Page 135 - The Houseguest

DAY EIGHT
I noticed she hadn’t eaten her dinner last night when I walked in that morning, and I remember thinking she probably hadn’t figured out how to hold her utensils with four fingers. For a moment I wondered if Karina was going to reappear, or if she could tell what I was thinking from the other side. If so, I was certain she was gravely disappointed in me. But I was also certain that my thoughts and actions were far beyond what my rational brain could control at this point.
Rachel had managed to bunch up one of the pillowcases around the stub left from her missing finger. Perhaps now, she would be taking me seriously. “You know, the person I was before you entered my life -- our lives, would never have been able to do something like that. This is your fault, not mine,” I told her. Her eyes were red and swollen and I knew she’d been crying for hours, perhaps all night. “Just kill me,” she pleaded. “Just kill me.” She cast her gaze downward and lowered her head. For a moment I was reminded of that day I first met Karina when she gazed up at me with her head lowered and said: “I’m Karina.” I was instantly brought back to the mission at hand.
“Have you read the first page in the book?” I asked as I motioned toward the bound book of my love’s inspirations. She screamed back at me: “I SAID KILL ME! KILL ME NOW! I’m not gonna read your damn book!” Oh, how I wished she’d learned her lesson. We were going to run out of fingers if this continued. But of course, there were always toes. I picked up the gardening tool and held it in front of her face. She scowled and turned her head. I reacted, but not by detaching a body part, but by slowly cutting off chunks of her hair, the hair that
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The Houseguest by Linda Ellis www.LindaEllis.life