Haunted Back

This is a short story that I wrote for Media Production & Storytelling class. Funny, because this was based on true story.

His large hands, with slender, long fingers, gripped my neck tightly. That night, I thought I would die at his hands. My vision blurred, and his face became unrecognizable. I was trapped on a small hotel bed in an obscure town in Japan. A thought crossed my mind: If I die here, I hope they can trace my body through the hotel’s CCTV.

For most people, being strangled must be a terrifying experience. But strangely, it wasn’t as bad as I had imagined. You wouldn’t even have time to feel pain. In fact, I managed to smile, laughing at my own foolishness. “How did it come to this?”

But I didn’t fight back. I surrendered myself to death at his hands—the hands of my fiancé, the man who was supposed to marry me six months ago. Ironically, this trip to Japan was meant to mend our broken relationship and revive the love I thought we would still have. Instead, it ended with his hands around my neck.

“Hahaha…” I chuckled softly, though the sound barely escaped my throat.

Suddenly, he let go. His hands dropped, and he stumbled toward the hotel room door. He slumped to the floor, screaming in frustration, no longer intent on killing me. That night, I didn’t die. Yet instead of relief, I felt disappointment. “Why didn’t I just die?” After enduring the pain of his years of infidelity, I now had to bear the knowledge that he was capable of killing me. And somehow, I was supposed to keep living, pretending everything was fine?

“I…” he stammered, his voice trembling. “I’ll book a flight tonight. You can finish the trip alone.”

“Yeah, go home. Our relationship is over. There’s nothing left to fix.”

Normally, I would’ve begged him to stay, thrown away my pride, and pleaded for forgiveness. I would usually have cried, humiliated myself, begging him to love me even harder—as if there was any love to begin with. But this time, it was different. I was exhausted, so I let him go. 

And instead of leaving, he froze. He sat motionless, staring at the stained carpet beneath his feet. Perhaps he was shocked—after all, it was the first time I had ever allowed him to walk away. And in his silence, he changed his mind. He didn’t book a flight. He didn’t leave. Instead, he stayed until the end of the trip.

It took me long to realize that I had been in a relationship with someone who is mentally ill. No words can fix the mess between us. After returning from that traumatic trip, I decided to disappear from his life entirely. And as I had suspected, now he’s the one haunting me.