Author's note: Thanks for the lovely reviews!
perdition.
2
It had rained the night before, a brutal rain that had abused the land, and now the air
smells poisonous with the sickly sweet smell of rotting gardenias. The scent verged on violent when they flourished; as they lay dying on the ground, it was nauseating. It permeated their apartment, leaking in through the windows, creeping insidiously with breezes, wafting powerfully in the gentle circulation of the fans.
The storm had left a heavy cloud of humidity and a power outage. She was not singing as she went about the house trying to keep cool, and when she lay down in bed beside him, she made sure to keep space between them, dropping the ice into his palm.
"If I never smell a gardenia for the rest of my life, I will be happy," she says as she chokes on her breath. From the glass she brought in he takes an ice cube and slides it into her mouth, letting his fingers linger on her lips.
They had argued earlier, as they did often now, but after a dinner of clanking silverware and heavy silence, the storm had roared forth, the thunder and lightning so severe that he broke the silence to warn her to stay away from the windows. He had gone to locate a flashlight while she started on the dishes when the power had gone out, plunging them into a deep darkness that was made worse by the torrential rain outside. She turned to call for him, and she knocked into a glass, sending it crashing to the floor where it shattered. Panicked and barefoot, she had called for him to save her. She had used his name for the first time in weeks.
Armed with a flashlight he had rescued her from her fate, carrying her to the living room and depositing her on the couch without a word. And then he had turned and walked away, leaving her sitting on the sofa in the dark, unusually frightened by the dark and of the thunder.
She had curled up in a corner, her face, illuminated by the frequent flashes of lightning, a study of terror. Bearing an armful of candles and a book of matches he had come forth, and she frightened him. Quickly, quietly, not to startle, he'd forgotten the argument and what had once been anger, dropping the candles to be swallowed by the dark. He felt her clawing at the air to reach him, the lone flashlight illuminating the dust mites and monsters under the couch, and she grasped his hands roughly.
"They kept me in the dark," she had whimpered, a child plagued, "And I missed you, but there was nothing but the dark-" and he had comforted her the best he could, lighting candles so that she would not be afraid, taking her into his arms so that she would not be alone, and the rain had continued.
The demons had disappeared with the storm, and now they lay quietly on their lumpy mattress, sheets rumpled and shoved to the foot of the bed. She had slipped on cheap flip flops to go find them ice; they knew the paltry contents of their refrigerator would be gone by noon, and they had breakfasted on chocolate ice cream and popsicles, the gardenia warping the taste of both.
"Maybe we'll melt," she says suddenly, and her tone sounds as though she finds this thought appealing. "We'll melt and drip away into nothing."
He knows they live in some sort of alternate reality, but he is not willing to admit it.
They die in every city.
The first casualties are their names, the second, their identities.
She is Susie, Megan, April, Natalie, Mandy, with every new name, she adopts their own habits and loses her own. Susie scratches her elbow when she's anxious, Megan wears sandals on Thursdays without fail, April believes that Tuesdays are cursed, Natalie must wear a bangle on her left wrist, Mandy rubs at her eyes when she's tired.
He is Joshua, Matthew, Jake, Alex, Patrick, and he keeps his habits and adapts to hers. She is a method actress, and he has trouble just staying in character. He knows that he is losing her one bit at a time but doesn't tell her that.
They walk in crowds with their hands clasped, more out of fear then affection, though they don't admit to it. They'll play the part of tourists, and she leads the lives she thinks her name should have, because her life is a short step after she lost a few years.
As April, she crosses paths with a gypsy and decides that if she doesn't get her fortune told, she will absolutely perish, and so she drags him (Jake) in to her tent. She is an older woman and a complete fake.
"Your mother- she was a housewife. You were her favorite, even though you had other siblings."
"Yes," April breathes, enraptured. He watches her lie and wonders if she believes her own words.
"Your father was- he was a teacher, yes, a teacher of math. He was very loving and attentive."
April laughs gaily- high, false. "Daddy was so wonderful," she gushes, twirling a lock of short blonde hair around her finger.
"You weren't very good in school-" Here he nearly chokes, "But you tried hard and were very involved in sports. You had many friends."
April trills in amazement, "I wasn't voted prom queen for nothing!" Then she pauses, her hand stilling as she leans forward to whisper conspiratorially: "Tell me about my..." April glances over to where he stands, then back at the so-called gypsy, who nods knowingly. She motions for April to lay her hand palm-up on the table, where she studies the lines at length.
"You are not married, but you will be, soon. You will be extraordinarily happy, and you will have two children. It is very important that you make sure you place your older daughter in acting. She will be renowned for her great beauty one day."
April soaks this in, nodding seriously. "And the other one?"
"She will have the heart and the patience of unknown depths."
The gypsy coerces April into having her future seen in a crystal ball (large, lavish wedding; insanely luxurious life) and then all but demands that she buys a small rag doll to "bring her luck". The doll, which is the size of her hand, is purchased after being stuffed with dried herbs that will be beneficial to her life, says the gypsy. He feels that he now knows first hand the origin of the term "gypped."
"Can you believe that?" he asks lightly as they step back into the sunlight.
She stops abruptly, her rag doll clutched in her hand. "Believe what?"
"What she just said."
"She spoke the truth."
He peers into her face, hoping to find in April a trace of the woman he'd loved. "Don't do this," he almost begs, because it frightens him when she loses herself.
She blinks. "Do what?" She grins, her smile as blinding as the sunlight, and swings his hand, urging him forward. "You worry too much."
She avoids his name.
It isn't until darkness falls that he ever discusses anything serious. She's the talker, and she keeps conversations rolling; he is just as happy with silence. In the quiet, he does not have to confront the possibility of losing her, and of losing himself.
"What are you afraid of?"
"The truth. You?"
"Reality."
"And?"
"Losing you."
"You lose me everywhere we go. You know that."
"Never. I've never lost you."
"You will, though."
"I will not."
"Someday, you'll wake up, and we'll both be gone."
"Then we'll be gone together."
"That's not how it works."
"We'll make it work. We always do. And if you disappear, I'll find you."
More, soon. And reviews are nice. ;-)