A fiction I've meant to write for a while.

—

I live with depression, and my boyfriend lives with psychopathy. Don't worry—he's not a serial killer. You see, the mental illness of psychopathy for most people isn't actually something else causes serial killing. That's usually caused by childhood abuse.

However, psychopathy usually means that the part of the brain that causes emotions is just muted or powered down super low. It means my boyfriend loves me, but he can't feel it. He cares, but he can't feel that emotion. And empathy? Well, he can't feel that either. But nevertheless, he's good at giving me what I need, even emotionally.

Today was a bad day, and I got home completely stressed. I took off my coat and walked past him cooking us dinner. "Hey babe—", he greeted me.

I was too lost in my thoughts to hear him. He knew me enough to know to let me take time alone. I spent my night in the bedroom, and he focused on dinner. When it was ready, he came to let me know. By that time, I was already descended into my depression and I didn't respond to him telling me dinner was ready.

I sat on the floor, facing the window. "Babe? You okay?" I couldn't speak, I was too choked up. He slowly walked over to me and sat on the floor. "Tough day?" I nodded, trying to will my tears to go away. Failing to fall, but failing to fade away. I saw him in my peripheral vision sitting next to me, just looking at me. He put his hand on my lower back.

"Don't," I warned him.

"You're sad, I have to comfort you." He whispered.

"You don't feel empathy, you don't have to."

He sighed and looked at me. "I love you. We're engaged. I don't need to feel empathy to know that I don't want you to be sad. And comforting you helps you in the long run."

I didn't respond. I was too busy trying to keep my tears in. He began to rub my back. That was it, I couldn't help it. My tears fell. He pulled me into his lap and hugged me, putting his head on my shoulder as I cried.

"I'm sorry you're feeling this way. Is there anything I can do? Anyone you want me to call? Do you want cookies and chocolate?"

I laughed and shook my head no. He was sweet. He couldn't understand what it meant to feel the way I do but it doesn't mean he didn't care to try to make me feel better. That's how I knew he loved me.

He put his hand on my head and pulled my head on his shoulder, rubbing my back. Tears trickled down my face onto his shoulder. When I start I can't stop. He knows this. I cried for 45 minutes that day, tears getting everywhere on my neck, his shoulder, his neck.

He pulled me away from his shoulder. "Look at me." I shook my head. He put his hand on my chin and made me look at him. "We're going to get through this together, okay? Like always."

It broke me down everytime he said that and he knew it. Sometimes I wonder if he does it on purpose. Does he like it? At first I thought so until I asked him once. He said no, that he just knew that it helped me let more out and feel better in the long run.

I started to sob, and he pulled me into his chest, resting his chin on my head. I cried for a while until I was able to calm down. I wiped my tears as he rubbed my arms. "Do you just wanna spend the night together in bed? We can watch movies or just talk if you want that."

I nodded. He stood up and pulled me up and walked me into bed. He helped me get changed into more comfortable clothes. "Are you hungry? I made dinner." I shook my head.

He nodded. "I'll go put it in the refrigerator. I'll be right back, okay?" I nodded.

I knew he'd be right back but just the physical feeling of being alone pushed me over the edge and I began sobbing. After a few minutes he rushed back into the room. "Hey, it's okay. I love you, I'm here. You aren't alone."

He couldn't feel his own, but he could recognize mine. He held me all night, and played with my hair, and kept me company. After a while of crying I fell asleep.

Last edited by Cryophilia (June 4, 2022 6:23 am)