I blink slowly and open my eyes. Something has jostled me awake. I roll my body towards the sag in the bed. All the blinds are closed in the room, and the curtains over them are drawn, shut tight. The room is almost completely dark. I cannot tell what time of day it is; it could be noon or midnight. If it were midnight would I be able to see anything? I sigh because it doesn't matter. I try to shift my focus from the time of day to the weight on the bed. I blink my eyes a few more times, and Jake comes into focus. He looks…concerned. His lips are moving. It is too hard to pay attention. I roll back over.
I awake some time later, and it is the same process all over again. The blinking, the rolling over, vaguely thinking about the time before I realize it doesn't matter. His lips move and I have no idea what they say. I roll back over. I have long since lost track of the day. I briefly realize that my life has become an endless loop.
Sometimes Jake tries to get me to eat; I leave the food on the nightstand. Sometimes he tries to get me to shower; I sit in the tub watching the water go down the drain until he comes back into the bathroom. I have no idea how many times this routine happens, this endless loop.
He has left me in the bathroom to shower. Out of all the things I want to wash away the grime on my body barely registers. He mutters something that sounds like "mother" and "later." I focus on not crying so I can't really make a distinction between the words anymore, just his mouth moving. The water has been turned on and the room is getting humid and oppressive. I can feel the moisture entering my lungs - it feels heavy, like my body. I pause, stepping into the tub, and I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Is that what I look like? I can't reconcile the image and my concept body.
The face is sallow and pale. I step closer to the mirror to inspect the stranger reflected back. There are deep purple rings under her eyes, my eyes I tell myself; all I have been doing is sleeping. Her breasts, my breasts, I try to convince myself, are still swollen and it taunts me because her stomach, my stomach, no longer is. I run my hands down over my abdomen and the tears start again, slowly at first. My face wilts and a sob breaks free. I watch myself cry; I watch this stranger cry. I wonder what could have hurt her so badly. I push all thoughts of why I hurt away.
The door swings open, and there are arms around me, cradling me, pulling me down. I see them in the mirror. I cry more. Whispered words, I don't hear, are in my ear. I don't want these words, or these arms; they are oppressive. The arms and the thick, humid air strangle me and I strain for breath. I struggle to get up. Once on my feet, I climb in the shower and close the curtain, a dismissal. I stand under the water while he lingers. I wait for him to leave. Why isn't he gone? He should just leave. This is when it hits me. Even if he leaves my immediate proximity, I need more distance than a hallway can provide.
An overwhelming unease that has been building inside me ever since we moved into the same house is now crushing me. I don't want this, not with him. I knew that then. I thought it would get better, and he thought the baby would make things better, fill in all of our silence. He thought proposing would be the answer to the baby, that somehow becoming a family would create the salve to heal this fissure between us. Everyone said I should want this. "Perfect," they'd say. I tried to believe them. But I should have known better, trusted myself. I notice the water that is supposed to be washing me clean is cooling. It has begun to irritate and chafe the ring on my finger. The diamond begins to mock me silently. It is the epitome of what I am told to want; however, truly understanding for the first time that I now have another option, creates guilt for that small sliver of me that is calmed once I understand I can now leave. The weight of this realization is so heavy I fall as I am gasping for breath again.
Great, I sneer at myself. How pathetic and cliché to curl up in a ball in the shower crying. This is the first time I have felt anything in…I don't remember how long. It almost feels like a lifetime of nothingness. A lifetime since everything that could have been precious was taken away. I know what I have to do for the pressure to stop.
Leave.
I take in a full breath for the first time in years. Then with a newfound resolve I stand up and start to take care of myself, so I can keep breathing.