Sofa, So Good
Jenny Santini was quite certain that her couch was trying to eat her.
She hadn't mentioned it to anyone – especially Jonah, since he already thought she was crazy – but she was certain. Certain enough that she started sitting the chair, and watching the black-leather monstrosity with angry eyes. No one else who sat on the couch had the same problems she did, and seemed to find the plush leather comforting, often sinking back into it with an audible sigh.
Jonah had asked her to join him there tonight for a movie, but she claimed a backache and said that the old chair would be better for her injury. He'd given her that look, the one that said “not the crazy again”, but hadn't said a word about it otherwise. He was a good man, her Jonah, and she knew that he had to put up with a lot.
The movie he'd picked wasn't very good – something about space-fights and cowboys, and it couldn't hold Jenny's attention for long. As always, her eyes drifted to the windows of the room, part of her straining to break through one and escape into the night. The medicine she was on helped to control that urge, and it had worked so well that many of the restrictions the doctor had placed on her had been lifted. It was nice to finally have the locks off of all the doors and be able to come and go as she pleased, to think that if she wanted to go outside she could, even if Jonah wasn't up for taking her.
He tried his best, he really did, but with a wife that had been in and out of mental institutions for five years, there was a lot on his plate. Jonah made enough to support them both, since working outside their small home wasn't something she'd ever be able to do, and in return she tried to take care of him whenever he was home. It was tough when her illness reared its head, sending her into a spiral of depression or more recently, anger. Jonah endured it all with saintly patience, but she could tell that even his limits were starting to be reached. She knew he was considering leaving her, but didn't spend too much time thinking about it. There was nothing she could do it if happened.
Of course, there were ways she could make it worse, ways she could drive him away even faster if she tried, and mentioning the couch would be at the top of the list. “Inanimate personification” was at the top of one of her charts, right next to “creative arachnophobia”. She knew the spiders crawling on the ceiling in ordered rows weren't real, no matter how hairy their legs were and how engorged they might be with poisonous webbing. The medicine helped her understand that they were just fluff, just smoke from her mind that was trying to blind and confuse her.
She could go to bed, even though she knew sticking her feet under the cover meant risking the bites of a thousand deadly snakes, and she could even shower on her own, despite the crawling notion that ants were going to come pouring out of the shower head and rip into her wet flesh.
The medicines did nothing to help with the couch.
Even now, looking at it from across the room, she knew it was staring back. Its middle cushion had depressed over the years, giving it the look of a wide smile, and two buttons on its back gave it darkened eyes, eyes that stared at her no matter where she went in the room. Jonah sat in one of the seats at the edge, oblivious and unconcerned about the fact that his furniture wanted to eat his wife.
“You sure you don't want to sit over here, honey?” Jonah's voice was deep and confident, and it was hard for her to say no. Her husband was a handsome man for forty – and most thought he was at least five years younger than that. Still trim and fit, he had lost none of his wavy blond hair, and had brown eyes she could easily get lost in. His tone told her what he was hoping for; they hadn't been intimate in months, and she knew she owed him that much, at least, but there was no way she could even think about sex if she was anywhere near the couch. The bed was out of the question as well, and the kitchen...
“No, I'm fine here, thanks,” she said, then paused. “I love you.”
Jonah grunted in response. She was losing him, but she couldn't seem to do a thing about it. Tears welled up behind her eyes but wouldn't come; the medicine prevented them.
***
He didn't want to leave his wife, but he wasn't sure what other options were left. He'd given her everything he had, and he knew she'd done her best, but she needed more care than he could offer.
“Jonah...” the voice whispered, but he ignored it and shifted hard on the the couch, causing a small cry of pain from the beast underneath him. He had to assume that his wife's crazy was finally rubbing off on him, since there was no way that his couch was actually trying to eat him. He turned the large furniture piece over and upside down the last time Jenny was down for her nap and found nothing, so him catching a case of the crazies was the only answer.
Saying something to Jenny was out of the question; she had enough problems already and he didn't want to make things any worse for her. She deserved to live the best life he could.
Gritting his teeth, he tried to pay attention to the movie – some nonsense action flick he had picked up – and tried to put crazy notions out of his head.
It didn't work; Jonah Santini was quite sure his couch was trying to eat him.
- D
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