Chrysalis

A dark streak slowly rolled beneath her glistening eyes.

I thought about the countless time she'd spent applying mascara and other beauty products, now ruined by the tears spilling from her perfect eyelids. What a waste.

"I've tried for so long to make you happy..." Hanna let out an unsteady sigh. Her shaking hands gripped the kitchen counter as if it was the only thing keeping her fragile world from crumbling away. I knew exactly what lies to say, soothing her frayed emotions with empty words.

But something held back my silver tongue. Perhaps I wanted this. For things to end, to finally give up on a troubled relationship limping along for months.

"At first I thought you changed, that something happened to make you this... cold. But I think you've always been this way. I was just too naive to see it." Hanna laughed bitterly, wiping away the damp sorrow. I examined her smudged cheeks thoughtfully, calculating my next words carefully.

But my indifference was shattered beneath her blunt insight.

"You have no remorse, Richard. Nothing affects you... It's like you don't even have a conscience." I blinked in surprise, struggling to process those words. Was this true? I did have feelings... Didn't I?

Hanna stared at me sadly, her expression turning a screw in my chest. It wasn't anger or grief, but pity.

I reeled from her as if she struck me. Staggering back, I leaned against the fridge and clutched at my aching heart. There was a dull, throbbing pain there; a buried sensation that begged to be set free. I just didn't know-how. It felt awful, like a sneeze that would never come. Tears that couldn't fall, as though my eyes were glued shut.

"I think you might be a sociopath, Richard." Hanna's calm voice cut through my inner turmoil, leaving stillness behind.

It all made sense.


Thinking back, I always craved excitement, a constant need for stimulation. Nothing was worse than stagnating, doing the same thing over and over left me feeling suffocated. I hated routine, going through the motions had me desperate for novelty, gasping for a breath of fresh air.

Wheezing, I lifted the heavy block of granite and adjusted it into place. A shadow fell over me as I finished. Behind me stood a red-bearded man, arms crossed.

"Heard you passed your interview." Able cocked a bushy eyebrow at me. "Didn't think you'd really go, kid." A mournful tone clung to his words, unspoken regret of losing a cherished coworker. One of the good ones, as we would say.

Smiling convincingly, I said they were offering more hourly and that my girlfriend didn't like me working overtime. "Hanna says she never sees me since I started here, it's much closer to home as well."

This was only partly true. Hanna never liked the long hours I spent toiling over brick walls and patios, learning the craft of stone masonry. The paychecks were able to mollify her discontent, however.

My qualms came from the tedious labor, I was tired of waking up early and going to bed late. I was elated to get an office job away from the elements and to learn something new. Most of the masons here would probably text me after I quit but I probably wouldn't respond.

Losing friends never felt impactful, I viewed them as temporary. A relationship created through time and proximity, nothing more.

After all, I moved so often as a child and went to so many different schools I learned not to develop attachments. Love is the tie that binds and I always wanted to be free. Instead of affection, I formed charm. People were drawn to my charisma, no wonder I never felt bad about abandoning my allies.

I could always get more.

Being whatever people wanted me to be was simple. They love talking about themselves. If you listen long enough you'll discover who they are looking for: a confidant, a drinking buddy, a companion... a lover. It was easy to slip into these personas, like wearing clothing. I had an outfit for every occasion, winning people over with my superficial charm as I figured out the optimal personality to fit them.

I was careful to keep my friend circles apart, compartmentalizing my separate identities. It was a game as if I was playing spy; disguising my true face from the world.

Harmless at first, until I became more active online. My sexual appetite was growing stale and the urges for some thrilling simulation began to gnaw inside me. I created some profiles on several intimate sites and began to try on some different outfits. And... occasionally taking them off.

Often I would accentuate my personas with plausible lies to add flavor to my backstory. On some websites, I was a struggling college student named Harry, a lonely English teacher named Rick, or even the cheerful trucker Charlie.

Each of these personas was warm and amiable. Women responded to my glibness with the heartfelt sincerity I lacked.

It was thrilling to pretend, fooling others into thinking what I wanted. I never intended to meet the people I exchanged photos with; that was how I justified my actions. Nothing was ever my fault. But it was... I just couldn't admit it to myself.

Just like I couldn't admit the darker urges pulling at me, ones that whispered strange things from the shadows of my mind. I usually ignored those... Usually.



Magnets fell from the fridge as I slid down it, sinking to the kitchen floor and hugging my knees. What was wrong with me? Why was I so empty inside, devoid of any real feeling? Hanna watched me, car keys dangling from her hand.

My mouth opened to tell her I needed psychiatric help but stopped before the words left my lips. Was I saying it because it would make her stay? Did I really mean it or was this just a reflexive lie to save my skin?

I didn't know who I was anymore.

The compartments holding my alternate identities were crumbling away, spilling into me. Shaking my head, I tried to knock them back into place but it was pure chaos.

A thought occurred to me as I cradled my whirling skull. I did this to myself, carving out pieces of my conscience after countless lies. Hollowing these insides from each betrayal. Corrupting my soul with every sin...

Along the way, I had nearly killed my true persona.


"You know what the difference between a psychopath and a sociopath is?" Hanna grimaced at me. From the floor, I dazedly shook my head.

"A psychopath doesn't have a conscience. I think you still have a moral compass, even if it's broken. Don't lose yourself to whatever it is you're going through, Rich." She opened the door and paused, biting her lip.

"Wait," I stood on uneasy legs. "You're right, I'm going through something I don't understand and I can't do it alone... I'm going to see a therapist or a shrink."

Turning back, Hanna glared at me. "I don't believe you. Why should I after all the lies?"

What could I say? Truly, I was disturbed after seeing my soul's reflection and wanted to be a better man for her. Honestly, Hanna deserved much better. She was always a kind loving person and never should have ended up with a monster like me. I was capable of change, I just knew it.

Staggering over to the phone, I announced that I was doing it right now, see if she didn't believe me. But after reaching it, I stopped. Next to the handset sat the wooden knife block.

Wouldn't it be easier to just kill what little remained of myself, rather than go through months of psychotherapy? It's better to feel numb inside. The thoughts hissed in my ear, sinister urges telling me what to do.

"Richard? Are you going to call or what?" Hanna's voice drifted through my dark reverie.

I smiled brightly. "Of course, darling." My hand nervously twitched between redemption and damnation.

It was such an easy decision.