Clowns are happy, right?

It's been a year since you had married your true love and best friend, Polka. Today was your anniversary, if you were right. You picked up the date on the monitor during her last stream. Sinking back into the comfortable chair she chained you to, your mind drifts away as you wait in silence for her to come to you once again. Maybe you'll beg again. Maybe you'll just lie there limply. Your muscles to continue to atrophy in this situation, anyway. It's not like you'll have a choice soon. Your thoughts drift further as you begin to reminisce.

You knew from the moment you met Polka that there was something behind the facade of cheerfulness she portrayed. It was there in small movements in her face, twitches at the edge of her smile, or slight winces when she was trying to tell a joke she was anxious about. The girl was a bundle of nerves trying her absolute hardest to be liked and well-received, and something about that resonated with you. It was familiar, you suppose. As things gradually developed with Polka, one night she finally broke down and confessed her laundry list of insecurities and anxieties. You were at the center of them all. Not a cause, but someone she was most afraid to lose. You held her close to you as she sobbed into your shoulder, idly stroking her back as you assured her that you'd never leave her. That you loved her, and that all you wanted for her was the best. That you'd do everything you could within your power to help her through her issues. That you'd be with her every step of the way. The two of you were married not soon after that. You meant every word, then. You still do. But Polka can't see that clearly anymore, only in brief glimpses of lucidity that quickly fade as she realizes what she's done to you. Her fears blind her, and her guilt keeps her afraid.

The first few months of life with Polka was difficult, but blissful. She struggled with even the most basic of daily tasks such as waking up. She showered infrequently, suffered from a dense brain fog, and had trouble making decisions that lead to action, such as cleaning her room. It hurt to see your wife so depressed. So...vulnerable. But you didn't give up. Slowly, together, you worked with her to try and improve her condition. Her sleep schedule began to look better. She was taking better care of herself. She even finally conceded with your own worries and began to look for a therapist; a licensed professional who could do more for her than you ever could. She was doing better. She confided in you that she was finally starting to feel more and more genuine, lasting happiness. Things were looking up.

At least you thought they were.

It had been building up over time, you surmise, rather than all happen at once like you had initially thought. The climax of it was so explosive, it's not hard to tell why you got washed away in it, your perception of time seeming altered. Polka had always been insecure about you and other women. From her coworkers to people giving you standard pleasantries when you were out together, something about it hurt her. It went deeper than jealousy...more an intrinsic, deep-seated fear that whoever it was deserved you more than she did. That they were better than her in every way and that she was holding you back from someone who could blow her out of the water thrice over. No matter how many times you addressed her concerns as ridiculous and that you were completely happy with her, it never really stuck. She was convinced that at some point, something would happen that would involve you leaving her, or just getting tired with her flat out. You never said anything, but this grated on you. You felt like you were doing something...well, wrong. No matter what you did, it wouldn't abate those feelings she had. You felt guilty.

"I...don't know what I'd do without you!" She sobbed bitterly. Another breakdown, this time after Botan had the audacity to smile at you, triggering the fears Polka had been struggling to contain once more. "I-I feel like...my heart would just stop...it hurts so bad to just imagine it, that if it ever happened..."

Such outbursts weren't uncommon. But it really should've served as a warning for what was to come. Maybe if you had been more perceptive, more...aware of the situation you were in, the problem you were actually dealing with. If you had focused less on Polka's sadness and more on Polka's fear. If only you hadn't nodded off like an idiot.

One night, Polka was working late. You weren't exactly worried, you knew exactly where she was. The office was close by. It was the night of one of the bigger collaborations, and Polka was involved. You had been watching it, eager to support your wife of course. It was Minecraft between some of the other gens. You hadn't really been paying too much attention past the two hour mark, but you had noticed that Polka had become somewhat quiet, more reserved. You worried that she was getting overwhelmed...or maybe feeling overshadowed by everyone else. Both of them were completely viable options given Polka's feelings on things. This continued for awhile, giving small responses to things as she apparently focused on her own buildings...though there were several points where Polka simply stopped altogether. She moved, but her face was clearly struggling to stay happy.

"Are you watching?" She asked bluntly, staring blankly at the camera as she smiled. Her facade was starting to crack, alongside her voice. "With so many girls going at once...all of them so funny...am I still your favorite? You'll never leave, right?"

The chat loved it, thinking it was just another case of Yandere Polka. However, you knew who that message was really for, and the truth of the worry behind that statement. Just as quickly as it had begun, Polka quickly reaffirmed her mask, going back to cheerfully playing, trying her best to interact more with the others. The longer things went on, the more...normal things seemed.  It was getting late. The collab went on, seemingly without end. Eventually, your eyes grew heavy. Your concentration lapsed, and then you fell asleep.

You woke already in the room you reside now. The cuffs and chains kept you bound, as Polka sat across from you, sobbing quietly into her hands, looking disheveled.

"W-Was I..." She blubbered, looking up at you. You can still recall how hard the sight hurt your heart. Her make up was ruined, her face contorted into an amalgam of suffering and anger as she shook in her seat. "Was I that boring compared to them?!"
"No! No, I was just tired, it was almost midnight!" You protest, wriggling against your restraints. When did she even get these? "Why am I...Polka, what is this?!"

Her eyes narrowed as despair twisted into fury. Lunging out, she brought her left hand up and across your face with a loud, echoing crack, stinging your face as her nails slit your cheek on the way up. An unintended side effect. She hit you. You remember just...gawking at her. The pain of the attack didn't hurt nearly as much as the feeling of...betrayal? Powerlessness...something along those lines. Just as quickly as it had begun, however, it faded. The anger on Polka's face quickly melted into horror. She looked at her hand, the bit of flesh on the tips of her digits as your cheek finally began to release pain signals to your brain, and quickly turned heel. She hastily left the room, hyperventilating and muttering phrases of denial to herself as you sat in silence. The door clasped shut, and you were alone.

Finally, your eyes open. That was quite some time ago. Maybe A month. Maybe more. Your understanding of the passage of time is...muddled, somewhat. All you know now, with any certainty, is that today is your anniversary. It makes you want to weep. Though it would be foolish to blame yourself for this situation, this nonetheless feels ultimately like the result of your failings to provide the care Polka needed...needs. Maybe you were inadequate. Not good enough for her. Maybe you deserve this, after all. The latch of the door clicks.

Slowly, Polka enters the room as you watch her. The light clicks on and you grunt, only for her to mutter an apology. She still looks like she's barely slept. She's relapsed to how she was before. Far worse than that, if you had to guess. She once more comes up to you, taking a straddling position on your lap, facing towards you. You've not the energy to fight it or complain about imprisonment, anymore. You merely give her a weak smile as greeting as she returns it. The situation's become far too complicated now. Things can't go back to the way they were. Both of you understand that. As much as it turns your stomach...you want to cling to her no matter what, still. Softly, Polka hugs you, grasping to your body. You lean into it as much as you can, bringing your head to rest on her shoulder. It's unhealthy, to want her so badly, despite all this. There's no ignorance to that fact. You simply don't care. You need her just as much as she needs you.

Polka's arms fidget at your sides as her hands move past your body, and your heart suddenly jumps with anticipation. With a heavy click, the cuffs around your wrists unclasp, and your hands finally fall to your sides after being secured in place for so long. The flesh aches, and Polka slowly unwraps her hands from behind your body, pulling back a bit as she studies your face. This could be it. The thought crosses your mind quickly, that you could escape...but is quickly extinguished as something in your mind screams at you to do what you've wanted to do for ages. You bring your hands up to Polka's waist and grasp her, tugging her back in to your chest, holding her tight. Polka seizes against you before letting out a soft laugh. As she buries herself back into your chest, the laugh escalates as she shakes in your grasp. You can feel her staining your shirt again. Maybe the solution isn't to try and get her help, to fix her problems, you briefly ponder as your head swirls with joy.

Maybe it's to become as broken as she is.

"Happy Anniversary, honey." You whisper into her ear through your own tears of content. Slowly, you begin laughing with her. Two people clinging to the last things they have left. What's not to find funny?