Deducing Tragedy Part One: See No Evil

I was sitting in the chair. John left a few hours ago, muttering something about going to bash some sense into that man’s head. The room around me was quite; too quiet and I couldn’t take it anymore. Slowly I made my way over to the piano and lifted the cover. My fingers glided across the keys as I played. What else could it be but this song? What else could I do to tell them nothing while simultaneously telling them everything that mattered?

It had been two days since Sherlock left the flat. And in those two days The Monster has visited me four times. The first time he told me he got medication for his allergies to my cats. The second time he found Sherlock’s clothes in the closet we shared. The third time I was in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal while John was sitting in his chair reading the paper. The fourth time was last night when he tied me to the bed and raped me.

Part of me wanted to lash out, to scream at John and demanded to know how he was missing what was right in front of his face. The other part of me wanted to just lie on my bed and wait for Him to kill me. He told me once that those girls were to get my attention. He was telling me that he would kill me; one day it would be my flesh that his knife cut. I knew the end game for him, I’ve known for a long time. I think part of me was trying to delude myself into believing otherwise but I knew. I always knew.

Through the past seven years I’ve asked myself once question over and over again: how did I want to die? But as I sat there at the piano, I knew that that was the wrong question. With everything I went through, all the hell I survived, how I wanted to die didn’t matter. The question I should have asked myself was: how did I want to live? And there was only one answer to that question.

He was there, with me again. He was standing in the kitchen watching me as I played and sang. I could feel his eyes on my back but I didn’t flinch. I continued to play and sang with as much emotion and passion as I did before. Before I let him control me. I wouldn’t let that happen anymore, I wouldn’t let him hurt anyone anymore. And as my song came to a close I knew it was time, the song ended and I stood up. I grabbed a backpack, I’d placed aside earlier, my coat and walking stick.

Walking out the door I climbed into the cabby I called. “Where too ma’am?”

“The airport.”

“Taking a trip?”

“Moving,” I sighed. “I'm moving.”

“Or really? Where too?”

“France,” I forced a smile. “I'm going to stay with my cousins there until I have enough money to get myself a flat.”

“Well London will be sad to see you go.”

“I am a curse to London,” I muttered, closing my eyes and swallowing the lump that was rising in my throat.

“Hey wasn’t that the flat of the detective guy? What was his name...”

“Sherlock, his name is Sherlock.”

“You lived with him?”

“Yes.”

“What was that like? Living with a genius like him?”

“It was….” I trailed off. “Enlightening.” Compelling and forbidden in every sense of the word. “Being around Sherlock it was almost like I could see again.”

I hear him turn around to look, “huh, I didn’t realize you were blind.”

“Not many do,” I said with a hard chuckle. “I put on a good show apparently.”

“If you liked living with him so much why are you leaving?”

“Because,” I rested my head against the cold glass of the window. “My past was catching up with me. I couldn’t let it poison his life, I had to go.”

There was a pause from the Cabby, “you seem to care about him- Sherlock.”

“…And that…” I sighed, as I opened my eyes. “Is why I have to leave.”