Silence
Silence permeated the room where she sat alone, the lamplight gleaming on her thick bronze-coloured hair. She sat with a thick book open on her lap, but did not turn the pages. In fact, she did not move at all, and scarcely seemed to even breathe. On the opposite side of the room the last rays of sunlight peeked through the blinds and spread golden streaks on the creamy carpet.
The sound of a key turning in the lock seemed loud in contrast to the quiet of the room. The front door opened and he stepped into the room. His briefcase thudded to the carpet while his jacket seemed to fly of its own accord to the hook by the door. He walked over to her chair, accompanied by a sond of rustling plastic, and brushed a hand along her unbound hair. She turned her head and leaned it against his side. He smelled faintly of his aftershave, and more strongly of coffee. Her eyes drifted closed as his fingertips combed her long hair gently.
"I brought dinner. Subs." He held up the plastic bag in his left hand and she nodded. "Do you want a Coke to go with it?"
Speaking seemed like such an effort, but she concentrated on making her lips curve upward. "That would be lovely."
He set the bag on the floor and the sound of his footsteps retreated into the kitchen. She heard glass clinking against the countertop, and then the chime of ice cubes tumbling into a glass, followed by the hiss of a soft drink being opened. A few moments later he returned, soda fizzing in the glasses he held. He settled into the chair next to her, set the drinks on the table, and began to pull sandwiches and chips out of the bag. Slowly she closed the book and set it aside. An Italian sub was deposited in front of her, along with a glass of Coke and a small bag of potato chips. She prodded the sub disinterestedly.
"Not hungry?" He was watching her intently, his pale blue eyes fixed on her face.
A few more hours. Again the effort to create a smile. "I'm a little out of it, I guess." She picked up the sandwich and bit the corner of it. He'd gotten her favourite. The fresh bread and meat tasted like sawdust. She chewed and swallowed, took a sip of soda to force it down. Knowing he would sit watching her like a hawk until she had eaten an amount he considered reasonable, she lifted the sandwich to her lips again. The slim silver watch on her wrist, which had fit perfectly a few months ago, slid down her arm halfway to her elbow. He eyed her wrist, then her face, and the shadow of a frown appeared on his face. She quickly took two more bites of the sandwich, barely bothering to chew them in her effort to eat some before he started lecturing her again. She could tell from the way his lips thinned that he knew what she was doing, but he chose to let it go for now.
The meal passed in stifled silence. When she had finished, she made herself stand up and gather the sandwich wrappers, chip bags, napkins, and soda glasses. Her legs felt unsteady, and she was lightheaded. He reached out and put his hand on her wrist. "I can do that."
"I'm fine." Her face, unused to smiling, felt strange as she summoned the expression again. She carried the trash to the kitchen, rinsed the glasses, put them in the dishwasher. Bracing her palms on the counter, she took a deep breath. Not long now.
He walked up behind her and brushed his fingertips lightly down her cheek. "Are you feeling any better, sweetheart?"
"A little," she answered. Lies upon lies upon lies.
He wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her neck lightly. "I love you."
"I love you." At least that wasn't a lie. Thin comfort.
"So what do you want to do tonight? Rent a movie? Go out? What?"
She knew he expected her to say no to both. She took a deep breath, put a teasing smile on her face, and turned to face him. "How about we stay in?" She curled her arms around his neck.
When she saw interest flare in his eyes, she wondered at her own acting skills. She'd never known she possessed them. He smiled, but held back. "Are you sure?"
His concern just made her sad. She kept the false smile and nodded.
He bent down to kiss her, slowly and thoroughly. She was surprised when she started to feel energized. Her nerves seemed to be trembling in anticipation. She'd thought she was beyond caring.
The bedroom was all warm shadows and soft sounds. The sheets were soft and silky under her back, and the slow spin of the fan sent delicate stirrings of air across her skin. Slow and quiet, patient, caring. She wanted more, faster, harder, and she wanted slower, softer, gentler. She wanted it to end and didn't. When it was done it would all be over, and she both yearned for and feared it.
Eventually slow and gentle gave way and they tangled in the sheets, moving frantically. She had never felt more alive, and that made it harder to stay focused on what waited.
In the still shadows, he cuddled her tight against his side and fell asleep. Silence descended. She waited until she was sure he was deeply asleep, and eased out of bed. She didn't bother with a robe or nightgown. In bare feet she padded out of the bedroom and down the hall. She slipped through the garage door and found the ice pick by touch.
Silent footsteps back down the hall. She paused outside the bedroom door, the ice pick gripped firmly in her hands, and stared through the shadows at his still form on the bed. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she let them fall. "I love you."
The sound of the front door opening seemed so loud, but he didn't stir. She stepped outside and closed the door gently. The snow beneath her bare feet was painfully cold. Already shivering in the frigid air, she walked around the house and down the hill in the backyard toward the lake, the ice pick dragging behind her. It wasn't a long walk, but her teeth were chattering and she had her left arm wrapped close around her body as she reached the shore. The water moved slightly beneath a thin crust of ice. Here was too shallow. She'd always been both fascinated and terrified by the lake. She'd never learned to swim as a child, and they hadn't moved to this house until too late in the fall for her to learn. He'd promised to teach her next spring, but she wouldn't be here.
She tested the ice delicately with her toe, slowly leaning more of her weight on it. It cracked, but didn't split apart. She took a deep breath and turned her head to look at the silent one-story house. She could go back.
No.
She wanted to--wanted to run back to him, and tell him what she'd almost done, and let him hold her and cuddle her and kiss her until the pain didn't seem so bad. Then the stabbing pain lanced through her stomach and she doubled over, gasping. No. Better this way. She'd gotten through two and a half years of medical school before she quit, and she had a pretty fair idea of what was wrong with her. No cure, just a few weeks to fade away.
The cancers that couldn't be detected until it was far too late were, in her mind, worse than the ones whose victims struggled for years to survive, only to yield in the end. At least those who fought and lost had the chance to fight. She didn't.
One foot, then another. Slowly across the ice. It was thicker farther out. She walked until her feet were fully numb and she could barely walk for the shivers. She jabbed at the ice with the pick, having no clear idea how to use it. Cracks began to radiate from where the point had landed. She did it again and again, nearly slicing her leg open when the shivers caused her to miss her target, and the cracks spread and spread and spread.
Finally the ice gave way beneath the weakening assault and her weight, and she splashed into the freezing water, still gripping the ice pick. She was too cold to keep shivering. The water closed over her head and she didn't try to fight it, simply let herself go under. The water closed over her head, sealing her in a world of cold, liquid silence.
Her lungs burned. Without realizing what she was doing, she let go of the ice pick and kicked her feet weakly, over and over. Her head broke through the surface of the water and she gasped in air. Her hands flailed, getting a tenuous hold on the sharp-edged ice. Her head fell back and she saw the stars above her, crystal clear in a cloudless sky.
She smiled, and closed her eyes.
Yeah, kind of morbid. Whatever. Feedback is loved.
The sound of a key turning in the lock seemed loud in contrast to the quiet of the room. The front door opened and he stepped into the room. His briefcase thudded to the carpet while his jacket seemed to fly of its own accord to the hook by the door. He walked over to her chair, accompanied by a sond of rustling plastic, and brushed a hand along her unbound hair. She turned her head and leaned it against his side. He smelled faintly of his aftershave, and more strongly of coffee. Her eyes drifted closed as his fingertips combed her long hair gently.
"I brought dinner. Subs." He held up the plastic bag in his left hand and she nodded. "Do you want a Coke to go with it?"
Speaking seemed like such an effort, but she concentrated on making her lips curve upward. "That would be lovely."
He set the bag on the floor and the sound of his footsteps retreated into the kitchen. She heard glass clinking against the countertop, and then the chime of ice cubes tumbling into a glass, followed by the hiss of a soft drink being opened. A few moments later he returned, soda fizzing in the glasses he held. He settled into the chair next to her, set the drinks on the table, and began to pull sandwiches and chips out of the bag. Slowly she closed the book and set it aside. An Italian sub was deposited in front of her, along with a glass of Coke and a small bag of potato chips. She prodded the sub disinterestedly.
"Not hungry?" He was watching her intently, his pale blue eyes fixed on her face.
A few more hours. Again the effort to create a smile. "I'm a little out of it, I guess." She picked up the sandwich and bit the corner of it. He'd gotten her favourite. The fresh bread and meat tasted like sawdust. She chewed and swallowed, took a sip of soda to force it down. Knowing he would sit watching her like a hawk until she had eaten an amount he considered reasonable, she lifted the sandwich to her lips again. The slim silver watch on her wrist, which had fit perfectly a few months ago, slid down her arm halfway to her elbow. He eyed her wrist, then her face, and the shadow of a frown appeared on his face. She quickly took two more bites of the sandwich, barely bothering to chew them in her effort to eat some before he started lecturing her again. She could tell from the way his lips thinned that he knew what she was doing, but he chose to let it go for now.
The meal passed in stifled silence. When she had finished, she made herself stand up and gather the sandwich wrappers, chip bags, napkins, and soda glasses. Her legs felt unsteady, and she was lightheaded. He reached out and put his hand on her wrist. "I can do that."
"I'm fine." Her face, unused to smiling, felt strange as she summoned the expression again. She carried the trash to the kitchen, rinsed the glasses, put them in the dishwasher. Bracing her palms on the counter, she took a deep breath. Not long now.
He walked up behind her and brushed his fingertips lightly down her cheek. "Are you feeling any better, sweetheart?"
"A little," she answered. Lies upon lies upon lies.
He wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her neck lightly. "I love you."
"I love you." At least that wasn't a lie. Thin comfort.
"So what do you want to do tonight? Rent a movie? Go out? What?"
She knew he expected her to say no to both. She took a deep breath, put a teasing smile on her face, and turned to face him. "How about we stay in?" She curled her arms around his neck.
When she saw interest flare in his eyes, she wondered at her own acting skills. She'd never known she possessed them. He smiled, but held back. "Are you sure?"
His concern just made her sad. She kept the false smile and nodded.
He bent down to kiss her, slowly and thoroughly. She was surprised when she started to feel energized. Her nerves seemed to be trembling in anticipation. She'd thought she was beyond caring.
The bedroom was all warm shadows and soft sounds. The sheets were soft and silky under her back, and the slow spin of the fan sent delicate stirrings of air across her skin. Slow and quiet, patient, caring. She wanted more, faster, harder, and she wanted slower, softer, gentler. She wanted it to end and didn't. When it was done it would all be over, and she both yearned for and feared it.
Eventually slow and gentle gave way and they tangled in the sheets, moving frantically. She had never felt more alive, and that made it harder to stay focused on what waited.
In the still shadows, he cuddled her tight against his side and fell asleep. Silence descended. She waited until she was sure he was deeply asleep, and eased out of bed. She didn't bother with a robe or nightgown. In bare feet she padded out of the bedroom and down the hall. She slipped through the garage door and found the ice pick by touch.
Silent footsteps back down the hall. She paused outside the bedroom door, the ice pick gripped firmly in her hands, and stared through the shadows at his still form on the bed. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she let them fall. "I love you."
The sound of the front door opening seemed so loud, but he didn't stir. She stepped outside and closed the door gently. The snow beneath her bare feet was painfully cold. Already shivering in the frigid air, she walked around the house and down the hill in the backyard toward the lake, the ice pick dragging behind her. It wasn't a long walk, but her teeth were chattering and she had her left arm wrapped close around her body as she reached the shore. The water moved slightly beneath a thin crust of ice. Here was too shallow. She'd always been both fascinated and terrified by the lake. She'd never learned to swim as a child, and they hadn't moved to this house until too late in the fall for her to learn. He'd promised to teach her next spring, but she wouldn't be here.
She tested the ice delicately with her toe, slowly leaning more of her weight on it. It cracked, but didn't split apart. She took a deep breath and turned her head to look at the silent one-story house. She could go back.
No.
She wanted to--wanted to run back to him, and tell him what she'd almost done, and let him hold her and cuddle her and kiss her until the pain didn't seem so bad. Then the stabbing pain lanced through her stomach and she doubled over, gasping. No. Better this way. She'd gotten through two and a half years of medical school before she quit, and she had a pretty fair idea of what was wrong with her. No cure, just a few weeks to fade away.
The cancers that couldn't be detected until it was far too late were, in her mind, worse than the ones whose victims struggled for years to survive, only to yield in the end. At least those who fought and lost had the chance to fight. She didn't.
One foot, then another. Slowly across the ice. It was thicker farther out. She walked until her feet were fully numb and she could barely walk for the shivers. She jabbed at the ice with the pick, having no clear idea how to use it. Cracks began to radiate from where the point had landed. She did it again and again, nearly slicing her leg open when the shivers caused her to miss her target, and the cracks spread and spread and spread.
Finally the ice gave way beneath the weakening assault and her weight, and she splashed into the freezing water, still gripping the ice pick. She was too cold to keep shivering. The water closed over her head and she didn't try to fight it, simply let herself go under. The water closed over her head, sealing her in a world of cold, liquid silence.
Her lungs burned. Without realizing what she was doing, she let go of the ice pick and kicked her feet weakly, over and over. Her head broke through the surface of the water and she gasped in air. Her hands flailed, getting a tenuous hold on the sharp-edged ice. Her head fell back and she saw the stars above her, crystal clear in a cloudless sky.
She smiled, and closed her eyes.
Yeah, kind of morbid. Whatever. Feedback is loved.