my spectating was over, I was pulled back into the house and watch tv shows and movies until my husband came home from work. We would talk over dinner for an hour or two. As time continued our conversations began to stall. We both felt the life and love fall from our relationship. While sad, it was expected and not much could be done. His career and the humors I found on the golf course would never generate a valuable exchange. After we’d watch a movie before I was put back into bed, then lie in silence until I fell asleep.

The routine finally broke when I started to hear my husband’s car start late in the evening, then pull into the garage early in the morning. Of course, I suspected that he was cheating on me, and of course, I was correct. Being paralyzed from the neck down, I could not begin to sleuth around for proof. I would have to wait for my husband to become careless. This would not come quickly given my stationary state and unflinching regimen that saw no change for over half a decade. His transgression would have to be blatant and nearly stupid for me to catch.

The day finally did come though. A year after my suspicious began I had my evidence. While at dinner, the home phone rang, and my husband sat his cell down. The phone lied on the table unlocked, exposing my worst fear. A name that was not mine surrounded by heart symbols and a list of flirtatious text messages. I was heartbroken. Something I had known all along had finally been shown to me clearly in front of my eyes. When my husband returned from the call he looked down and recognized his mistake. Panic ran across his face as his eyes darted between the phone and me. I held my emotions close to the vest and made no indication that I noticed anything. I asked about his call and we continued as if nothing changed. He cleared his throat and rambled on about the call, not that I cared or could even listen to it.

The routine continued. I was put to bed and then the evening continued on in the same way. I lied awake waiting to hear the start of the engine. Hours past, and just when I thought it wouldn’t come, the garage doors creaked open and the car hummed to life. I resisted at first but as the emotions swelled over, hot tears began to rolldown the side of my face. Some collecting in my ears, some falling to the pillow. I knew it was not only a possibility, but a certainty as I faced the reality of my condition. How could I expect him to stay faithful given my state? Now that the dilemma had played out my heart was shattered.

I woke up stone faced, unsure of how to proceed. Not that there was much I could do to change my life at all. The routine continued. This time each step in the process infuriated me. My mind seethed in wild anger that festered terribly with no outlet. In the august heat of the morning I began to go delirious. The bay had warmed the air and the breeze was abrasive instead of cool. I sat in a concentrated hell until I was puled back in. I furiously sat in front of the tv but payed no attention to the characters who appeared on it.

Dinner finally arrived. With my emotions written clearly across my face we ate in perilous silence. We had nothing to talk about now. He knew that I knew. I tried to stop my mind from mulling the issue over but in a life that hardly changed, change would consume the day. The weight of it all had become to much and a silent tear fell from my face. His face turned red and twisted in anguish as he excused himself from the table.

The routine continued and was silently put to bed. As I lied there, I heard a curious clamor from the kitchen. ‘a dish breaking’ I figured. ‘Good, I hope it torments him’ I thought to myself. I hope his guilt pervades every inch of his body the same way my heartache fills mine.

As the night strolled on none of the usual marks of his excursions occurred. No garage, no engine, nothing. Maybe in his guilt he called off the rendezvous. Time slipped on without a sound. Suspicion crept into my mind. ‘Why hadn’t he gone?’ ‘Why hasn’t something else happened?’ Nearly three in the morning and still nothing. I began to sweat and lose my nerve. Finally, a broken pattern that I longed for created an anxiety that consumed me. At this point I almost wished he had gone. Gone anywhere other than leave me in suspense.

Four in the morning crawled around. Any normal night and he would soon be returning home by now. If something were to happen by now it would have, I thought to myself. Just as I began to relax enough to sleep, footsteps crept in the hallway. Roughly one step for every ten seconds. As if he wasn’t walking in his own home. Thirty steps from where he started, he was now nearly at my door. The door drifted slowly open and he stood in the doorway, but only for a moment as he flicked on the lights. Eyes bloodshot and filled with tears, he approached my bed. As he got closer, I was overcome with the stench of whiskey that he carried with him. His breaths became awkward heaves, chocking down silent sobs. All I could do was watch. I tried to say his name. Say anything to measure what the hell was going through his mind.

He got to the bed and wiped his eyes, looked to the ceiling, and tried to calm his breathing. Finally doing so, he looked down into my eyes. Lips trembling like an actor who forgot his lines. “I’m so sorry” he finally croaked out. Before I could gather a response, he put one hand over my mouth and pinched my nose with the other. My face writhed in horror, but no movement could shake his steady hands. Both of our faces were wet with tears as we looked into each other’s eyes for the last time.