Of all the sounds she has ever encountered, none are as sweet as the one she hears when he slips into the room.
"Got it."
The moment the waves from his mouth find their way to her ears, her body erupts in activity.
Her heart rate quickens. Her pulse pounds. Her skin flushes. Her breathing accelerates.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale. Exhale.
Years – a lifetime – she has waited for this moment. The moment her goal is realized. The moment her soul is put to rest.
The bricks she has stored on her chest slowly fall. One by one, crashing into the thick embrace of the carpet. Landing soundlessly.
She sheds pounds and pounds of baggage. Of agony. Of torment.
Her tongue tingles with the faint prickle of a sensation she had long since lost…
She can taste her freedom.
""
She sits motionless on the foot of the bed as he toils tirelessly in the kitchen.
The twitching stopped a few months back.
Around the time it stopped silencing her mind.
She knows he takes it as a sign she is improving. He believes that with the stilling of her body came the settling of her thoughts.
She can't bring herself to puncture the frail film of his reality by burdening him with the truth.
At least one of them can live the illusion of … not happiness. He, too, is far from happy. Perhaps his illusion is of hope.
Regardless, she knows it is merely a delusion.
It's the wrong place. The wrong time. The wrong life.
Happiness is not an option.
She takes comfort in the fact that she has acknowledged the truth. It may be harsh – but it's a reality.
Something tangible.
""
They have it.
Evidence.
Information.
Knowledge.
All the pieces of the puzzle have finally been collected, analyzed and assembled.
Everything has been building up to this.
Contact and execution.
The second step.
The only black cloud on this seemingly sunny day is the realization that this one may be even more painful than the last.
""
"It's going to be a girl," he says with a smile as he transfers her meal from the pan onto her plate. "I can feel it."
She forces a smile.
He continues the one-sided conversation… a necessity as of late.
"I can see her now – a dimpled little brunette with big brown eyes. She'll look just like you."
Her eyes fall onto the lifeless hunk of meat that lies steaming before her. She presses her fork into the severed flesh and watches as the juice oozes from its pores.
She's not sure when he became an optimist. Or even if the transformation is permanent. She's inclined to believe this is some front he's putting on for her sake – for the sake of the child.
It's not him.
It's the plastic shell he's created.
As she slices through the meat with her knife she imagines the blade piercing his façade. She imagines the resistance as the dull metal saws through the hard plastic coating. Ineffectively ripping and tearing.
If only she could free him of this encasement. Then they would be together.
Raw.
Pink.
Bleeding.
Instead he parades around like some toy egg recently plucked from a twenty-five cent machine. Brightly colored and insanely unrealistic.
He continues talk about the beautiful daughter they will have.
She prefers not to imagine such things.
A brand new soul to be warped and twisted by the suffocation that is life.
A miniature version of her.
Suffering.
""
They watch from afar as the man sits on an old wooden bench on the outskirts of the park. He rests his weight on his elbow as he leans forward slightly, head in hands.
He is not the same man he was five years ago. His complexion has paled and his smile has waned. It spreads across his face but barely manages to spark the light in this man's eyes.
She feels him beside her and knows he feels the pull of responsibility tug at his heart. But he is no more responsible than she is. They cannot be held to blame for the darkening of the world. They cannot be charged for playing the cards they were dealt.
The object of their attention shifts before relinquishing his space on the bench and approaching the nearby swing set.
A little girl, no more than three, looks to the man with pleading eyes. He complies with her unvoiced request and lifts her small body into the empty seat.
As he gently pushes her, the light in his eyes burns brighter and the smile on his face becomes more genuine.
The giggles from the little girl echo across the park, landing full force on her ears.
The sound seems to travel through her head and straight to her heart. Swarming it. Strangling it.
She gasps involuntarily.
He places his hand upon her back and traces soft circles in an attempt to settle her pain.
She pulls herself together in an attempt to settle his.
""
Pain is something she has grown accustom to. A part of her life so common and familiar that many times she fails even to acknowledge it.
But not every time.
It begins as a dull pounding in her midsection.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
It sharpens exponentially.
The hair rises on her arms in response to the sensation she can only describe as agony.
Bile rises in her throat, stifling her cry.
""
They follow at a distance as the man returns home with the child, waiting patiently in the shadows until she's safely tucked in bed.
After descending the stairs he turns straight for the kitchen and retrieves a bottle from the refrigerator. From there the third party finds his way to the couch, sinking into the cushions as the colors from today's recap wash across his face.
She nods softly and the pair cautiously enters the room.