Schadenfreude

schadenfreude (n) \ˈshä-d^ən-ˌfrȯi-də\ : pleasure derived from another's misfortune

In my mind, it was I who killed her. I don't know how exactly, not even sure if I intended to, but I know I did it. It's as if all the sleepless nights spent pondering the details of her humiliation, her pain, the moment she hits rock bottom and what all of those would mean to me have taken a life of their own and killed her. 

I don't even hate her. No. 

We were never really introduced to each other. Not that it would have made a difference had we been, nor do I think we could ever have been friends. Our worlds were too foreign and distant in that way. But there was that single thread connecting us and that was enough.  For two years leading up to her death, she lived a life that was once mine. The source of her ultimate joy used to be the stuff of both my dreams and waking hours. Her fears, like claws buried at the pit of my stomach. And her grief, a hovering cloud, black as night, warning of a storm that never seems to come. 

Her hell was my hell.

This was how I knew her. And this is exactly why I don't hate her.  Because you only hate what you don't understand.

Why then? 

All I know is that since he left me to be with her, I never slept.  Sure, I go through the motions, of lying in my bed, closing my eyes, surrendering to the steady rise and fall of my breathing. But sleep never came. My mind held on to consciousness, ever aware of the empty space beside me, the silence of the phone that never rang, the hands that I didn't quite know where to place. Still, I could have lived with those. What actually pained me the most was the silent suffering my heart took; knowing that I couldn't trust it, believing that its best could never be good enough. Because there was someone who could go beyond what I allowed myself to give. There was her and all the things that I never allowed myself to do. This was my greatest my pain. And eventually what became hers too.

Her hell was my hell.

Her heaven, was my hell too.

No I didn't mean for her to hurt. But she had to. To free me from my hell.

In my mind it was I who killed her. But in truth, she was the one brave enough to end it for both of us.

And finally, sleep came.


Disclaimer: All characters and events in this account are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people or events are coincidental. Also, no person was harmed during the writing of this post.