Empath

by Michelle Devon

Published by

  Michelle Devon

  First Digital Edition

  NOTICE:

  This short story is a work of fiction. All characters, events, locations, and names are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to people, living or no longer living, real places, locations or situations is purely coincidental and unintended.

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  Copyright © 2011 Michelle Devon

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Empath

  A Short Story

  by Michelle Devon

  * * *

  Okay, here's the deal: I am an empath.

  I used to think that was a good thing, once I got used to it. I mean, after all, it's nice to be able to intuitively sense people's emotions, to know when someone is lying to me, to literally be able to feel what they are feeling. Now, I'm not sure it's a good thing. After all, I wouldn't be here today if I weren't an empath.

  Then again, I'm no ordinary empath. My ability to read people's emotions extends beyond just sensing them. I take on their emotions, as though they were my own. That's where the trouble began. That's what brought me here today.

  But I'm getting ahead of myself, and this wasn't what I was supposed to be writing about. It's just… it would make it easier for you to understand what you need to know if you understood I'm an empath. Richard never understood that--and look what happened.

  I guess it all began the day we met, Richard and I. Oh, he was a good-looking man, but to me, that just wasn't important. No, what really caught my attention with Richard was that I felt good when I was with him. I mean, he was always so happy and upbeat, positive. Even more than that, though, as we became closer and got to know each other better, Richard really started to have strong feelings for me. Being an empath, I could completely sense his love. There is nothing that feels quite as good to an empath as being with a person who likes them. I liked myself when I was with Richard, because Richard liked me.

  So when Richard asked me to marry him, of course, my answer was an immediate and resounding, "Yes!"

  The wedding itself was different. I could feel Richard's love for me, but I could also empathically sense the emotions of the guests at the wedding: Richard's family and friends, work associates, etc. They didn't like me very much. Most of them thought me strange, and the ones who didn't avoided me altogether. Yet Richard's love for me was so strong that, standing at the altar, I could sense only his emotions. The emotions of the others didn't come flooding in until later at the reception.

  I tried to explain this to Richard when he wanted to know why I was in such a hurry to leave the reception, but he didn't understand. Richard had never heard of such a thing as an empath, and he pretty much laughed at me for even suggesting such a thing existed. I knew better, though. I also knew that on our honeymoon, when I was able to really connect with and open up those feelings to Richard, he'd understand. So I let it slide for the moment, telling Richard I was just in a hurry to start our honeymoon and our wonderful life together. He bought that, for the time being.

  The honeymoon was wonderful, even more so than I had expected. Richard was happy, and that meant I was happy too. I remember the last night at the hotel on the beach. Richard and I were in bed, my head on his shoulder, and he asked, "What could have ever possessed you to marry a man like me?"

  He was joking, of course, but my response was a bit more serious when I laughed and said, "Well, Richard, as an empath, there can only be one reason I would marry you: some part of you wanted me to."

  I then kissed him on the nose, and we made love again, because, after all, I could sense that was what Richard wanted to do.

  The day the honeymoon ended, we came back to the city to start our life together, and I began to move my things into Richard's home. It was awkward at first, because I could sense from Richard that he wasn't too happy about the changes I had started making around the house. This, again, was both a blessing and a curse. You see, I had things belonging to me I wanted to share and have in our home together. At the same time, since I could empathically sense Richard's feelings on the matter, and took on his emotions as my own, slowly, my things began to not matter so much any more.

  I only have two pieces of paper to write on, so I guess I should make this brief. It's just so important that this part of it be understood, because it makes all the difference in the world to what happened next and why. I guess I'll skip ahead a little and write about the night I finally realized having all my things in Richard's home--our home--was causing him some distress.

  We'd had a fight that night, about three months after we were married, and I could sense from Richard he felt he was losing his identity. Well, I am an empath, so I completely understand losing identity. I lose my identity the minute someone with a strong personality walks in the room. While it was a bit different for Richard, I completely understood his feelings. Again, what I sensed was that most of it seemed to be focused on all the things I had moved into the house. He felt displaced.

  Well, after the fight, Richard was really upset with me. I could feel it and didn't have to be an empath to tell that time. But as his temper flared, something else I hadn't felt before washed over me. Richard was a man of powerful emotion. It was easy, as an empath, for me to know exactly what he wanted done.

  That night, while he was out with the guys, I gathered all my things I had moved into the house and made a pile on the rug in front of the fireplace. After lighting a fire, one by one, I began burning my things. While I waited for each item to burn before adding another to the flames, I put Richard's things back on the walls and around the house, exactly the way he had them before I moved in. I just knew Richard was going to be so pleased when he came home.

  Boy was I wrong.

  He wasn't pleased. He was pissed. Though I could sense that, after all, I am an empath, I could not figure out why. I mean, wasn't this what he'd wanted? Did I not sense he wished he could just burn my things?

  When he walked in the door, the first thing he said was, "What the devil are you doing?"

  I tried to explain to Richard that it was okay, because I knew he'd wanted me to burn my things, and I did it lovingly, for him. He said, "Why the hell did you do this? I never asked you to do this."

  My response again was simple. "The only reason I could have done this, Richard, was because some part of you wanted me to."

  He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, something he did when he was upset with me. He spent the rest of the night in his study, barely speaking to me, but he talked to someone on the phone. I could hear the words coming out through the door, but I couldn't make out the entire conversation. Things like, "Crazy… doctor… psychiatrist…"

  I wondered who he was talking to. He's an attorney, so I figured it must have been about one of his cases. Because I was an empath, I should have been able to sense what he was referring to on the phone, but he was so upset with me that all I could sense was his frustration and anger at what I had done. I didn't understand. I had sense so clearly that this was what he wanted me to do. Why was he angry?

  Right then, I vowed to work harder at interpreting the connection to emotions that I had with Richard. I wouldn't make the mistake of misunderstanding his personal feelings again. Later that night, when we were in bed, I apologized to Richard for having misunderstood him.

  He surprised me by saying something I wasn't expecting. "Maybe
there is something to your being an empath after all."

  Wow. I mean, I was shocked. He had always laughed at me every time I mentioned it. When I asked him what changed his mind, he said, "Well, there was a moment when you first moved in here and asked me where I wanted you to put something that I remember thinking to myself, 'why don't you just burn it…' Now, it was just a passing thought, and while I admit I laughed about it in my head a few times, I never meant for you to actually burn anything."

  Now, while Richard was sitting right here next to me on the bed, I could tell he was being completely honest. I could sense it from him and that made me sad, because I had just burned all my personal things. I realized then Richard had never really wanted me to do that. No wonder he was so angry.

  But thankfully, I knew he wasn't angry with me. No, he felt responsible and wished he'd never thought about me burning my things in the first place. Poor Richard. I felt so bad for him, because it was my fault, but there he was, ever gallant, taking the blame for me.

  He really loved me. What an amazing man.

  A few months later, life seemed to be going along pretty good for us. I was paying closer attention to Richard's thoughts and emotions so I didn't mix them up again, and he was being more careful about