Snippet--Fall Into Me

I followed him into the house; Simon didn’t bother turning on any lights as we passed through each dark room. I was looking forward to a few hours of solace even though I was unsure if I’d ever find it. Too much had been moved, the memories swirling around like dust motes in my brain. My dreams were sure to be vivid and heartbreakingly real.
But I was so tired; I only hoped my mind would give out along with my body.
And I wouldn’t allow myself to think of what tomorrow would bring; that wouldn’t help the night to pass any easier either.
Wordlessly, I made my way up the stairs, Simon moving silently behind me. I heard him stop at his door as I continued up the hall.
“Emily,” he whispered. I was stopped by the ache in his voice, cringing with the knowledge of what he was going to ask. I braced myself against the railing.
“Can I sleep with you tonight?”
I started to tell him ‘no’, but it was too tempting. I was unsettled from the events of the evening and truth be told, I was lonely. Simon was leaving tomorrow; there would be no repercussions to letting him share my bed just this once.
“Okay.” The volume of my voice was unsettling in the quiet. Simon moved like a ghost past me, eagerly and quickly in case I changed my mind. I stood in the hallway for a second longer, listening to the squeak of my mattress springs as Simon sat on the edge of the bed, the double thunk of his shoes hitting the hard, wooden floors and the familiar sigh of comfort as he settled in on his side. His voice was layered with questions but he only asked one, “Are you coming to bed?”
I answered him wordlessly by shutting the bedroom door. It was so dark Simon couldn’t see me, only hearing my grumbles and complaints as I navigated around the messy obstructions that surrounded the bed. I kicked off my shoes and climbed into my side, leaving a wide space between us in the middle of the bed.
Simon didn’t hesitate as he closed the gap, snuggling up against me so that his breath was moist on the back of my neck. I let him hold me, surrendering to the physical comfort I would never know again.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” I whispered into the darkness.
His answer was the delicate touch of his lips to the back of my neck. I held very still, unnerved, hoping that his show of affection would end there. But as his lips pressed against my hairline, his hands took hold of my waist, and he rolled me over so that I was forced to look at him, his face obscured by darkness; I was frightened by the silhouette that touched me.
“What are you doing?” I gasped, my body trembling from the unexpected fright. It was a bizarre reaction, to be scared of Simon, especially when I was so comfortable with anger. But the tenderness of his kiss was disarming—I was reduced to tears as his lips found my own.
“Please stop,” I requested weakly, clearing the lump from my throat. He held my hand in his, he felt my trembling, but misinterpreted it.
“Please, please,” He pleaded breathlessly, his voice surprisingly stern; he wasn’t begging, his words hiding his intentions, “Can’t you love me, just tonight? One last night for goodbye?”
I shook my head, hot tears streaming down my face, “I can’t, I can’t,” I repeated over and over. Even though it was dark, I could feel the change in him; his sudden intensity was shocking. His lips moved down my face, to my neck. I pushed against him weakly, I was incapable of stopping him, and I knew it. I was too weak to try, to hurt to cry out.
Simon’s hand moved to my neck, gently but firmly. He grabbed my face and pulled me towards him, smashing his lips into mine, kissing me violently, desperately. My stomach lurched at the contact, at the reminder of intimacy, at the smell of his skin, the familiar touch of his fingertips.
The tears dried up and the fear passed like a wind-whipped storm; I was trapped but I wasn’t scared. Really, what could scare me anymore? What held any true consequences? I had nothing left to lose.
My eyes adjusted to the dark and I could begin to make out his face in the dim light; his eyes were tight, his face a frowning grimace. He was angry and arrogant, taking what rightfully belonged to him. I could see the belittlement, the pain I caused him, the grief from everything we lost, pooling around the corners of his closed eyes. Pent up anger, burning, deep, sprouting from months of verbal abuse and emotional neglect, from circumstances that crippled our marriage, from my eagerness to leave him, for never asking him to stay; his grip was tight with anger.
There was something else I could hardly read in the dark shadows of his face, something that reeked of him, that held his shape together, a recognizable piece in his fuzzy form. Fear, the only emotion that ever owned Simon, was puppet master to his strings. I became more at ease as I recognized the fear, a familiar face in a crowd of strangers.
Fear of losing me, of being unable to convince me to stay. Fear of life without me, when he loved me so, loved me the best way he could. Fear that, for once, gave way to anger, fed the anger.
It was the anger that made him a stranger to me, distorting his face so that I didn’t recognize this man who lay on top of me. Every bit of anger Simon should have felt in his entire life—in our entire relationship—was readable in him now. Every bit of hostility he subdued with passiveness was seeping from his furious, determined expression; it was the sharpness to his words, the hard grip of his hands that left deep whelps in my skin.
Simon’s lips lingered briefly, his face hovering above mine. He kissed the tip of my nose tenderly, finally igniting what I searched for within. He might as well have doused me with gasoline, I was angry and alive and strong. His tenderness was a slap in the face, his love a false pretense covering darker motives. I bucked against him, knowing he would fold under any resistance.
But instead of letting go, he held me tighter, speaking through gritted teeth into the curve of my neck, begging in a voice that wasn’t his, “Please, don’t fight me. Can’t you give me one last night after all you’ve put me through? After how I’ve taken care of you? You owe me at least that.”
It felt as if he had hit me, spitting the words out, salt in my open wounds. Like before, I felt an obligation, a need to pacify him. I fought against the instinct, unknowing if I could perform the task he asked of me.
The only thing I knew for sure was that I didn’t have a choice.
Simon was kissing my neck again, holding me tightly, removing my clothes. I left my body and became numb, going into the safe haven of my mind. I wondered if he noticed my body going limp as he laid me against the bed. If he noticed the blank, vacant stare in my eyes as he kissed my face.
We weren’t making love. No, this was animalistic, based on desperate need, not desire or passion or love.
I tried to be sorry for the dissension of our marriage, for the hateful person I had become, for the misery I had caused him, but I couldn’t. He saved my life once, regardless of how unnecessary, and I could feel his regret for that mistake in the way his body moved around mine. Simon was wishing I had died; I was dying now—I could feel his mourning through the palpable heat of his touch.
I closed my eyes and thought of Simon. Not as my lover, not as my friend, but as the father of my child. Our child. The father of our child that died. Our four month old child that died in our car, sinking to the bottom of the lake.
I could respect him and love him based on that role alone. I could pretend for a brief moment because I loved him once; I could pretend for a moment, but not for a lifetime. And when the moment passed, I would hate him. Hate him for making me remember, hate him for his regret, hate him for ever loving me in the first place.
But for the moment, I let go of my mind and became exactly what he needed me to be—the only thing this shell of a woman could really offer—a release. I wasn’t Emily, his Emily or this Emily. And it wasn’t Simon either who held me unmercifully in his arms; it wasn’t Simon who ravaged my remains, a coyote pillaging scraps. He wasn’t him and I wasn’t me; it was the first time we ever saw each other so clearly.
When Simon rolled over to resume his usual place in the bed, we didn’t speak or touch or even acknowledge each other.
And when I awoke the next morning, the sun gleaning in through the slight shift of the curtains, he was gone.