Ryan

“…And the world wouldn’t be complete without you.”

***

She was dying.

No, not literally.

But she knew it. She saw it coming. There was nothing she could do to stop it.

He was her only chance for survival. He abandoned her. Not wanting to risk his life for her, he left her. She felt betrayed, but what could she do? She loved him, and she thought he loved her too.

Her heart was dying.

He told her it was some sort of celebration for a business achievement and when she asked more, he just brushed her off.

“It’s a guy thing. You wouldn’t understand, even if I told you.”

With that, they said no more.

She was there when he was with his friends, half drunk. He forgot his package. She brought it for him. She was right at the door, about to knock and enter.

“My gawd, did you really think I married her because I loved her? It’s just for the inheritance, my friend. Just for the inheritance.”

His voice still echoed in her head.

Just for the inheritance.

For three years, she kept lying to herself. She told herself that his lack of attention for her was not personal. That he was busy with his work and she should understand his constant absence from home. That his inattention and disregard towards her was due to working stress; the stress that many men would normally face at that time. It was a man’s obligation to provide for his family, because who knows what gossips may the neighbors conjure if he didn’t feed his family well.

She’d cry herself to sleep at night, sleeping on her side of her bed, waiting for him to come home. Whenever he came home late at night, he was usually drunk; she’d pretend to be asleep, quietly reminding herself that he was compelled to his situation, due to business matters.

***

Those dreams – no, more real than that; I think I’ve probably been warped into another dimension - have been bugging me.

It has been getting more and more intense lately, and just last night, she almost seemed like she was actually alive. No, more than that. It seemed like she was living in me, like she was me.

In those visions, I saw a lady. She was young and pretty, with a trail of poise and elegance. Well clothed and well fed, her eyes were radiant and her skin glowed like sparkling dew in the dawn. Her hair was neatly tied in a bun, like how they used to wear their hair in the times of old. Her dress was simple yet beautiful and flowing, well pressed and decorated with expensive, extravagant lace at the hems. It was not something anyone would usually wear in this time and day, though I wished I could be able to wear something like that.

Oh, if only I could.

Global warming has yet posed another disadvantage to us humans – not being able to wear dresses like those in the past, we the female species has taken advantage of this as an incentive to dress as skimpily as we can, all in the name of heat.

***

Maybe she knew all along that her husband did not love her; but she chose to live in denial, because sometimes it just seemed easier that way. She was so sick of her misfortunes that just this once, she wanted to believe that she had finally found her happily ever after ending.

Sometimes, people tend to get convinced by their own lies.

He did not mistreat her; on the contrary, he gave her everything she needed. She knew it, and she respected him for that. However, he did not love her. He protected her and provided her with everything she wanted, but he did it out of duty; he was merely abiding by the unwritten rules set by the society.

She loved him, but that was all.

From the very start, she should have known. The signs were obvious, never once did he tell her he loved her, and all his embraces seemed a tad too formal. But she chose to ignore them, naively telling herself that he would grow to love her one day.

On their wedding night, he attacked her like a wolf, ate her at every orifice available, and went right to bed after penetration.

In short, they did not make love; they merely fucked.

***

At times, I really wonder who she is.

In my dreams, she always seemed calm and composed. Yet, her eyes seemed to be covered by an invisible veil, like she was trying to hide a deep, dark secret. Like she was trying to conceal her sufferings (how did I know it was suffering that she was hiding, I am not sure) from the outside world.

She seems so lonely and sad.

I feel for her, yet on the other hand, I am glad that I am not like her. I have my parents who love me very much, my friends who are always by my side, and my dear Ryan, who adores me to bits.

Who is she?

***

“I love you.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Don’t you love me too?”

“My wife, I have my honor and reputation to keep. You should know that.”

It hurt her that their conversations always ended up like that.

Are all women like this? Is it the fate of the female species to have to live in a loveless marriage for the rest of their lives, where their only responsibility is to uphold the honor of their husbands and provide them with heirs?

***

She’s getting more and more real, like she’s travelling towards me from another dimension. I don’t know what to do.

I told Ryan about her the other day but he shrugged it off, saying that it was probably because I was allowing my imagination to go wild again.

***

He married her just for the inheritance. He did not love her.

Her heart ached.

***

Ryan came into my life three years ago. We were in our final year of high school then. I attended an all-girls’ school, while he was in an all-boys’ school. The first time we met, we did not talk much. He was pretty much nerdy, and I did not think I wanted to be associated with anyone like that.

After graduation, I pretty much forgot about him, but fate brought allowed us to meet again at college. Being alone, I had no choice but to talk to him, because he was the only person I knew in college. We quickly became best friends and we began to do things together. We studied together, played together, watched movies together, and even frequented each others’ homes.

I developed a slight jealousy when I received news that he had a crush on another girl, and I then realized that I actually liked him.

Like a fairy tale story, we both fell in love, after realizing that he didn’t like that other girl after all. Our love for each other grew with each passing day, and up till now, we’re still happy together.

We’re going to celebrate our third anniversary together in four more days. Ryan said he’d bring me to the posh restaurant I have always wanted to go so badly, but never had the chance to.

***

She wanted him to love her. Maybe a little too badly, and that made her want to do something for him. Something which could make him fall madly in love with her and to make her his reason for living.

She knew exactly what to do.

***

I think Ryan’s right. I was probably imagining things.

Now the dreams are getting less and less vivid, presumably because I have been keeping myself busy thinking of what kind of gift to get Ryan for out anniversary.

***

She wanted their wedding anniversary to be as grand as possible. She would invite all his friends, and they would see just how lucky he was to have such a lovely wife.

She busied all her maids with cooking, and cleaning. She even had her favorite tailor make her the perfect dress, made of the finest silk and finished with a touch of glitter and lace. The dress was exactly how she pictured it; white and flowing, tightening at her breasts, where she knew her cleavage would be revealed by the right amount – not too little that nobody took a second glance, and not too much that men drooled all over her , but perfectly cupped so that everyone looked at her in envy - and she was proud of it, for how many women had full assets like hers?

She even invited a man gifted in carving, ordered a large chunk of ice, and gave the man the task of carving it into delicate angels with beautiful wings on the day itself.

On that grand day, she had five maids attend to her to make sure her primping was flawless. Her hair was done in a fashionable manner; not that her hair was not always already in fashion on normal occasions, but this time she did it far more pulchritudinous than ever.

She made sure the floor was well swept and mopped, except for the section where the ice was to be carved.

She gave the man very precise descriptions of how she wanted the ice carving to be, and she was especially particular about the shape of the angels’ wings; she wanted it feathery yet had sharp and pointy ends with some sticking out of place - she thought it would bring out the natural beauty of imperfection of the angels.
As she busied herself with the testing of food (she did not trust her maids’ taste buds and she would never rest until she had personally tasted every dish) she was again reminded of the mess the ice shavings would make on the floor, and she still did not know if she should sweep them up immediately, or wait for them to melt and then wipe it away.

Her marbled floor would make it very slippery if the ice melted, she knew.

She pushed the thought to the back of her mind. That could be dealt with later, she told herself.

At about six in the evening, guests began pouring in and she began to get anxious that the man had not finished with his ice carving yet, and began wondering if she made a mistake by giving him specific orders not to arrive to early. Most of the people began to linger around chatting with each other, while she anxiously waited for her husband to come back, silently praying that the ice carving would be finished by then.

An hour later, the ice shaving was finally done and at the same moment, her husband stepped in. He awed at her beauty, yet his sixth sense told him something was amiss.

***

Our little anniversary celebration went well. Ryan gave me the sweetest chocolates ever and he even had a violinist serenade us the whole time we were having our romantic candlelit dinner.

***

She gracefully received her husband, managed the attention of the guests, and proposed a toast.

After the meal, she invited her husband for a waltz to the song they were both familiar with – the one which first brought them together. Her eyes were filled with tears of joy as she snuggled her head into her husband’s shoulder, reliving the times when he still loved her.

“Why are you weeping, my wife? You’ll disgrace us in front of all my friends.”

She wiped away her tears, smiled at her husband, and said no more.

As the waltzed across the room, she led him nearer and nearer towards the ice carving; probably because she wanted him to notice the beauty of it.

She put her right foot over her left and carelessly tripped over her own dress. She would still have been able to save herself from a humiliating fall, if she was not wearing a dress made out of soft and extremely smooth silk, with such abundance of lace.

Her left foot slid across the hem of her dress, got caught in the lace at the hems, and she lost her balance. On instinct, she caught hold of her husband’s sleeve and pulled him down along with herself.

On the very fortunate event that the floor was not marble, the floor was not wet, and the ice carving was not there, the couple might still have been saved by fate.

That, however, was not the case.

The marble floor, wet with melted ice shavings, made her husband skid across the floor. His heavy body rammed right into the ice carving, where one of the out-of-placed angel’s wings pierced right through the centre of his abdomen.

She quickly jumped out of the way and escaped the fatality, unharmed.

***

The haunting visions of the lady have long left me, ever since the last time I saw her crying at a funeral, most presumably of someone close to her, by the way she wept so badly that she might as well have blinded herself.

Of course, it is nice to be able to lead a normal life again.

Something else is vexing me, though.

Ryan hasn’t been his normal self.

Lately, he has been losing his appetite, not eating for days on ends. His skin has become scaly and pale, and on occasions, I do not even dare to look at him because he reminds me of a corpse.

***

Thrown in with a few days of wailing and crocodile tears, she was soon known as the most beautiful widow in town.