Diary Of A Depressed Virgin

Chapter 4 - So This Is Loss

I rushed back home. My colleague promised to cover the meeting due to the emergency.

As I entered the house, I was immediately welcomed by a worried Martha. The house was quiet.

"Did something happen? Did anyone get hurt? Where is Jessica?"

So many thoughts went through my mind. I didn’t even let Martha get a word out before concluding so many things already.

“What happened?”, I asked.

“Where’s Jess?”

“She’s upstairs,” Martha responded.

“It was horrible. Helen left. Didn’t even say anything to me.”

“What about the baby?”, I asked.

“She’s asleep. I made sure to put her to sleep before it escalated.”

I hurried upstairs. Didn’t know what I would say. I just wanted to see her. I have never seen Jess violent before. I walked into our bedroom to see a colossal mess. Clothes scattered everywhere. Dents at every corner of the room. The conflict was really serious.

“Did Jess do all this?”, I wondered to myself.

Jess was sitting in a chair facing away from the entrance. I don't think she knew I came in. I don’t think she even cared.

“Jess?”, I called softly.

To my surprise, she slowly turned around. Her eyes were puffy with tears, her cheeks wet with them. My soul melted as I quickly went over to embrace her. She burst into tears again. This was so overwhelming. I didn't even care anymore about what happened, I didn't want to know. Nothing mattered anymore. Jess was all that mattered to me at that moment.

“It’s alright. I’m here”. That’s all I could say.

“Please don’t leave me again,” she whimpered.

With so much conviction in my voice, I replied:

“I won’t. I will never leave you again.”

The next day came. It felt different. The house felt different. Heavier. Like the air itself was holding its breath.

I stood in the living room, my hands shoved deep into my pockets, trying to steady my nerves. Martha had been pacing back and forth for what felt like hours, muttering prayers under her breath. Her face was tight with worry, her usual calm demeanor replaced by something darker, more urgent.

“Mom,” I finally said, breaking the silence. “What’s going on? You’ve been acting strange all morning.”

She stopped pacing and turned to me, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and determination.

“Dan, we need to do something about Jessica. This… this isn’t normal. What happened yesterday—it wasn't just stress or tiredness. There’s something deeper going on.”

I frowned, my stomach twisting into knots.

“What are you talking about? She’s just… going through a tough time. The baby, the sleepless nights—it’s a lot for anyone.”

Martha shook her head, her voice firm.

“No, Dan. This is spiritual. I’ve seen it before. The way she’s been acting, the blank stares, the distance—it’s like she’s not even herself anymore. She needs serious prayers.”

Before I could respond, there was a knock at the door. Martha hurried to open it, and in walked Pastor Stephen from her church, followed by two other women from the church. They carried Bibles and bottles of olive oil, their faces solemn but resolute.

My heart sank.

“Mom, what is this?”

Martha turned to me, her expression pleading.

“Dan, please. You have to trust me. We need to do this. For Jessica, for the family and for all of us.”

I wanted to argue, wanted to object, to tell her this wasn’t the right way, but the look in her eyes stopped me. She was scared—truly scared—and for the first time, I felt that fear too. Maybe for the first time in my life I have reached a problem that naturally can’t be solved. Maybe I really need the help of God.

Jess was in the bedroom, sitting on a chair in the corner of the room as she normally does.

She looked… empty. Her eyes were fixed on the window, her hands resting limply on her lap. She didn’t react when we walked in, didn’t even seem to notice we were there.

Pastor Stephen stepped forward, his voice calm but commanding.

“Sister Jessica, we came here to pray for you.”

She didn’t respond.

“If you can hear us, we’re here to deliver you in the name of Jesus Christ"

Jessica still didn’t respond.

The two women from the church go over to corner her, their voices rising in prayer.

“In the name of Jesus Christ our lord and savior, we rebuke every evil spirit tormenting our sister! Every spirit of depression, of confusion, of despair—we cast you out!”

Martha joined in, her voice trembling but fierce.

“Amen! Break every chain, Lord!”

I stood in the corner, my heart racing. This felt wrong. Jessica wasn’t possessed—she was hurting. She was lost. But as I watched her, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Her blank stare, her complete lack of reaction—it was like she wasn’t even there.

Pastor Stephen stepped closer, his hand raised.

“In the name of Jesus, I command every evil spirit to leave this woman! You have no place here!”

Jessica slowly turned to me, her eyes empty but locked onto mine. Everyone else had their eyes closed, but not us. She didn’t even say a word, but her eyes screamed at me, though they were dim.

They were filled with hurt, betrayal and sadness. So is Jessica evil now? Is this how we see her? I promised I'd be there for her. I promised her I'd never leave her. But now, it felt like I failed her.

What could I do? What could I have done? I don’t know, I just froze there and let it happen.

I woke up early the next morning. The house was quiet. Too quiet.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my head in my hands, trying to process everything that happened the day before. The prayer session, Jessica’s state—it all felt like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.

But now, sitting in the silence, I felt more lost than ever.

Jessica wasn’t in bed with me.

“She’s probably in the bathroom.” I thought to myself.

How can we start over? What can I say to her that I haven’t already said before? It didn’t matter. I just wanted to see her. I wanted to reassure her. I wanted to embrace her and do better.

I walked to the bathroom, my footsteps echoing in the silence. The door was slightly ajar, and I pushed it open, my heart beating fast in my chest.

The sight that greeted me stopped me dead in my tracks.

Jessica was on the floor, her back against the bathtub, her wrists slashed open. Blood pooled around her, staining the white tiles, and it was a deep, dark red. Her eyes were closed, her face pale and lifeless.

“Jessica!” I screamed, rushing to her side.

I dropped to my knees, my hands trembling as I reached for her. Her skin was cold, her body limp. I pressed my fingers to her neck, searching for a pulse, but there was nothing.

“No, no, no…” I screamed, my voice breaking. “Jessica, please… please don’t do this…”

I grabbed a towel from the rack and pressed it to her wrists, trying to stop the bleeding, but it was too late. The blood had already soaked through the fabric, staining my hands red.

“Jessica!” I shouted. “Wake up! Please, wake up!”

I tried to pull her up, but I slipped, hitting my head against the wall. The pain is nothing compared to what I was feeling in my soul. My heart was beating so fast as I tried again to lift her.

But she didn’t move.

I don’t know how long I sat there, holding her in my arms, begging her to come back to me. Time seemed to stretch and warp, the world around me fading into a blur of pain and despair.

At some point, Martha must have heard my screams. She burst into the bathroom, her face pale with shock.

“Dan! What—?”

Her voice trailed off as she took in the scene before her.

“Blood of Jesus!” she shouted as she rushed out of the bathroom, her hands trembling as she reached for her phone to call for help.

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t think. All I could do was hold Cynthia’s lifeless body, my tears mixing with the blood on the floor.

Martha was crying now, her sobs echoing in the small space as she reached for help.

Jessica was gone.