Striking Delirium about Love

Part 1.

     Peter had another relapse. His girlfriend sat right in front of him, on a shelf in his bedroom. Her legs, dressed in cute ballerinas with white bows, hung down, swaying back and forth. Her velvety voice gently whispered something inarticulate, but Peter did not even try to understand what, he enjoyed the view.

     Any other person who would look at this scene from the outside would certainly blame the entire surrealism of the situation on another fantastic delirium, the fruit of a painful illness, but not Peter. He was sure that everything that he observes in such hallucinations is reality. And at least in the depths of consciousness there was a feeling that sooner or later the picture would be smeared and King would routinely wake up from the beautiful and face everyday, humiliating life.

     But you know what? Peter is too tired to distinguish between reality and signs of diagnosed schizophrenia. Therefore, he preferred to think that any mention of his "ideal" is the "reality" that he deserved.

     After all, how many people would like to wake up every morning not in their uncomfortable, cold bed with a hard mattress, but somewhere in a paradise?
If you add to this landscape also a loved one, who can be called "ideal" without a doubt, then you would get a masterpiece for a million dollars.

Peter would have bought this painting first.

     Y/N stops chirping and stretches in a relaxed way, yawning sweetly.

     —H0ney, d0 y0u kn0w what day it is t0day? — The voice takes either high or low notes, not finding the golden mean.  And sometimes it makes completely unhuman sounds, but Peter remains indifferent to the obvious abnormality of the ideal.

— Not at all, dear, dedicate me, please, — Peter breaks into a smile, showing all 32 teeth. He completely forgot about today's date.

— T0day is y0ur birthday, silly! — Beloved Y/N deftly pulls out a box wrapped in bright ribbon and gift paper from behind her back.

— Open!

       Peter, as if on command, unceremoniously pulls on the ends of the ribbon, untying the bow. Thoughts are occupied with mini-theories about what might be inside. Perhaps there is the same snake-python, which he read about on the Internet the other day and literally fell in love with reptiles! And perhaps there is a bouquet of white and red roses, which he saw while visiting his beloved! She adored her magical garden near the house. Various flowers grew there, for example: burgundy carnations, pale pink lilies, orange-colored chrysanthemums.

     Y/N rewarded each of the varieties with care, but it was roses, his favorite flowers, that she especially disliked. For one simple reason - she would like red, because she hated the white color. And the obsessed Peter literally every night entertained himself with fantasies about how he, as if performing a feat, repaints each petal the way she would like.

     And now, tearing the package into pieces, he would like her to give him his buds for the holiday. He would hang them over his bed as a reminder of what a good lover he is.

     But unfortunately, or, more surprisingly, in the box there was only a plastic jar with a label. Picking it up and shaking it, Peter recognized the contents as pills. Not understanding what his Y/n wanted to say, he looked up.

     But he faced what he feared the most.

The illusion began to distort.

       The smooth walls of the bedroom began to look more and more like the foundation of a brick, old building. And all the same tenderly smiling sweetheart in a rag doll, which Peter sees for the first time. Or not?

     Peter shook his head furiously in denial. He must be with his girlfriend!  Admiring and admiring her! He's supposed to be next to her, not here!

     Sitting side by side while they drink Peter's favorite black tea.  Talk on philosophical topics, condemning all the human rabble who believes that he is a schizophrenic.

     Peter is a step up, assholes, which is why he is allowed to touch and contact the Divine itself!  And you want to turn him into a gray mass in order to mold him into a slave who is no different from the rest!

— I won't let that happen!

—- You really won't? —  The hallucination dissipates completely. Peter understands where he is and twists his face, clattering in displeasure.

— Philistine, — He angrily spits out, as if he is not saying the name of the closest person in recent years.

         Dr.Philistine is Peter's psychotherapist, to whom his mother and his sister signed him up for prevention. It was a man in his 30s or 40s. The guy often looked at him during the sessions. Out of boredom, of course, and only when he was separated from his love. Peter had already noticed how often Philistine adjusted his thick glasses, how obnoxiously he scratched his thick mustache under his nose, and how he spoke with a smirk about his girlfriend.

     During one of the first trial sessions, when Peter was still in his rebellious, gothic period, he involuntarily hinted at the girl whom he comes to visit every time in his dreams. The psychotherapist could not help but note in his notebook how Peter relaxes, and his mood noticeably improves.

     Since then, Philistine has become very interested in Peter's soulmate and each time begged for more and more information about her. But only to use it against him as soon as the opportunity arises. At least, so sincerely believed Peter.
    
     However, the doctor, unlike the guy's entourage, always agreed with the lectures about how perfect this god-like Y/n is, and that no one on planet Earth is worthy even of her left toe. The doctor always found the right words to convince Peter of the real existence of his "darling".

     "— This is all happening for real. Everything that you observe in front of you is the truth, not accessible to everyone."

      "—Your consciousness is much wider than the boundaries built by society, if it sends you an ideal girl in your life, then this must be your destiny."

     And every time is like the first. And Peter believed and believed, believed and believed, like a child who was offered candy somewhere in the alley.

— I need you to listen to me, Peter.  Carefully. What you have in your hands are pills that have a more powerful property that will help you reunite with your love.

Peter noticed a small jar of "Phencyclidine" in his hands...