CHAPTER 4: the sin
James sat down at the edge of Mary's bed and watched her laborious struggle for every breath. She had gotten so thin that he could see her ribs through the inappropriately-cheerful pink pajamas she wore.
"Where am I?" she rasped, turning her head on the pillow to look at him.Â
"You're home, darling," he said, using his thumb to wipe the dried mucus from the corners of her eyes. "Remember? The doctor said you could come home for a short stay."
She laughed, a harsh sound with no trace of mirth in it. "We both know what THAT means."
"Mary...please. Please, darling, don't talk that way."
A tear crawled down her face. "Oh, James...I want it to be over. I hurt so much. It hurts so much."
James swallowed against the lump in his throat. "I know."
"No you don't. You have no idea how much it hurts," she said, turning her face back towards the ceiling. "Just something as simple as talking hurts me."
"Then don't talk!" he cried, clasping her hand in his, feeling the thin brittle bones just beneath her skin.Â
"I have to," she whispered. "I have to tell you how it feels. Like someone opened me up and filled me with boiling water...I want it to stop, James. I don't want to leave you, but I want the pain to stop."
James lifted her hand to his and kissed it. Her skin felt like paper against his lips. Her wedding band shone dully in the dim light.Â
"I want you to have your life back...I want to go to sleep and not wake up..."
"I know, darling."
"Stop saying you KNOW!" she cried. "You don't know anything!"
He stood and pushed the chair behind him. "Try and get some sleep," he muttered. He had just reached the door when he heard her whimpering behind him.
"James...please don't leave me...don't go. I love you, I'm sorry, please. I don't want to be alone. Please."
He returned to her bedside and she smiled weakly at him. "I love you."
"I love you too, Mary," he whispered, and bent to kiss her forehead.Â
//do it do it now//
//NO.//
//now!//
On the floor lay a pillow she'd knocked from the bed during her restless sleep. He bent to pick it up, and saw that it was one of the pillows she'd embroidered in the hospital, before the pain got too bad for her to do anything more than cry. In the center was an outline of a house, and in the middle read "GOD BLESS OUR HAPPY HOME".
//I can't.//
//Get your life back. Make her pain stop. Do it, you fucking coward, do it for her if nothing else.//
He turned the pillow over in his hands, over and over again. Mary began coughing again, and a thin trickle of blood and saliva dribbled down her chin.
"I love you," he whispered again, and brought the pillow over her face.
She made a muffled cry under the pillow, and began thrashing with a strength he thought she'd lost long ago, fighting for whatever little bit of life she had left. He leaned into the pillow with all of his weight.
"I love you, I love you, I love you," he moaned, over and over again, like a litany.
He didn't know how long it took her to die, but in those few moments, all he could remember was the look on her face when he'd lifted her wedding veil, so full of joy and hope, a woman who thought her whole life lay ahead of her, not knowing she had less than a decade left, unaware she'd die at the hands of the man she was kissing, die wrapped in sour-smelling sheets.
Finally, her back arched and slammed against the mattress. The acrid smell of urine filled the air. He fell to his knees, and put his ear over her heart.
Nothing.
James let out a howl of primal agony. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I love you, I'm so sorry!" he wailed.
Mary's blue eyes, the color of faded denim, were already beginning to dull over.Â
//Would our child have had your eyes?//
With trembling fingers, as though pulling down a windowshade, he closed her eyes.
James sat down at the edge of Mary's bed and watched her laborious struggle for every breath. She had gotten so thin that he could see her ribs through the inappropriately-cheerful pink pajamas she wore.
"Where am I?" she rasped, turning her head on the pillow to look at him.Â
"You're home, darling," he said, using his thumb to wipe the dried mucus from the corners of her eyes. "Remember? The doctor said you could come home for a short stay."
She laughed, a harsh sound with no trace of mirth in it. "We both know what THAT means."
"Mary...please. Please, darling, don't talk that way."
A tear crawled down her face. "Oh, James...I want it to be over. I hurt so much. It hurts so much."
James swallowed against the lump in his throat. "I know."
"No you don't. You have no idea how much it hurts," she said, turning her face back towards the ceiling. "Just something as simple as talking hurts me."
"Then don't talk!" he cried, clasping her hand in his, feeling the thin brittle bones just beneath her skin.Â
"I have to," she whispered. "I have to tell you how it feels. Like someone opened me up and filled me with boiling water...I want it to stop, James. I don't want to leave you, but I want the pain to stop."
James lifted her hand to his and kissed it. Her skin felt like paper against his lips. Her wedding band shone dully in the dim light.Â
"I want you to have your life back...I want to go to sleep and not wake up..."
"I know, darling."
"Stop saying you KNOW!" she cried. "You don't know anything!"
He stood and pushed the chair behind him. "Try and get some sleep," he muttered. He had just reached the door when he heard her whimpering behind him.
"James...please don't leave me...don't go. I love you, I'm sorry, please. I don't want to be alone. Please."
He returned to her bedside and she smiled weakly at him. "I love you."
"I love you too, Mary," he whispered, and bent to kiss her forehead.Â
//do it do it now//
//NO.//
//now!//
On the floor lay a pillow she'd knocked from the bed during her restless sleep. He bent to pick it up, and saw that it was one of the pillows she'd embroidered in the hospital, before the pain got too bad for her to do anything more than cry. In the center was an outline of a house, and in the middle read "GOD BLESS OUR HAPPY HOME".
//I can't.//
//Get your life back. Make her pain stop. Do it, you fucking coward, do it for her if nothing else.//
He turned the pillow over in his hands, over and over again. Mary began coughing again, and a thin trickle of blood and saliva dribbled down her chin.
"I love you," he whispered again, and brought the pillow over her face.
She made a muffled cry under the pillow, and began thrashing with a strength he thought she'd lost long ago, fighting for whatever little bit of life she had left. He leaned into the pillow with all of his weight.
"I love you, I love you, I love you," he moaned, over and over again, like a litany.
He didn't know how long it took her to die, but in those few moments, all he could remember was the look on her face when he'd lifted her wedding veil, so full of joy and hope, a woman who thought her whole life lay ahead of her, not knowing she had less than a decade left, unaware she'd die at the hands of the man she was kissing, die wrapped in sour-smelling sheets.
Finally, her back arched and slammed against the mattress. The acrid smell of urine filled the air. He fell to his knees, and put his ear over her heart.
Nothing.
James let out a howl of primal agony. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I love you, I'm so sorry!" he wailed.
Mary's blue eyes, the color of faded denim, were already beginning to dull over.Â
//Would our child have had your eyes?//
With trembling fingers, as though pulling down a windowshade, he closed her eyes.
