A Sad Kind of Happy

Resentment is all John Madders can bring himself to feel. His family, his friends, his wife, his job. His life. An insight into mental instability.

   For John, waking up was becoming a chore. Especially when it meant waking up next to her.

   He looked to his side. She was facing him. Like always, in exactly the same position as she fell asleep in. She was very consistent in many respects and he often found himself thinking that it was maybe why he married her. He appreciated the monotony of her. She was no problem, no issue, no trouble. A thing to be discarded at a moment's notice.

   He reached out to stroke a strand of her black hair lying lifeless on her pillow. It felt soft to his touch and she stirred as he tugged it slightly, her eyes fluttering open before shutting abruptly. He tugged harder, wrapping the strand around his fist until she started to moan. He wanted her to wake up. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kill her. Anything to escape himself. He could imagine tightening his hands around her neck and slowly squeezing. He could imagine her screams as the air was choked out of her lungs. He could imagine the life leaving her, wrapped in his arms. 

   He let go of her hair and got out of bed, sliding into his grey slippers and leaving her sprawled on the mattress. Walking into their generous en-suite, he stared at himself in the adjacent mirror. He was attractive, even though he was in his mid 30s. His skin was smooth and white, due to many hours deprived of sunlight, but not unattractively so and his face was as structured as his body. Girls were often attracted to him, not that he noticed much. But he could nearly always catch young, gullible women glancing his way, hoping for the fabled 'connection' so many girls fantasized about. 

   He sighed and glanced back into the bedroom. His wife must have gotten up without him noticing because the bed was just an empty jumble of sheets. Without pausing, and not bothering to shave, John scrubbed his teeth and pulled on his work clothes with as much competence as he could manage at six in the morning. Still fumbling with his shirt buttons, he hopped downstairs and promptly fell onto his wife, whom was standing in the hallway. She yelped with surprise but he managed to catch her before she could hit the floor, holding her by the waist. 

  "Jesus, John, you scared me," she laughed, relaxing in his arms. "Are you okay? You looked spooked."

   John ignored her query, instead gazing into her grey eyes. They absorbed the light around them, soaking up the colours in the room and turning them into a brilliant violet. Looking into those eyes, he just wanted to hold her. Protect her. How could he have wanted to end her? She had those eyes he loved so much. 

    "Sorry, Gail," he whispered, his lips close to her ear. "I'm here and I'm fine."

    She smiled at him, wriggling free of his hold and skipping through the front door, which was open at her left. 

    "But I really want you to be fine," she said, on her way out. "And I can really tell you're not."

    "You should go to work then. I'll be fine when you get back."

     She smiled again and continued out, her hair flowing behind her as she rushed. 

     He tried to remember what her job actually was. He couldn't. 

Author's Note

Just an extract from a story I'm thinking of expanding. I wanted to capture mental instability in everyday life.