I hope everyones week is going well! I finished the book I was reading, The Chrysalids, which was enjoyable, thought a little strange. I’ve started reading Rosemary’s Baby too, though I’m taking a bit of a break from it at the moment due to the large amounts of WTF that books contains. I’ve started reading Game of Thrones again, not too far in, but I really want to slap Sansa.
Beyond that, not much is happening, I’ve started watching Breaking Bad, I’m not entirely sure what I think of it yet. It’s good, but I was expecting better from what everyone said about it, maybe there was too much hype. I’ll keep watching it for now anyway.
On with the show!
He held her hand, she was drifting off to sleep now. She looked at him smiling, her eyes clear with a slight shine, she squeezed his hand and though she didn’t speak, the message was clear, her eyes gently closed and her breathing slowed. He stayed where he was for a moment, until he was sure she was really asleep, then he stood, careful not to make too much noise and disentangled his hand from hers. He looked at her face, so pale, so relaxed, so beautiful and felt a faint stirring of hate. It had always been this way and he knew it always would. Every time it was the same, the words, only spoken once in their lifetime were brought back again and again. He left the room, easing himself through the doorway, he left the small lamp on, its gentle glow would enable her to see should she wake. She didn’t like sleeping in the dark. He was tired, but there were things that needed to be done still. He walked to the kitchen and started cleaning. Plates where stacked haphazardly near the sink, appearing as though they could fall at any moment. He looked at them, wishing they would, wishing for that harsh crack as they shattered. It was too quiet now, far too quiet. He turned on the radio then stepped closer to the sink.
He washed the dishes slowly, spending the time thinking about nothing in particular, letting his thoughts drift as they pleased. When he was done washing them, he dried them and put them away, he liked cleaning the dishes by hand, for him it was soothing, it made him feel like he was doing something productive, he could see the progress he made clearly. Though they had a dishwasher it was seldom used. With the dishes clean, he wiped down the table and tidied away a few things that were sitting out, when that was done, he went to the fridge and took out a beer, after a few seconds of hesitation he sat at the kitchen table. He didn’t really want to watch TV, he just wanted to sit. The radio still played, but he wasn’t really listening. He took a sip of his drink. It had been a long day today, longer than usual. He stifled a yawn, he should go to bed, but he couldn’t, he didn’t want to lie next to her, not yet at least. It was getting to be too much. He had never really noticed it, not before, but now it was so painfully obvious. She could never do anything herself, ever. She always needed help, she always needed saving. It shouldn’t really surprise him, after all, that was how their relationship started, he saved her. She had a flat tire and he stopped to help. He changed it for her and she offered to buy him a drink in return. Those words so easily had from that moment defined the entire relationship. She was incapable of looking after herself, she was worse than a child. If there was a problem, she came to him first and he had to fix it. Her internet stopped working, she called him and he had to call the company for her, she lost her bank card and he had to cancel it. All these little things were annoying, but they made him feel needed. It was annoying but bearable and kind of nice. They were such little things to deal with really. But as the relationship grew things began to get worse, she became more dependant. He didn’t know how he had missed it before. Their anniversary was two weeks ago and written on his card, in her curly handwriting, was “I’m lost without you.” those words sent a chill down his spine. He knew how true they were. He didn’t know how she managed to function on her own previously. He suspected that her parents had fulfilled the role he had. They had seemed over protective, maybe that’s why he was so forgiving of her behaviour. He believed she would grow out of it, she would be able to stand by herself. But they had stepped away gladly when he entered the picture, obviously they wanted to get rid of her as much as he did now. She had sensed his pulling away, the growing rift in their relationship. It was just getting to be too much. Did he really want to spend the rest of his life this way? Always looking after her. And what if they had kids? What would happen then? As it was it was like living with a child. She couldn’t fall asleep unless he was there and the lights were on for christsakes. He had to leave, but he couldn’t just abandon her, she’d be lost. What would she do? Would her parents take her back? He doubted it, but then they were her parents after all, surely they couldn’t abandon her too. He took a gulp from his beer. He had to get out, he knew he couldn’t spend the rest of his life like this, but how could he get away. She was fragile, what if she did something stupid? What if she ended up alone and on the streets? He had loved her and on some level he still did.
He took another drink. What if she was doing it on purpose? A way to keep him around. He wondered that now, when he thought back on their relationship, there was always that mask of helplessness, but sometimes, sometimes there was something else there, peeking through. Perhaps she got some kind of weird satisfaction out of him doing everything for her. He wondered if it was her way of ensuring he could never leave her, trapping him. There was a bang from upstairs, he jumped slightly, then listened. There was no other noise. What ever it was, it hadn’t woken her. Good. He took another drink. It was probably a book falling. It wasn’t important. He wondered what he should do, how he could do it. He couldn’t just leave, could he? Of course he could always pack up her stuff for her. He did own the house after all, and she wasn’t going to get the damn place. She didn’t really have friends so there was no one that could take her in. He could get her a hotel room for a few days, while she figured out where she was going.
He had tried to talk to her about it. They never really acknowledged what she was doing, but he had tried to get her to be a bit more self reliant, asking her to do little things here and there. Refusing to make phone calls for her, getting her to cook food some nights. It was never too much to ask and most of the time it became frustrating. Fielding calls from her asking how you cook pasta, asking how high the cooker should be to cook the mince, questions he answered a thousand times before. At the time he thought she was just a little slow picking things up, now he wondered if she was doing it on purpose, annoying him about it so he’d give up and start doing it for her again. He drained the bottle. He’d have to do something soon. He didn’t want to waste any more of his life. He smiled, he felt better, better than he had in months. He knew what he had to do. He put the empty bottle by the sink and turned off the lights.
Their bedroom door was open slightly, but it was dark inside, frowning, he opened the door, the lamp was off. Strange. There was an odd noise, a kind of gasp, he turned on the main light. She was lying in bed, around her a pool of blood. He looked at her face and saw it, that quick flicker, the change. He could see it in her eyes, that look, the one that told him that he had to look after her now. She looked at him and smiled, not much, but a little. Her wrists were slit, the lamp had been knocked off the table, that was the bang. She wanted him to find her. She wanted him to see, to be there, to rush in and save her. He turned off the light and left the room. He was done. He wouldn’t be a part of this anymore. He heard her gasp in the darkness, could hear her hands hitting the nightstand, feebly searching for the phone.
He walked downstairs and into the kitchen, the went to the fridge and got another beer. He drank it slowly, enjoying the taste. Not thinking about anything in particular. When he finished the bottle, he went back up stairs, back to their room. His room now. He turned on the light, she was lying there, so still, so very, very still. He walked over then carefully felt her neck for a pulse. She was gone. He felt sick. What had he done? Blood was everywhere, he looked at it numbly, wondering how he could get it back inside her. He went to the bathroom and got some towels, then he wrapped them around her wrists, he went downstairs again, to the phone in the kitchen. He dialled quickly.
When he hung up he looked at the bloody handprin the had left on the phone. He turned and went to the hall. He sat down on the stairs and waited for the paramedics to arrive, knowing already that they were too late.