not letting stray and flippant feelings come into his mind for me to pick up on. It was actually quite nice, because I felt like he finally believed I was an empath, and he was helping me control it so I could love him myself.
Work was picking up, though, and Richard spent a lot of time at the office, trying to stay on top of it all. He was hoping to make partner soon. I was so proud of him, but I missed him being home so much. He was gone most nights until after I had already climbed into bed, and he didn't even bother waking me any more when he came home. We became a bit distant, and it was a lot harder to read his emotions. It was like he was a stranger on the street where I could only feel and sense little things, surface things. I feared I was losing my strong connection to him, and I didn't want that to happen.
So that night, I decided to wait up for him instead of going to bed. When he walked in the door, I greeted him with a big hug and a kiss. Richard immediately moved away from me, pulling back both physically and emotionally. What was that I sensed in him? I think it was guilt. Yes, that was it, guilt. I felt it.
Sadness? Yes, there was also some sadness there. I didn't know what was going on, but I didn't like what I was feeling from him, that's for sure.
I asked Richard about it, and he mumbled something under his breath while he hung his suit jacket in the closet. I grabbed his arms and turned him around, saying, "Richard, what is it? Why are you feeling this way? What have you done?"
Done?
I have no idea where that question came from, but that was the impression on my mind. Richard had done something, and he felt guilty about it. Richard turned his back on me, hung his head, and that's when I could feel the sadness creep in further. He mumbled something, though I'm not sure what it was. I think he said, "I'm sorry."
He walked into the kitchen and I stood in the doorway with my mouth open, my heart racing… What did he do? What is he sorry about? What is the guilt? The thoughts were racing in my mind. I opened myself up, allowed myself to connect to Richard in a way that I hadn't since the night I burned all my things in the fireplace, letting myself explore his feelings.
That's when it hit me.
That's when I realized why he felt guilty.
Richard was having an affair.
My mind was numb, but I could sense it from him. After all, I am an empath.
I ran into the kitchen, throwing open the door, knocking a hole in the wall from the door handle, so yes, I guess you could say I was upset. Richard was sitting at the kitchen table with some type of alcoholic beverage in his hand. With his other hand, he was holding a gun on the table in front of him. I asked him why he had a gun out. He said it was for protection. When I asked, "Protection from what?" he simply picked up the gun and waved it in my direction.
There was a moment of silence before I finally spoke and very quietly asked, "Are you having an affair?"
There was a heavy pause that hung in the air between us, filled with tension, before Richard finally sighed and turned his head to look at me.
"Yes," was his softly spoken reply. "I'm sorry, but things just got too much to handle, you and your empathic bullshit, and having to take the blame for everything, walk on eggshells, guard my emotions. It's just too damned much for me. It's too much!"
I stood there, stunned. I didn't know what to say, but through my connection with Richard, I could sense his struggle. If you want to know the truth, I wasn't even angry, because I could feel how sad he was. Being an empath, I became sad for him.
Watching Richard down his drink, I could tell he'd had a few other drinks that night before he came home. It was very easy for me to connect to him and feel his emotions. He wasn't as guarded as he had been the last few months. I could clearly feel all the anger, frustration, sadness, guilt--fear?
That's when the words entered my head…
It was as though I could hear words formed in the emotions in my head as clearly as I could if they were my own thoughts. But they were not my thoughts. It was Richard's emotions, screaming at me, "I just want to die…"
He was so miserable.
I was shaking, so scared. I looked at the gun in his hand, and wondered if that's what he had planned--to kill himself. I couldn't help the fear, because I was feeling what Richard was feeling… he was not happy. He was so sad. I didn't want him to be sad anymore. I wanted the sadness to stop. I didn't want him to have to deal with the guilt.
I walked to the sink and reached out for the countertop to steady myself. I tried to shake the thoughts and emotions flowing into and out of my head, but they rattled around. I couldn't get them out. I tried. I tried to open my mouth to speak, but I couldn’t.
Oh, you asked about the hole in the ceiling?
Well, standing there at the sink, those horrible feelings of Richard wanting to die flowing into me, I had to make them stop. So I grabbed the knife, the big one here on the table in the plastic baggy. Without thinking, I turned and plunged it into Richard's back. Remember, I said earlier his hand was on the gun on the table? Well, when the knife hit him, his hand jerked up, still holding the gun. A shot fire, hitting the ceiling before Richard slumped and fell out of the chair, the gun sliding across the table.
I grabbed the gun quickly so it wouldn't fall off the table and maybe fire again or something. I ran over to Richard, knelt beside him and said, "It's going to be okay, baby. I understand what you need me to do. It's going to be okay."
Richard looked up at me and asked in a chocked voice, "Why are you doing this?"
I said to him, "There can only be one reason. Some part of you wants me to."
That's when I shot him. I knew he wanted me to kill him, because as soon as his body slumped and he breathed his last breath, the feelings and thoughts of wanting to die that I'd felt from him left me. They were just gone.
So you asked me to write about what happened, and I have. I'm almost out of room on the back of the second page, and that nice officer at the door just peeked his head in and asked me if I was finished writing my confession, so I guess I should bring this to a close.
It's not really my confession though, because I didn't want to kill Richard. As you can see, he wanted me to do it, so I'm not to blame, right?
I only did what he wanted me to do, because I didn't want him to suffer those horrible feelings any longer. He's free now, so I did a good thing. I can feel it.
Anyway, I didn't realize I was writing a confession, detective. You only asked me if I would write my story about what happened. I had to write it for you, because I could sense form you that you would be really happy if I wrote this story for you. I wouldn't have written it if some part of you didn't want me to.
After all, I am an empath.
###
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Michelle Devon (Michy) is a freelance writer, author, novelist and award-winning poet… she's also a professional dreamer.
If interested in learning more about Michelle Devon, visit her website at www.MichelleLDevon.com or you can join her writers forum that was voted the third best writers forum on the internet by the Preditors & Editors Reader's Choice Awards, at www.AccentuateWriters.com
If you are an author and would like a free author's interview or book review, visit Michelle's book review website for more information at: MichysBookReviews.com
Empath Page 2
