Sleeve T Rocks

THE MONSTER I HAD CREATED 

By Sleeve 

“She’s alive...” 

And with that I had created the most destructive entity I could conceive. No one could compare to her beauty. She was irresistible, the ideal looking companion. Her body was shaped to perfection, her lips the color of temptation. She moved with exceptional posture and held her nose in the air, oozing confidence and sexual appeal. She was aesthetically perfect, a low pleasure of the highest order. No personality required. 

Of course, she wasn’t real. She didn’t need to be. As far as I was concerned she was merely the middleman for a larger goal. I needed something from life, something that seemed selfish and destructive. I needed validation. 

To say I made her because I was lonely would be correct, but she wouldn’t be the one who filled my loneliness. All I wanted was attention, even if it was through her. She would be by my side every time I went out. She would be with me any time we appeared at any social gathering. And the people who saw me would be amazed that someone so visually stunning would be seen with someone like me. I saw other women looking at me with this perfect woman on my arm and the opinions formed about me afterward. I took pleasure in watching the assholes that saw me with her take a second look. 

Once she was created there was one small piece that remained out of place. She was silent, and it scared me. I had constructed her perfectly. She looked the part of a human, not some monster I created. But though her eyes were as true to life as I could make them she still stared blankly as she went through this “life” I gave her. She was never happy and never sad. She was always cool and calculated. There was a robotic glint behind her reflective blue glare. 

At first I didn’t mind her eerie lack of communication. Eventually, however, I wanted to thank her. She deserved to know that she had made me a desirable person just by being seen with me. But it wouldn’t have mattered. These words would simply register as just that: words. Words she didn’t understand the beauty behind. On occasion I would sit with her and tell her about the thoughts I had and the feelings they evoked. These were all very real pieces of me that I had willingly expressed to her. But to her they were nothing more than letters and numbers. 

I began to realize how much in love with the idea of her I was becoming. Though she had no soul, she was still what I was supposed to want. Now I wanted her to have even more. I wanted to see her react to it. I needed a different kind of validation. I needed to know I was making her happy. 

And so the ritual began. 

Every night I would pour more of my soul into her. Before I went out and showed her off, I sat down with her and stared into her empty eyes. Sometimes I would tell her things about myself for hours in hope that life would begin to flicker in those glassy pools of blue. I tried to amplify these feelings I had as powerfully as they could become, hoping it was enough for her to start feeling them too. 

I could feel the sting of these feelings I was giving her never being reciprocated. I couldn’t stand it. 

A week had passed and nothing had happened. She was still as unresponsive as ever. I took her out every night, disconcerted and yet hopeful. Another group of men would approach. Another group of men were shot down. Watching their petty weaknesses with the opposite sex didn’t amuse me anymore.  If she didn’t love me, then it didn’t satisfy me. 

Another week passed, and I began to think that maybe I was becoming obsessive. I hadn’t slept at all. I had devoted all my free time into trying to get her to love me. More of my feelings were poured into her. I spent more time talking to her. I held her in my embrace for hours at a time, trying to squeeze my feelings into her. For a brief minute on one of those nights I could swear I saw a glimmer in her eyes. I was getting through to her. Maybe she was beginning to feel something. 

***

Then something unusual happened. 

One night when I was out without her I met another woman. She asked me if I knew what time it was. I told her it was time to get a watch. She laughed. She was obviously the type who wore her heart on her sleeve. I couldn’t stand people like that. But for some reason I continued to talk to her. We eventually exchanged numbers and I told her I’d call her sometime. I had no intention of doing this, but that seemed like the polite thing to do. And she did have my number, although I was debating whether I gave her the right one or not. Not that she was terrible, but she would never mean much to me: not as much as her. 

It took this new girl two whole weeks to call me. How unappreciative she must be to not call me right away. I knew once my true love was filled with my feelings she would never do this to me. 

We went out and talked about our hobbies, where we saw our lives going, and all the things that should matter but for some reason didn’t. I hated how dull her conversation was. My true love would never bore me like this. She would always excite me. 

I took this new girl to bed. I made her moan. She called my name in my ear. It made me sick to my stomach. She obviously wasn’t good enough for me if she put this much into our relationship. She was just desperate for attention. I couldn’t stand neediness. 

And after we had sex I never called her again. She left me a few messages on my phone, but I erased them. She meant nothing to me now; just another romantic fool with too many feelings. To me she was just another hole to fill. And I wasn’t going to fill it with any kind of emotion. All of that was reserved for her. It could never be anyone else’s. 

***

I continued to focus on the ritual. She was frustrating me beyond belief. 

I had done so much for her and yet she continued on as unresponsive as ever, only taking a brief glance at me for moments at a time. Those times made me so sure that she loved me too. But each time was a greater letdown then the last. I wanted to scream at her, shake her, hit her. Anything to make her see how much I cared. 

A steady realization washed over me. In a silent, internal struggle I understood what had to be done. The only way she would be forced to love me was if I forced my love into her. I knew what my decision meant. I knew how painful it would be to make myself vulnerable like that. She would take part of my soul, and that part would belong to her forever. I was going to give her my heart, and she would be forced to accept it. 

That night finally came. 

I came home early that night. She sat along the couch, the TV flickering with static. She was oblivious as always. I sat down beside her, still in awe of her beauty. I stroked the blonde hair out of her eye. This would be the last time her eyes held that blank stare. Soon they would be filled with the soul she was meant to have, and that soul would express its love for me. 

I kissed her forehead. She did her best to smile. I steadied my quivering hand, laying it flat across my chest. Then I dug my fingers deep into my rib cage. 

They penetrated my outer tissue; I wasn’t pushing hard enough. I dug even deeper, breaking through my breastplate. It crushed in the wake of the force with grisly results. The blood that soaked my hand was hot and bubbling, spilling out onto the rest of my shirt. I was becoming soaked. 

I could feel a thin pulse at the edge of my fingertips. I was almost there. I would have to push myself even harder. The pain was unbearable. My split ribs spread wide open and I had nothing left to hide. 

My fingers wrapped around the main valve. Now that my heart was in my grip, I was able to pull it out with one swift motion. With my still beating heart in my hand I moved to her side. Her glare seemed to be that of confusion. It was okay; soon she would understand. 

I lowered my hand into her chest. Her skin possessed a different quality: my heart seemed to sink right into it. She easily accepted it, taking it into her own chest. Her skin began to glow more radiantly than before. She twitched and convulsed, first softly then violently. I had collapsed against the couch; my wound was spewing like a geyser. I tried to contain the flow from my chest as I watched her relax into a submissive state. 

She blinked. I could see her eyes adjust to the light. Her facial expressions were finally animated, subtly pointing to her thoughts. Her lips curled and her body reacted to mine. At last, she was fully alive. I could see the difference and feel her new found spirit. After all the time I had spent trying to convince her to live she finally did. 

“Please…” My voice trembled. “Say something.” 

Her lips quivered as they prepared to pronounce her first sentence. With all the love I had put into her she would finally be able to express her love back to me. She would tell me how much she cared for me and how thankful she was for me giving her this life. My eyes were hungry and anxious. I was ready for her to tell me something, anything. 

“How…” 

Her voice was smooth and beautiful. It had a hypnotic quality to it, the kind I was expecting to hear. 

“Yes?” I was begging. “How what?” 

Her head slowly tilted my way. Her eyes held a different quality. 

“How sad and lonely you must be…” 

My mouth went dry. I couldn’t have heard right. 

“To try and bring me into your life.” 

Confusion and panic washed over me. I wanted to protest. I had spent so long giving her pieces of me and now this was her response? 

“But…” My voice cracked. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” 

She smiled. It wasn’t the warm, embracing smile I had expected. There was a sadistic undertone, one that cut to the core I once had. 

“Silly boy… you’re just the well from which I’ve repeatedly drawn.” 

I was starting to cave in. I could feel my lungs collapsing. She was doing it again. She was sucking out my soul, but this time it wasn’t because I was giving it to her. This time she was taking it. 

“I loved you.” 

“I know you did… and that is why I shine while you fade.” 

Every joyful feeling I had ever connected to her was falling away. Instead, it all turned into regret. If only I hadn’t given her so much, then she wouldn’t be able to flawlessly tear the rest away. She was evil. She did this to me. 

“I hate you!” 

But those words widened her grin. This was the answer she was hoping for. It was plain that she wanted more of my powerful feelings for her own. 

“I fucking hate you!!” 

***

I felt myself drift off into a strange abstract as I crumpled to the floor. I wasn’t mad or glad. I couldn’t distinguish the two. Instead, it was a wave of confusion. How could so much love create something so uncaring and ungrateful? And how could this idea I created destroy me so completely? I had given too much, and now she had taken it all. 

            As I disappeared completely I saw her walk away, fully prepared to never look at me again. Her red shoes glittered in the reflecting light, blinding my vision. She was ready to destroy someone else, or possibly be destroyed herself. No matter how special I thought I was she had disregarded me as just another romantic fool with too many feelings. But now I have no more to give, and she has more to feed on. 

This was the monster I had created. And God only knows the monsters she would create in turn. 

-end-