For better, for worse

(Image source: Wix Image Creator)

Age rating: 16+

Trigger warning: Chronic illness of a loved one/ loss of a loved one

'How long is too long before we accept that the groom would never show up?’  was the question no one could give a voice to, so half of the crowd resorted to leaving while the other half waited for the bride to stop waiting.

The bride played with the loose fabric of her gown, tapping her feet against the ground, willing the groom to come. 

Until the remaining bit of the crowd left as well. One would think the bride would follow, tired, resigned, reluctant…and she almost did, until a familiar hand enveloped hers. His touch was warm like it had always been. His hand gently lifted her chin slightly. 

Exhaustion, fear, and regret written all over his face- an explanation of its own. The bride didn’t throw questions at him. Those could wait. She was too happy he made it.

They always existed in a team for two. He was always her constant, even when the crowd believed him to have left, here he was with her. The team she had once questioned the existence of- back stronger than ever. 

That’s how Mr. and Mrs. Sparks got married without a priest or guests. 

“For better, for worse, 

for richer, for poorer, 

in health and sickness

till death do us part”

After fifteen years, Mrs. Sparks continues to cherish her wedding memories regardless of their nature. She fondly shares the story with guests and colleagues over dinner parties. She doesn’t narrate a single incident without ensuring she gets all the details correct. So until she recalls what exact shade of flowers Mr. Sparks first bought for her, the guests would have to wait. 

When they ask her about Mr. Sparks, she tells them about his extreme social anxiety. A disorder of sorts making him comfortable nowhere outside the threshold of his house. 

As neighbourhood rumours go, word had it that Mrs. Sparks had been faking her husband’s illness all this time. That she was possessive over him- she’d rather have him stay home 24x7 than risk the possibility of him talking to another woman. The neighbourhood ladies wouldn’t know for sure though, no one would, since no one really met him. 

Mrs. Sparks may have caught a hint of the rumours flying around at that dinner party. The colour of her face faded to a pale white. A strange kind of homesickness engulfing her. She left rather abruptly, skipping the desserts. 

When she opened the door to her house, she was greeted by her husband’s cheerful voice, which dropped an octave after he saw his wife all drained. He could tell this wasn’t an isolated incident. If it was, she wouldn’t have been returning home all worn down multiple times in succession. She was supposed to be the party soul amongst the two. Yet here she was, fallen to her knees. Mr. Sparks immediately dropped to his knees, pulling her into a hug. 

She closed her eyes shut. Her sobs getting slower as a familiar comfort held her. There were gazillion things to be taken care of, but in that moment she could let herself breathe in peace. Beacause Mr. Sparks was here, and everything would be okay. She whispered under her breath, “you’re so perfect, sometimes I wonder if you’re even real” 

“That’s because I’m not” 

Mrs. Sparks laughed lightly, but alone. It took her a moment to realize he was dead serious. The ache in her chest bugging her ever since she was a little girl returned. All her moments with Mr. Sparks flashed by her eyes, along with the strange looks she got from people watching her talk to, well, nobody. She hadn’t given a care in the world then. She closed her eyes again, trying to make it go away like a nightmare you desperately need to wake up from. When she opened her eyes, her husband watched her with helpless eyes. 

“So you are…” she tried, but her sobs kept her from saying it all. 

“An illusion your mind wants you to believe” Mr. Sparks completed for her. 

Mr. Sparks positioned himself across her. She kept looking at him. What if she never made that comment about him being unreal? Could she go back to how her life was? Can you unlearn something of that magnitude? 

“No, you cannot”, said Mr. Sparks, reading her mind quite literally. 

He went on to add in his reassuring sugar sweet voice, “But if it makes you feel any better, at least you aren’t a part of them”

“Them, who?”

“The rest of the world, living their entire lives without ever knowing how much of it is an illusion” 

Mrs. Sparks couldn’t help but adoringly smile at her husband, a new memory now forming shape in place of those tears. Her wedding vows and her medical report of a lifelong illness. 

“You may have learnt about me being an illusion but you never have to worry about us parting ways, darling” Mr. Sparks spoke again and fast, before she could voice her concern. Warmth made its way to her heart as they both spoke, at once, 

“till death do us part” 

They hugged each other and she let go of her worries in his arms. They stayed cuddled like that all night. Next day when the ambulance arrived, she was barely breathing. Her condition was just enough alright to call for help. She had gathered by then that calling Mr. Sparks wasn’t the same as calling for help. Yet he was the one in whose arms she let her last breath slide. Her last thought was from the previous night, “till death do us part”, she said it now to- what some may call her illness. To her, a companion. With that she slipped to the other side of life, with him. 

And they said she died of loneliness. 

***

Author's note: This particular piece came from a concept I've always wanted to try. However, I'm not romanticising mental illness or disorders in any way. Rather, the character I have portrayed is intended to serve as an example of how fatal disorders can get if not treated in the stipulated period. The idea that certain patients consider their illness as their companions after a point, struck me as a poetic thought and inspired me to explore the genre.