Consumed by Love - A Short Story by Pavarti K. Tyler Read Free Book Online

Consumed by Love
     
    Slicing a knife through the skin and muscle of a human
thigh is not difficult. Enough Novocain and Oxycodone evaporates the pain. The
first time, it’s difficult to believe how hard it is to push the blade through
the layers of thick muscle. Eventually, it, like so many other things, becomes
habit—simply something that needs to be done.
    ***
    Hugo had never been
close to his father. Ever since his old man died, however, he hadn’t felt
right.
    His disorganized mind couldn’t
stay focused on any topic for more than ten minutes at most. He missed
deadlines at work, talked in his sleep and lost his appetite. Eventually, the
only thing he could convince his sensitive system to digest was his wife’s
meatloaf. He lost weight rapidly, and his normally deep bronze skin fell ashen
and hung limp from his bones. Just an inch below six-foot, and with a once-athletic
build, his muscles now wasted away. He appeared much older than his twenty-nine
years.
    His wife Bree worried.
    He ignored her when she
asked what was bothering him, pretending nothing was wrong. He kissed her on
the lips, and asked what was for dinner with a strained smile before excusing
himself to the bathroom. Once there, he cursed at his wane reflection, knowing
his wife probably listened in the other room with tears in her eyes.
    As weeks slipped by,
Hugo faded, becoming little more than a stranger, detached.
    Bree woke in the middle
of the night, alone in bed again, and drifted downstairs to find him sitting in
the living room.
    He heard her, but didn’t
turn. He just stared through the window up at the distant moon, as if it were
speaking directly to him.
    ***
    Skin easily pulls away from the flesh, having already
been carefully separated from the muscles and nerves of the leg. The flap of
skin is vestigial, only the casing of what had once lain beneath. Now it helps
conceal and protect the next section allocated for removal. Necessity demands
the sacrifice—love will reward it.
    ***
    Doctors’ bills piled up,
yet no one could diagnose Hugo. His health had degenerated, his energy gone.
Now unemployed, he sat in the house all day, waiting for the moon to appear in
the night sky. He barely moved and never spoke. None of the tests revealed a
disease, a virus or a pathogen; nothing could explain his decline.
    Bree became desperate. She
cooked every meal he’d ever liked, trying to entice him to eat. She begged and
cajoled him into walking around the block with her, hoping to pull him out of
whatever had grabbed hold of the man she loved.
    He’d become a mere memory
of the man who loved her. The man who laughed easily, who charmed the Jehovah’s
Witnesses at the door so much they now stopped by just to visit the “heathen
native” who lived here, had vanished.
    The doctors said it was
all in his mind, that he’d suffered a break from reality when his father passed,
his grief overwhelming him—too much for him to bear. Bree tried to explain that
the loss of his father hadn’t been a tragedy, that they’d never been close and hadn’t
spoken in over a decade, but they ignored her in favor of the simple
explanation. They tossed about words like “institution” and “for his own safety,”
but Hugo remained silent.
    Having exhausted all the
medical options available, Bree expanded her search, calling holistic healers,
acupuncturists, and finally Hugo’s sister. He’d never wanted to have contact
with her or any of his family after he’d left home at the age of fifteen,
wanting to escape anything that reminded him of his childhood.
    Now, Bree had run out of
ideas. She hoped the woman she’d met only once years ago could somehow offer
some real help. Doing something— anything —was better than doing nothing,
and this seemed her last hope.
    Rita was a quiet woman
whose feathers never seemed to get ruffled. Bree’s feathers, on the other hand,
remained in a constant state of ruffling. Hugo spoke fondly of his sister
sometimes,