Silence

Silence

Some women love with their everything. They bet everything they have at one go. And when they lose their everything, they cry tears of bittersweet joy, not grief. She had  known for a long time who she was, and accepted it simply. Of course, there had been nothing to lose then.

Softly, she locks the door, and changes into her nightmares. She draws the covers. It will rain  tonight. She has a list of pains to choose from. Out of habit, she browses through her choices. Not heartbreak tonight. Or death. Abandonment perhaps. Yes. That she can deal with. The pain feels cold, and she slips away into familiar, disturbed sleep.

When she awakes, it is still dark out. The pillow is damp. She has been spilling tears in her sleep again. Routine.

The stark white ceiling stares back at her. She looks away quickly. The sun will come out soon. She looks out again. Clouds cover the sky stubbornly. She closes her eyes.

Today, she feels Heartbreak stretched across her chest, heavy. She wonders if she can hate him. So she tries. She thinks of the time he had slapped her. She tries to remember how it had stung her cheeks. How she had been too stunned to cry. To fight back. She sees his lips form the word. Hypocrite.

She pauses and waits for the hate to fill her. No hate comes.

Dark, empty silence.

She makes a broken sound. It creeps through the silence, and draws a sharp crack across it. She traces it with her fingers. She smiles at the strange image.

Cracked, dark, empty silence. She closes her eyes.

The tree was their spot. It grew across the big highway, and it was a mile’s walk from the café. It was hidden among little dusty hills, and they had discovered it purely by accident. They had been tired from walking. She had sat on his lap, leaning against his hard chest, and they had watched the delicious vanilla clouds spread across the blue sky. His arms were wrapped around her. He was dressed in black, she in white. They had laughed at the contrast. Black and White. Sweet and Salty. Pale and Dark.

Her eyes open. Hate and Love.

They dreamt as endlessly and purely as the sky over them. They shared that. The dreams. He had kissed her there. Once, and then a hundred times. Always with his arms around her.

Truly. He had said. Sincerely.

They took the extra long walk to their tree when they wanted to be alone. They groaned playfully at the distance, but they never stopped going.

I’ll carry you when you are tired, he would say. She would laugh, and hold his hand a little tighter. She would never tire. Not when her hand was in his.
Sometimes, they would walk slowly, companions in silence—both pensive. Sometimes, they would grow restlessly passionate, and begin clumsily kissing as they rushed towards the tree.

But it always ended the same way. She crawled into his arms, and he held her there, chest to chest. Heartbeat to heartbeat. And he whispered I love you until she was ready to go.

There is no one to whisper about love to her, yet she knows it is time to go. Heartbreak still heavy, she pushes herself out of bed and into the dark world. At the back of her mind, as she mechanically makes the bed, she thinks of him, and wonders if survival would be easier with his hand in hers.

The smell of burnt toast barges in under the door. SoapSoap. She swings open the bathroom door when she realizes it is too late for soap, and begins to retch over the sink.

When she is finished, she labors into the bathtub and lays there listening, naked and dry. A door opens outside. Her roommate walks into her room, crossing the closed bathroom door, and leaves something on the table. Fruit. Footsteps walk away from her and the door clicks back into place. The front door slams shut. The lock turns. The house is empty now.

She shares the apartment with a Med student. The roommate’s long hours away suit  her well. The girl is kind to her, but kindness puzzles her, and she does not want any friends. Perhaps its just pity. She half smiles an ugly smile, and lets that thought disappear into another.

Stop pitying me! I’m not stupid. He had said harshly. She had withdrawn her hand from his shoulder, surprised. Reflexively, her lips had formed I’m sorry, though his anger had nothing to do with her. She had listened to his angry, frustrated account of a day, and had expressed concern. She offered help, and she was dismissed rudely. I don’t want your pity. I don’t want your help. Shut up! Shut up! He had shouted until there were tears in her eyes.

There are tears in her eyes now. It feels so normal that she does not lift her hands to brush them away. Even when she moved far away, she had held no hope of forgetting him. And then, oceans apart, she had discovered that had been connected in more intimate bonds than they had bargained for.

I’m sorry. This time, his mouth had formed the words. The tears had always been the turning point. Lips had found her and slid over her warm wet cheek. She forgave even before the lips had reached her--relieved that the anger had passed, that the devil had left his eyes, that he had returned to her in whole.

She touches her stomach and a faint thought of food crosses her mind. Heavily, she heaves herself out of the bathtub and unlocks the door.

A ray of light enters the room now. The light bothers her. Frustrated, she tugs the curtains together. She rubs her cheek on her shoulder, getting rid of the last traces of cold tears. On the table is the bowl of fruit that has been left for her. She looks at it, nauseated, suddenly not hungry. She edges away from the table, but then moves back toward it. We need food. 

He was angry again. We’re done. I can’t look at you anymore. Your stupid faith in me. Be real! Stop with this false hope. Her lips mouthed the usual. I’m sorry. She had not touched him. He had fury in his eyes. News had come the night before. He had opened the letter right away, and his dream had disappeared. She spent a long time looking at the grass, waiting for the anger to subside.  I just can’t deal with this anymore. He had sounded calmer, and she had moved closer. Keep trying, Love. It’s just - He interrupted her with a furious outburst. She did not hear the words, but she had seen his fist moving towards her stomach.

Pomegranate on the fruit plate. It is half peeled, its seeds blood-red, bared against the world. Some have spilled into the bowl. Obliged to eat, she places the fruit bowl in her lap, and begins to nibble at an apple. It is cold and sweet, and feels good on her tongue. She takes bigger bites.

Her tears had flown before his fist had made contact. She had recoiled from him in pain. Then he had thrown her purse up in the air, contents tumbling out, hitting the sidewalk. Something had broken and landed beside her.

A sharp pain jets across her stomach. Apple in one hand, she clutches her round stomach in confusion. The pain stops. She takes another bite, brows still wrinkled. She pauses to spit out the seeds. The sun is bright under the curtains. Light fights to come in through the cracks between the cloth.

God. The pain comes back again. It splits her in half this time, and she doubles over. The apple falls from her hand, and she tumbles out of her chair, arm across her belly. The bowl falls over, the fruit rolling freely on the floor. She steps on seeds as she reaches out for the bathroom door.

She tears off her clothes, arms running over her taut belly, looking for relief, for something she can fix. GodOhGodOhGod. She feels her body give into the pain. She feels her belly spasm. Defeated, she falls backwards into the bathtub. Her head hits the surface. Hard.

Blood comes out of her in one heavy river. Trails of crimson run down her thighs, and she lays there, helpless, horrified. Her teeth chatter as she watches life, then death, go down the drain.

He had looked at her then, not her eyes, but her tears. She had expected his feet to hurry forward, his lips to find her, but he had stood firm. Silence engulfed them. Dark, empty silence.

Cracked, dark, empty silence. She had bet everything in one go. And now she had lost everything. She closes her eyes and lets the last of him leave her forever.