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So, I'm re-posting this story, a little better and with a new name, and I'm very excited about it, hope you like how it will develop. Good reading.
How cold can your heart become? How indifferent can you be to the person you once thought to be the love of your life? Did it ever cross your mind that one day youâd be capable of hating the person who sleeps beside you every night? Well, she never had enough time to consider it, but in fact, she never thought that with their immense love, which had been gradually eroding, sheâd get to where she was now, not even knowing what to do to improve her marriage anymore, but she had one last ace up her sleeve, and after all, they were meant to be, so how did they ever turn into such mess?
They used to be so happy. She canât really remember when exactly everything just started falling apart, all she sees is the damage of it, the consequences of a silent avalanche that simply crushed them, burying her there. She couldnât even remember ever fighting it, she couldnât remember ever wanting to escape it, she only waited the avalanche out until it melted and dragged her even further away from him.
She couldnât remember the mistakes that had brought them there, because she had been too busy dreaming of the old him, and probably hoping that he would go back to himself, one day. Maybe it had been her fault, comparing him too much, requiring him to be as he once was, judging him, but maybe the fault was his, for suddenly changing, for not showing enough love, even if love was all there was in him, for not taking care of her when she needed him the most. He had seen her falling apart, but hadn't moved a single finger to help her, heâd just stood there on the safe shore, watching her float away, across the ocean, cross his reaching point, way too far to ever pull her back to him, too proud to scream for her as his heart demanded that he did, because he had promised to save her every day, as someone should have done before him. But just like their marriage, he failed.
âWhat?â was the first thing he said when he picked up the phone.
âDinner, tonight! If you want to we can call some friends, I donât mindâ.
âI canâtâ
âWhy? we can just hang around back home, there will be no effortâ she whispered as if pleadingly.
âI feel a little sick, my head hurtsâ he explained.
âHm, well, so Friday, next week, what do you think?â.
âSorry, Iâll be out, I have a business trip on Wednesday. Monday maybe?â he suggested.
âI canât, I have a meeting, itâs about my albumâŚâ she sighed, she didnât really want to cancel though he was cooperating and it surprised her and made her a little too excited, to the point where canceling didnât sound so bad, but the meeting was important and she couldnât just run to him whenever he decided he was in the mood for her, like a lost little puppy.
âSo we have a problemâ
âBut Simon, Iâve been trying to get us to have dinner for two weeks nowâŚâ
âIâm sorry, but I donât know how I can help you with thatâ he mumbled, and then she heard the beep indicating that the call was over. She threw the phone over the passenger seat and sighed even louder this time, taking advantage of the traffic jam to close her eyes for a second and massage her temples in a desperate attempt to relax.
Communication, itâs something that no longer exists in their relationship, along with many other fundamental things. Everything is missing. Trust, care, affection, friendship, love. Maybe they still have some of these feelings, deep down, maybe, but thereâs still too much unsaid to be demonstrated, still too much unsaid to be felt.
Silence was all she heard during dinner, lights out, no sign of him at home, a huge wooden table, with just one busy place, hers, cutlery intentionally colliding, turning the anger, sadness and disappointment into that annoying noise that the silver provoked when smashed against her finest china, Â but other than that, there was nothing, just silence. She hadnât finished yet, but didnât feel hungry at all. She gave a brief glance around the room not caring too much about the darkness, the lights from the street were enough for her, it was just her! so why would she turn on the lights? To remember all the time that he wasnât there? No, lights out.
She stood up and went into the kitchen. While taking those first steps she asked herself why did she even bother in keeping the custom of eating at the table, why keep that up if she was always eating alone? She should just sit on the kitchen counter and eat there, simple and easy, why keep acting like he was there? To have some sort of evidence of her suffering? And then something clicked in her mind, she  was still doing all that, hoping that one day everything would change back.
She found herself smiling a few times as she stared at the seat beside her and smiled at it, as if he was really there, but the truth was that she was once again lost in the past, imagining that he was there, with her, maybe telling her about his day, maybe stroking her hand with his thumb, maybe just smiling back at her, or maybe she was just too absorbed in that bubble to not realize that she was smiling to an empty seat.
The cold water hit her blouse while she did the dishes, but the cold didnât bother too much, Â it was a hot summer night, July, just as some night four years before, almost five. She wasnât a âhotâ person, but the cold was pleasantly welcomed against her hot skin, hot enough to make her want a cold shower. So thatâs what she took.
She walked up the stairs quickly, barefoot, while her fingers quickly worked the buttons of her silk blouse and then suddenly stopped when she got to their bedroom door. He was there, lying on the sheets, too busy on his book to even raise his tired eyes behind those glasses and to notice her, but that wasnât what hurt her, not anymore. It hurt to see how insignificant she was for her own husband to the point of refusing to go down the stairs and join her for a meal, even though she had asked him. It hurt to see how they had become damaged to the point of not even fighting anymore.
He had told her that they could always fix things, never give up, because there would always be a way to fix it, all they needed to do was try, but it seemed like centuries since those words had been spoken, because neither of them had a good enough reason to try. Maybe what hurt the most was realizing how vulnerable she still was, because she shouldnât feel such agony in her heart to see him, she shouldnât need to take a deep breath to hold back the tears she didnât want to shed in front of him, she shouldnât feel so devastated, she shouldnât, but she did, and that was what hurt the most, because she should have gotten used to his absence, to his disinterest, but even if she could hide the pain from him, she couldnât hide it from herself.
Suddenly his eyes stared into hers and all he did was drop a weary sigh and close the book. She kept looking at him, as if she wanted him to see how hurt she was. They didnât need words, they knew exactly what was going on, they knew every single mistake they had made, they knew.
He stood up and walked closer to her, but just for a second until his phone rang.
âOh, hello doctorâ he said walking away without even looking at her, as if he was relieved to not have to stay in her presence, considering the tension of the moment. She walked to the side of the bed where he had been sitting and sat there taking a long time for her hands to feel the heat that his body left on the sheets, inhaling his perfume, the smell he left on the pillow and let her tears fall there, all over his traces.
It was undeniable that she had forgotten how much she loved that perfume, that heat, laying there was like feeling him hold her like he used to, but it was undeniable too, that he was no longer hers, he was nothing.
Then her eyes focused on a picture that was on his night table, beside the bed. It was a picture of them, a picture from their wedding and she hadnât seen that picture there before, had he put it there? She reached out to touch it, but her vision was blurry and before she knew it, it slipped from her shaky hands. She quickly jumped up and fell on her knees looking at the shattered glass on the floor.
âNo, no, noâ she kept repeating as she tried to pick up the pieces, trying to fix it.
Now she was looking at the photo, she had wore her momâs white dress and she was smiling incredibly big, but beyond her lips, the smile reached her eyes, it had been real happiness. He was smiling too, but he was looking at her, looking at her with admiration, emotion, he was looking at her with love, as if he didnât believe all that happiness was his, as if he didnât believe they had actually made it happen despite their struggles with whatever the world or her own parents had to say about them. He was looking at her as if he didnât believe that there were no more obstacles between them, that they were finally safe.
He couldnât have been more wrong.
Suddenly she let out a loud cry as the realization hit her. They were so far from those two smiling people in that image, so when she looked at that picture again, anger grew inside her, she was furious, she hated the situation they were in, she hated them. She raised the piece of glass in her hand and saw her reflection look back at her. She saw the tears running down her cheek, she saw her eyes, her sad, tired and empty eyes.
For a second she looked at the image of her old self again and saw how her eyes had been happy then, but anger possessed her mind and body, and in the blink of an eye there were three, four, six thin lines on her forearm. Blood dripped from her wounds and  onto the picture but she was too busy working on her belly and thighs. For a second she remembered that Simon could walk in on her, but then she realized that she was far too gone to even care about what he thought or said of her, even if he was all she thought she needed.
âOh God, I can not believe youâre doing this again!âshe heard his voice, was he disappointed?
âWhy are you hiding from me?â
âI- am n-no, Iâm notâ
âYes you are. Look, I know your history, everybody knows, youâre on Wikipedia, dâyou know that?â he joked getting a giggle from her in response.
âI love you, you trust me, I love you, you shouldnât be fearful about it, I love you. Show me...â he asked touching her hand, so she reached out showing him the white lines on her arms,. Those were old scars, after all she had won that war, she had healed, but even if she was over it she couldnât stop herself from feeling vulnerable around him. She had no shame, she liked looking at those white lines and smile knowing that she was better then, that it was over, and that such bad phase of her life was gone, she was happy, but for some reason, when he touched her hand asking to see it, she couldnât deny the fear that ran through her body.
âI wish I could have helped youâ.
âDo you think youâre different or special? There are many other idiots like you. Being weak doesnât make you pitiful, these wounds wonât make you a warrior, wonât show that you are strong in a few years, they will only show how weak you are now. Stop it right nowâ he spat taking the glass from her bloodstained hands, he wasnât disappointed.
âWhat?â she asked confused to see him gently kissing her wrist.
âI wish I had met you at that time, I wish I could have supported you, taken care of you, I wishâŚâ he was interrupted by sweet lips against his, lips that told him how happy he was making her right then and there, and that he didnât need to feel guilty, because she would never lose herself again, because she had him.
âS-stop! Please plea-se stop, just stop!â She sobbed finally looking at him, remembering how different it had all been before, how different he was, and all she wanted was for him to come back, even if just for a moment, she just wanted to live one minute with him again, rather than see him scream in her face, with those furious eyes, those words that burnt on her chest.
âGrow up Demetria!â
She looked down at her deformed tattoo and realized just how much she did still care about his words, how she cared far more than she ever thought she could.
No matter how strong people can be, we all have a breaking point, and those words, his words, they were undoubtedly, the one thing that could make her fall.
