[ WP ] A schizophrenic falls in love with one of her hallucinations .

`` Have you been taking your pills?'' Rob asked. He had a small dish rag draped over his shoulder. He was bouncing his leg in and out as he did the dishes, that same nervous tick he always did whenever they got on the subject of her medication. He did n't turn to look at her, signaling her that he really was n't in the mood to go into it today. 
 
 She stood from the kitchen table, grabbing her plate full of food that she had barely touched. Pamela emptied it into the wastebasket, wondering if she had it in her to lie to Rob today, or if the truth would sort of fall out of her lips like a drip of water from a leaky faucet. 
 
 `` I think,'' she said, setting down the plate. 
 
 `` You need to remember to take it,'' Rob said, not bothering to look at her. 
 
 `` I'll go count my pills, just to make sure.'' She placed a hand on his shoulder, standing up on her tip-toes to give him a kiss on his cheek, but she stopped partway on her toes. Instead, she let go, and walked away from him, hoping that he did n't notice anything. 
 
 Rob did n't say anything as she left the kitchen. She think she heard him sigh, but it could've been the hallucinations coming back, signs that the medicine was finally leaving her system. 
 
 She made her way up the stairs, down the hallway lined with pictures of her and Rob. Most of them from their wedding, a couple from times out with friends. All of them were old, more than three or four years. There were n't any pictures of them together after she started having her symptoms. Started hearing noises, starting seeing shadows in the corners of her eyes, started waking up not knowing where she was. 
 
 On one morning she had found a man in her closet. Well, she did n't actually see him, but she knew he was standing there, watching her through the slits in the door. She knew he held a long rusty chain in his hands that were stained with motor oil. His breath smelled of chewing tobacco, sweet and acrid at the same time, filling the bedroom with a stench that Rob had said he could n't smell. 
 
 She entered her bedroom, eyes immediately going to the closet door, sensing the presence of the man with the chain. She could hear him breathing, deep sighing breaths full of desire. The chains he held clinked together as he shifted his footing. She braced herself, waiting for him to burst through the door and finally strangle her with the chain. 
 
 But he never did. Sitting on her end-table was another man. He wore a button down shirt that he occasionally changed; today's was red. His hair was kind of long and messy, but on certain days, depending on how much medicine she had been taking, he would comb and clean it. Today it was parted to the side. 
 
 He did n't say anything during the day, instead he just had his eyes focused on the closet door, watching the man with the chain. He was her guardian, her forever protector. He shifted on the end-table. 
 
 `` You can sit on the edge of the bed,'' Pamela said, `` it's probably much more comfortable than on the table.'' 
 
 Her guardian did n't say anything, he only smiled at her. He was feeling much better now. The medicine was making him sick. Was making him weak. When she had first started taking it, he became ragged, weak, clothes stained with sweat as if it took everything he had just to remain tangible. His hair was a mess, and his eyes were red with exhaustion. 
 
 The man in the closet, though, his presence never faltered. Instead, she felt him grow stronger, knowing full well that her guardian was growing weak. *Vulnerable. * Her guardian never said anything to her, but she knew it was the medicine, knew it was sapping the life out of him. 
 
 So she stopped taking her medicine in hopes it would bring vigor back to her guardian, and it did. The man in the closet was held at bay for many more nights. 
 
 `` He has n't moved any, has he?'' She asked. 
 
 Her guardian looked to her, blue eyes locking with her browns. He smiled again and shook his head. 
 
 `` Do you ever talk any?'' 
 
 He shrugged. 
 
 `` What is your name? Can you at least tell me that?'' 
 
 He did n't respond. Instead he broke their eye contact to continue focusing on the closet door, as if the only thing that was keeping the door shut was his concentration. 
 
 Later that night, while Pamela and Rob lay sleeping, she felt a hand rest on her shoulder. She did n't wake with a fright; she instantly knew it was her guardian. 
 
 `` Jim,'' he said. Then he pulled the blanket up over her exposed shoulder, then sat back onto the end-table, ever vigilant. 
 
 The next morning, Rob found her pills, still filling the orange prescription bottle to the brim. He shook his head, wondering why she would ever stop taking them. 
 
 Later in the day he contacted their doctor, told him that Pam was n't taking her pills, and was given a prescription for a liquid variant of the medicine. It would be easy to mix it into her food and drink, guaranteeing that she would be getting her dose.
