I was deep asleep having that dream again, the one where I was stuck wearing that damn headpiece again. Pointy on the outside, pointy on inside the thing was just torture to wear.

I mean this in a very little sense, the helmet was pretty just a lopsided cube, with thick spikes driven through it. It’s weight was always about one hundred pounds too heavy.

On the first days that was enough weight to keep me pinned to the ground. Eventually I did get stronger, but it stayed heavy. It was never ‘not’ a burden. Just heavy enough that I could just barely stay upright.

The thing had no eye-holes, so I wouldn’t have been able to see even if there wasn’t a huge spike running through my ocular cavities. The thick metal plates cut off all sound so I was also deaf, while I wore the thing.

The thing was welded shut, cutting off all the air, so I was always in a state of permanent suffocation.

If death was a thing in that place I would have and should have died, but it wasn’t, so I didn’t. I just had to tough it out and eventually when I ran out of blood, tears and vomit, I did. I might have lost my mind a little but I got through it.(Kind of…)

In short it was a bad time all around, except not really. I’d unfortunately live to find that having to wear that helmet was ‘that’ world’s easy mode. It “wasn’t” the worst thing that could or would happen to me while I was in that place.

When worse things came, rather than being a nightmare, it’d become something I dreamt of. Something I desired. A simpler, less painful time that I would think of (almost) fondly when my memories of my real home started to fade.

*****

There was a knock on my bedroom door, which woke me almost instantly because while I wasn’t a light sleeper by any means, I wasn’t the sort whose lights stayed out when things started going bump in dark.

Still sleepy, I got up to see who it was and ended up being shocked awake. First I was startled then I felt embarrassed and then I felt awkward.

Fifty percent of that awkwardness was because I maybe might have yelped a little when I saw her. Her pale face hidden in shadow of her tangled, dark, lank, locks.

If it weren’t for the fact that it was still relatively bright outside, I might have closed the door in face out of reflex.

Instead I made myself say,

“....Hi. D-, do you need something?”

To which responded,

“Oh, no. I was...uh..about to get dinner started I was just wondering if you wanted anything special.”

“Er...no thanks.... Thanks for asking though.” I said. Finding myself playing that game again. You know, the one where I pretend to be normal person instead of a randy, lackwit?

*****

Heaven help me, I think I have a crush on my wife...I mean Cornelius’ wife. As to how this happened, I have two going theories. The first is that it has something to do with an odd, funny, not funny moment, where I realized the clerk from the Hunter Offices.

Its not that great a story really. I got off the bus, when I realized that the clerk was following, making her way up the walkway. I spent half a minute wondering what the hell was going on, when I suddenly realized that the pretty clerk, that I’d been trying not to ogle, was Agnes.

Her long black hair was pulled up in a bun and her deathly pale complexion had been warmed up a bit, with a little blush and foundation. It wasn’t magic, it just make up and grooming.

Thinking about it now, I feel like a moron for not recognizing her, but somehow connecting the pretty miss at the counter and the gaunt shade that haunts Corny’s house was likely always going to be a bit beyond me.

Toss in the fact that’d I’d been trying to avoid her, for reasons I can’t fully explain but had seemed sensible at the time and one could understand why I hadn’t recognized my wife of nearly a decade's time.

The second cause for my crush was tied to the first and also had a lot to do with the fact that Agnes seemed to be an all-around nice person. Far nicer than a heel like Cornelius or a living oddity like me, deserved.

Imagine it, imagine, being alone for a very long, or rather imagine being a stranger in strange land, or imagine stacking the two. Making it so you’ve simultaneously not seen or talked to anyone in forever, and now suddenly find yourself a fish out of water.

Now add to those imagines, a hypothetical person, whose of your sex of preference, and apparently has traits that could make heart beat just a little bit faster. I believe that all of that, added together amounts to fairly justified grounds for the formations of a crush.

Whether intentionally or unintentionally I found my thoughts on her growing increasingly favorable in more ways than one.

I don’t intend to ever on these feelings of course. After all I’m wearing her dead husband’s face, I’m wearing her ‘abusive’ dead husband’s face. Thus any hopes of relationship or even a simple dinner date are out for reasons of logic and decency. But its fine, its just a crush.

Hollywood makes romance a tad too magical, in real life crushes go away all the time. I just have to wait. Eventually I’ll get over it.

*****

“Er...Corny, do you not like mashed potatoes?” asked Agnes. Likely noticing that I hadn’t touched my shepard’s pie even once.

“Um...n-,no it’s uh fine. Don’t mind me.” I said.Shaking my head. It really was fine, the one bite I took was pretty good. I just was too preoccupied with other things to eat.

She stared at me, her expression concerned.

“Are you sure?”

“Uh...yes?” I said.

The concern didn’t go away but eventually she did return her attention to her own meal. We sat listening to the sound of cutlery scraping across the plates. Each of us inside our own heads.

*****

Now that I had a fairly decent amount of money saved up, I kind of wanted to move out. Speaking frankly, living in a dead man’s shadow was very stifling. It’d be one thing if the dead man in mention was decent, but my guy was trash.

Leaving scars and bad feelings in more than a few places. I kind of wanted to get away from that, maybe move to a new city and try to build a new identity for myself.

I’d discussed similar plans with Agnes and she’d seemed somewhat supportive, if not a little worried. Then I ended up marrying her, which meant for the sake of not giving the state any reason to question the marriage, I’d have to stick around a little longer.

Which meant this awkwardness would last a little longer. It’s fine, I can deal with it. I’ve grown tolerant to a lot of things over the past few decades.