[I know I haven't written in a while. This is sort of like my comeback! I hope to God I'll continue this one. I have some ideas in mind :) Thanks.]
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I'm surrounded by a lot of white. And it's not the nice kind of white either.
It's very.. ghostly. Scary.
I glance up at the ceiling and it's white too. My memory fails me.
I touch my stomach impulsively.. The bump is gone..
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I'm too stunned. Too shocked to cry. Too broken to reason with myself.
I don't know for how long I lie there like that.. It could be for minutes.. but it feels like ages to me.
That's when I let out a loud wail and reach for the "Help" button.. hoping they would send someone who can save me from myself.
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I stare at the pale white floor as they call out my details.. one by one.
Name, check. Age, check. Married?
Now, that's a trick question.
He hastily moves on to the next question, sensing the tension.
"JACK!" the intern nurse calls out and gives him that look. The one that shouts you've-asked-more-than-you-were-supposed-to, and Jack apologizes and leaves the room leaving the one-sided conversation midway.
"He's really bad at the emotional stuff.." she says, her eyes full of sympathy she's afraid to express vocally.
She looks kind. The kind of person you'd want to run to when your boyfriend dumps you for some one prettier or smarter or thinner or taller.. The kind of girl who'd tell you to keep your sunny side up, no matter what.
To be polite, I nod. That's the maximum exercise I've managed to do in.. quite some time.
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"All set and ready to go, yeah?" Jenna (the kind nurse) gives me the brightest smile.
It's a warm, sunny day.. perfect for picnics, but then it hardly makes a difference to me.
I smile at her and take her hand as she pulls me up from the wheelchair.
The scars on my face have healed, but the one on my forehead is permanent, or so they say.
It's a constant reminder of what happened.. and so, being the coward that I am, I don't look in the mirror.
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The house is cold. It's just so cold. I turn up the heat even though it's probably more than a hundred degrees outside. I need this. I need this.
I look around inside the shelves, cupboards and find long forgotten ready-to-eat food packets waiting to be cooked.
Most of them are past their expiry, so I just dump them in the trash can.
And that is when, I take the bravest decision of my life.
I decide to go.. to the supermarket.
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An hour and $400 later, my house finally looks like.. a place you can live in. Not home.
I have stocked up with fresh food only. I'm forcing myself to cook. Now that I have so much time on my hands..
I go inside the living room and press a button on my answering machine. It comes to life and announces that I have three new messages.
The first one is from Jenna. She says that she wishes me luck in whatever I do. That she can relate to my pain, and knows how hard it is, but I'm a very strong girl. Remember that, okay? She signs off with a loud MUAH!
The second one is from mother. She is worried I haven't called her, that something might've happened to me. Something worse. Like.. depression.
The third one leaves me bundled up on the floor, crying till it's time to get up and go to sleep on the bed, like a normal person. Except, that I'm not.. a normal person.
Because normal people don't lose the two imperative things keeping them alive, in one go.. They don't.
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I throw my bag on the floor and he looks up at me from the couch.
"We're ordering in," I announce.
"Do you think it's a healthy option?" he questions.
I flare up instantly.
"Well.. I don't know, really. But since I work for sixteen out of the twenty four hours in day, you'd think I deserve a break, right? But you think healthy is more important."
I slam a packet of pasta on the counter and start looking for the ingredients. I pretty much make as much noise possible. I slap, slam, throw stuff around.
"I didn't mean for you to cook." he says in an emotion bereft voice.
"Oh. Ofcourse not," I can barely keep the sarcasm out of my tone, "because according to YOUR plan, you'd cook, right? Do you even know how to boil water, Dan?" I give him a disgusted look.. as if not knowing how to cook is a crime right next in line to homicide.
He clamps his mouth shut and walks away.
"Maybe you should not work so hard," he says after a while, his voice barely a whisper.
"And maybe YOU should try not to be a struggling musician and get a real job that actually PAYS!" I snap at him.
He stares at me for a long time. I collapse on the couch, my head in my hands. He goes out the door to go for a long walk.. some fresh air.. or maybe some time away from me. I clear up the dishes and go to sleep in the guest room.
Later, I would wonder if his eyes mirrored his disappointment in me or himself. Or if he was simply wondering what it would be like to not be married. To not have me in his life.
I would wonder and I would curl up on my couch and cry and resent and regret.. wishing I could take back every single word I'd ever spoken.
To the end of the world and back
2 days ago