“Get away! Let me go!” she shrieked, kicking her legs out and slapping at the warm flesh.
With a grunt, the arms were suddenly gone. Sara landed on her side in the leaves, the crisp sound of them agonizing to her. She stumbled to her feet, shaking, and turned to face her unwanted rescuer. She didn’t see features or eye or hair color, she didn’t see anything but a person who’d thwarted her plan, a plan it had taken every ounce of her courage to put into motion.
The man asked something. Sara saw his lips move, but there was a buzzing in her ears, blocking out the sound of his voice. She felt numb, like all the energy it had taken to get to that ledge had drained her. She was spent. Sara looked at him, not really seeing him at all, and turned away, back to her car, back to her unnecessary life.
“Hey! Lady! Do you need help?”
Sara walked the short distance to her car, a red four door Pontiac Grand Prix, opened the door, and bent her legs and body into the front seat. She sat with her hand on the keys, looking out the window. She could drive her car over the edge. A vision of her in her vehicle falling, falling, falling into the icy cold water shot through her mind. She saw the car filling up with murky water, she saw herself struggling to get out, to breathe. Sara shuddered. No. Not today.
A knock on the window had her turning her head. Her brown eyes met amber ones. The man motioned for her to roll down her window. She shook her head. He mouthed, “Are you okay? Can I help you?”
Sara stared at him for a long time. He stared back, his brows lowering. She slowly faced forward, turned the key in the ignition, and put the car in reverse.
***
Sara sliced a tomato, her eyes fixated on the long serrated blade. She looked at her right wrist, at the way the veins formed an ‘H’. The veins of her left wrist wove a jagged line to her palm. She carefully set the knife down on the counter and turned her attention to her salad.
She sat at the table and forced two bites down her throat. Her body unconsciously turned toward the chair he’d always taken. Sara’s appetite disintegrated as she watched the empty spot, waiting for him to appear and tease her about eating ‘rabbit food’. Abruptly standing up, Sarah threw away the salad. Her eyes skimmed across the kitchen walls, looking through the pale blue wall paint and decorative pieces and white cupboards and remembering him.
“Why do they call them cupboards?” he asked, standing with one lean hip against the counter.
Sara gave him a quizzical look. “Why do they call a door a door? Who knows?”
Cole followed her into the living room to continue the conversation. “But…they’re not boards, not really, and there’s more than just cups in there, so why cupboards? Why not…dinnerware holders? And another thing; why is it spelled like that? ‘Cause when you say it, it comes out like ‘cubberd’, not cup and board together. You see what I’m saying?” he asked, plopping down beside her on the couch and flinging his arm around her shoulders.
“I know you’re saying something, but I’m not sure what.”
To which he responded by grabbing her face and kissing her breathless. “You know what I’m saying and you know I’m right ‘cause I’m always right.”
“I know you think you’re always right.”
He shrugged. “Same difference.”
“In your mind.”
“That’s right, darling, and that’s all that matters. As long as I make sense in my own head, everything’s okay.”
“You’re delusional”
Cole grinned, showing off white teeth that were slightly crooked and completely endearing. “And you love it.”
“I must be delusional,” she said, smiling.
“And I love it.”
Sara took a staggering breath and rubbed her eyes. She was standing in front of the garbage can, an empty plate and fork next to her on the counter. She quickly washed the supper dishes and dried them; putting them in their proper places.
A long, almost unbearably hot shower soothed Sara and she thought maybe, just maybe, this one time she wasn’t crying. But when the water stopped and the wetness continued to trickle down her face, she knew otherwise.
Wrapped in a towel, she combed her long hair and brushed her teeth. When she looked in the mirror, the face she saw was close to unrecognizable. It was too pale and the bone structure was overly prominent. The red and puffy eyes couldn’t be hers. But who else’s could they be? The life had been sucked from her brown eyes, leaving them dead. Her brown hair was limp and hung past her shoulders.
Never one to consider herself beautiful, or even that pretty, Sara had always found it odd that he told her she was on an almost daily basis. She was average. Average in height, in weight, in looks, and yet he’d looked at her like she was incomparable to anyone; like she was more than. The way her nose upturned at the end had forever been a recipient of his kisses. The fullness of her upper lip had repeatedly drawn his finger to it to trace and receive her kiss.
He wouldn’t like seeing you like this, a voice told her.
Sara blinked and turned away.
She quickly dressed in a pink nightshirt and left the bedroom before too many memories ensnared her thoughts. A look at the clock told her it was eight. Sara grabbed a blanket and a pillow from the closet in the bedroom and set up her bed on the couch, as she did every night. Sara lay in the darkness, looking at a ceiling she couldn’t see. She held her hands together to pray, the act so ingrained in her she almost did so without thought, but caught herself in time. Prayers hadn’t helped before. Why would they help now? And what exactly would she pray for?
Restless, she got up and turned the light back on, her agitated fingers continuously twisting the silver-banded ring with the lone diamond it. Around and around it went over her bony left-handed ring finger too small for the ring to properly fit on anymore. Remembering the wedding proposal brought a fleeting smile to her lips. He’d put the ring around a single red rose and presented it to her with an achingly honest speech.
The walls were ivory and bare, but she still saw the framed photographs that used to grace the walls; their first picture taken together; the engagement photo; Christmas; their wedding. A photograph of them making silly faces at the camera. They had been too painful to look at them, day after day; mocking her. Reminding her of what she’d lost. Sara had taken them down and put them in a box and in the garage they now resided.
Her eyes landed on the pale green recliner that had been his. He‘d complained about the girly color at first, but it hadn‘t been long before it was his favorite place to sit. Sara ran a trembling hand along the back of it, leaning down to sniff its scent. Pain, sharp and immobilizing, shot through her. It didn’t smell like him anymore. When had his scent disappeared? It was one more thing she’d lost of him, and the knowledge was too much to bear.
Sara grabbed the blanket from the couch and climbed onto the recliner, pretending his arms were around her holding her close. She curled into a ball, huddled beneath the cover, and wept until she fell into a fitful sleep.
The nightmares began with a flourish, as they did almost every night. Her mind replayed the otherworldliness of it; how it had started in slow-motion and still somehow ended before she knew what had happened. In Sara’s mind she saw the smile that had mutated to horror, the instant pain, the smell of blood, and the heat; the screech of heavy metal crashing and the eerie silence that had followed.
Sara awoke screaming, tangled in the blanket. She struggled to free herself, to sit upright. Covered in sweat and shaking, her heart slammed against her chest. And of course, there were the tears. They streamed down her cheeks, warm and unwanted, and dropped onto her lap. Sara covered her face with her hands and rocked forward and backward, trying to remove the images from her mind. She would cut them out if she could.