My girlfriend isn’t real. I mean, of course she’s real, but she’s not the girl I know. She’s not the girl I woke up next to every day since we moved in together. I need help, but you need to know the story.
Seven months ago Melissa and I moved in together, and we had been dating for a year prior to that. It was the first apartment for either of us, and she more than I was exceptionally excited to finally share a place. She used to say that it would make us closer and more in tune with one another, and I simply nodded along. Mostly I just wanted to get the hell out of my parents’ house. They were nice people, but at 23, I had enough of it.
The process went smoothly all things considered. Mel differed to me on a bunch of decision I didn’t really care about, but it made her smile when I scrunched up my face and pretended to think really hard, so I did it for her. We picked out the third… or fourth apartment we ended up seeing, and spent way too much time decorating and picking out details that really didn’t matter. Overall though, no complaints.
This began late into our second month living under the same roof.I slept later than she did, always. I worked later into the evenings so it wasn’t uncommon for me to sleep at one or two in the morning. As far as I knew though, I never woke her up crawling into bed.One night I crawled in to bed, careful not to kick the computer chair that Mel ALWAYS left too far away from the desk, and lay down on my back, arms folded under the pillow supporting my head. I could feel her body shift over to face me as she snuggled her head onto my chest directly under her chin. My eyes were closed and I didn’t know if she was awake or not, but I distinctly remember her muttering softly, telling me to go to sleep.
I did, and I wish I hadn’t.I never remember my dreams. Melissa and I always joked that my mind was a blank and that there was nothing worth remembering going on up there. This one I remembered.I was in my… our apartment, but all the furniture was missing. The only thing that remained was our cheap green faux-leather couch that came with the apartment. I remember that the front door opened and I expected Mel to slump through the way she always did when she got off work, but I was greeted with the graceful sashay of another woman, one that I had never seen.
She was tall and pale with long black hair, with a slender neck that sloped into a petite torso. She had the prototypical hourglass shape, with large breasts and full hips bookending a tiny waist. She was absolutely gorgeous, and she showed it off wearing a tight black dress that revealed far too much to be considered formal wear. Unable to look away, her eyes met mine and she smiled the devious smile a high school cheerleader might flash when she finally decided to succumb to the desires of the school jock. She walked towards me, and sat on her knees next to me, leaning forward until our lips met. She ran her hands up and down my chest, and before I knew it I found myself laying on top her, kissing her neck.
It all went downhill from there. I don’t remember if it was something I did or didn’t do, but the next time I looked her in the eyes she was dead. My eyes grew wide as I shook her trying to incite a response, but it was to no avail and when the reality of the situation finally hit my dream-self, I woke up.
I was cold and incredibly uncomfortable. I soon knew why. Melissa was sitting up in bed cross-legged holding the covers that had once been keeping me warm between her hands, and she was staring directly at me.
“You were cheating on me,” she said, coldly.
I was horrified. There was no way she could know, and no rational person could ever consider what happened in my dream cheating, but I could tell from the blackness of her eyes that she wasn’t in the mood to be rational. I never lied to Melissa before, but for whatever reason I lied that night. I couldn’t let her know she was right. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t.
I finished that night on the couch unsurprisingly, and I assumed that would be the end of it. It only got worse.
Melissa never sleeps with me anymore. She didn’t since the night I had that dream. And I don’t mean she sleeps in a guest room or on the couch, I mean she doesn’t sleep. At all. She is perfectly content sitting there while my eyes grow heavier and heavier with each blink, as she runs her index and middle fingers down my throat. Since that night I’ve never seen her sleep a wink.
She pretends she still loves me, but I know better. When she makes supper I can see her stare at me from the kitchen with those coal-black eyes, the eyes that are not of the woman I fell in love with. To be honest I’m not sure if I love her anymore either.
Last month I lost my job. The perils of being replaceable I guess, but when I first heard the news I breathed a sigh of relief knowing that Mel was at least well paid. When I broke the news to her, she called her boss and quit on the spot. Her excuse? That we had money saved up and she wanted to make sure I was okay during the day. Bullshit.
You have to understand me because no one else does. Melissa doesn’t want me to leave the apartment. She doesn’t want me to leave her. I don’t know if it’s to keep me in line or not, but I’m honestly afraid. I think this woman will kill me. I didn’t used to think she would be able to harm anyone or anything, but that was a different Melissa. That was the woman with the bright blue eyes, the perfectly groomed nails, and the naïve mind. This Melissa could kill. The one with eyes glazed over like a shark smelling blood. The one with the cracked, unpainted nails ready to showered in red. The one with cold, calculating brain thinking about how she might go about it and get away.
Every morning I wake up and I’m prisoner in my own apartment. Every afternoon I’ve already spent hours having her eyes bore through my skull. Every evening I have to fight sleep, while out of the corner of my eyes I see her smile grow wider and wider and she senses I’m getting tired. Every night I have to rest while she seemingly doesn’t, giving her precious hours to plan.
I don’t know who she is, but this isn’t my girlfriend. This Melissa can’t be real. Please believe me…
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Credits to: photofreecreepypasta
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