My Partner is the Devil

My partner is the devil. He seems so nice and kind. He does everything for me. He feeds me, he washes me. He makes sure that I am protected from the world.

But sometimes I glance at him when he thinks I'm not looking. Or I catch his reflection in a mirror. And I see such a look of malevolence there, it sends shivers down my spine.

I wonder if that malice is how he really feels about me. If the niceness is all just an act to make me think he is a decent human being.

He brings me a cup of coffee in the mornings when he is not working. I never have to lift a finger. He can never do enough for me; anything to make me happy. He doesn't want me working and tiring myself out, because he is so thoughtful. He allows me to do some housework, as long as I do it properly of course.

We have been together many years, and each day blurs into one, because my life is so easy. Aside from washing and dressing myself, I have nothing really to distract me from my life of perfection.

Of course, my friends don't call as much as they used to. This upsets me, but of course it confirms what he always said about them; that they are not true friends. He is so insightful. And when I ask my partner if I thought I heard the phone ringing, he smiles and tells me no, and not to worry my pretty little head over it, and is the room warm enough, and would I like another cup of tea as my current cup is almost empty?

I forget my original question out of confusion, and answer, 'Yes please.'

I do have to be careful though. I realise I have made a full-time job out of pasting a smile on my face, even when I'm not really feeling happy. I have to look happy, or he raises his voice, reminding me of how ungrateful I am.

I have to carefully apply the make-up that makes my cheeks look rosy and my eyes bright and awake. If I look tired, he very reasonably reminds me that I have nothing to be tired about. And then there are arguments. Sometimes I get upset and I want to leave the house, but I misplaced my keys a long time ago.

The other day he caught me up in the attic, browsing through old photos of me out and about, having fun with friends and family, and I must have been looking wistful or something, as he grabbed the photo album and threw it across the room, before storming off. I felt the tears brewing, and pretended to need the bathroom, so that I could lock myself inside, sit on the toilet lid and cry a bit. I had to cry quietly, and it felt desolate. I wanted to howl. I wanted him to hug me, to make me feel better. I don't know where these tears are coming from. I think I feel lonely. I miss my old life. The bathroom is the only place I get any privacy for a few minutes.

Actually, when I think about it, it is not him I want to console me. It is my friends. Or my mum. Anyone I no longer see. Anyone who cares, outside of him.

I found a ring in a box in his gym bag. I miss going to the gym. I used to feel fit and strong. He likes me curvy, and so I have to eat a lot, until I feel sick sometimes. He helped me look for my gym membership card, but I'm sure I must've dropped it somewhere. I'm so clumsy. He's always telling me. So, I know it must be true.

I opened the box and the ring inside looked very expensive, with a huge solitaire diamond in it. For some reason I felt a huge kinship with that solitaire. A big shiny thing all on its own. I feel sick, though I don’t know why.

He's cooking us a meal tonight, a romantic one, just the two of us. We don't go out for meals anymore, why would we when everything we need is at home? I saw him arranging candles and flowers earlier. I think he is going to ask me a special question over dinner.

I am so happy.

Am I happy?

I don't know what I feel.

I feel so scared.

When he puts that ring on my finger, I won't be able to say no. He will think that he owns me from that moment on. Even more than he already does. I will watch his face carefully every second that I can from now on. I know that one day he will try to kill me. But not if I kill him first.

I will sneak a kitchen knife up to the bedroom, and keep it hidden beneath the mattress. I will use the really long, sharp one I use for cutting carrots. I will keep it within arm's reach.

And the next time he comes and finds me in bed, and tries to make me... do things... I don't want to, I will do something he will not think me ever capable of. I have been lifting tins of beans in the kitchen, getting stronger, whilst he is out of the house. He has no idea.

My partner is the Devil. But perhaps I am stronger than he will ever believe. Perhaps I am a God.