Derek got home late after work. His eyes burned. He probably looked like he'd been crying, he thought. And his neck bothered him. No amount of rubbing helped the pain in his neck.
The kitched was empty. No signs of cooking. No signs that Marie had even bothered to fix herself lunch. Several wadded tissues littered the floor; the box on the counter was empty.
The house held its breath. The cold quiet was a familiar song for Derek. He plopped down in a kitchen chair and hung his head. "Ah...Marie," He said softly to the yellowing floor. "Please, Marie. This has gotta stop." Despite the cold he couldn't stop perspiring. Sweat from his forehead oozed into his right eye. It burned like some kind of chemical. Both eyes watered, spilled. "Oh, sweet Marie."
Derek climbed from the chair with painful effort. He walked to their bedroom, pushed open the door.
Marie hung from the light fixture, head tilted as if questioning, face the color and apparent consistency of blended children's clay, like the kind their only daughter had used. Derek had sent their daughter to live with his parents month's ago.
A kiss of blood spotted the left-hand corner of Marie's mounth. Something new. He supposed she'd bitten her tongue.
Derek felt the wetness on his cheeks, used two fingers to touch it, wipe it away. He imagined he could tell the difference between sweat and tears just by touching. He wondered if blood felt different.
He stared at her. Not for the last time, he knew. Marie had always been such a beautiful woman.
"Christ, Marie," he said, and he could feel her name breaking up in his throat. "Why do you do this to me?"
He walked around her. he picked up the fallen chair and set it aside. He reached out to touch her, hesitated, then changed his mind.
"I'm going back," he told her. "I volunteered for a doublt shift."
Marie opened her eyes. She looked at him wordlessly. She reached up her hands to loosen the noose, slipped out of it, and dropped to the floor. The deep purple crease in her neck looked brilliant and artificial, like the latest trend in makup. But of course Derek knew it was real. She raised a hand to either side of her head and pushed it upright. She leaned over and spat a mouthful of blood onto the rug. She looked at him again, her eyes whiter, wider than anyone's Derek had ever seen. "You're always working," she said. "You b*****d. You're always leaving me alone."
"I did the best for us I knew how. You and the baby," he replied.
"A double shift?" she said, walking in circles, gazing up at the empty noose. "How many time is that this week? You're wearing yourself out. You're killing yourself."
Derek started to titter. Then he lost himself in exhausted laughter. Marie eyed him coolly. "Killing yourself?" He laughed again. "Why shouldn't I be working tow shifts? Why would I want to come home when half the time I pretty much know what I'm going to find here? I'm going to find you! How many times is that a week?" he repeated, and gestured at the noose.
She strolled clumsily over to the chair. He didn't think she could move any faster, or better. She moved the chair under the light. "Marie!" he shouted. "You know I don't deserve this!" She climbed up on the chair, weaving as she reached up for the noose. "Ah...Marie," he moaned in resignation.
She positioned the noose around her neck and tightened it. She held her head to the side just so. She kicked the chair out from under her. She kicked.
Once again she had hanged herself, and once again Derek had to look at her and think how beautiful she used to be.
The kitched was empty. No signs of cooking. No signs that Marie had even bothered to fix herself lunch. Several wadded tissues littered the floor; the box on the counter was empty.
The house held its breath. The cold quiet was a familiar song for Derek. He plopped down in a kitchen chair and hung his head. "Ah...Marie," He said softly to the yellowing floor. "Please, Marie. This has gotta stop." Despite the cold he couldn't stop perspiring. Sweat from his forehead oozed into his right eye. It burned like some kind of chemical. Both eyes watered, spilled. "Oh, sweet Marie."
Derek climbed from the chair with painful effort. He walked to their bedroom, pushed open the door.
Marie hung from the light fixture, head tilted as if questioning, face the color and apparent consistency of blended children's clay, like the kind their only daughter had used. Derek had sent their daughter to live with his parents month's ago.
A kiss of blood spotted the left-hand corner of Marie's mounth. Something new. He supposed she'd bitten her tongue.
Derek felt the wetness on his cheeks, used two fingers to touch it, wipe it away. He imagined he could tell the difference between sweat and tears just by touching. He wondered if blood felt different.
He stared at her. Not for the last time, he knew. Marie had always been such a beautiful woman.
"Christ, Marie," he said, and he could feel her name breaking up in his throat. "Why do you do this to me?"
He walked around her. he picked up the fallen chair and set it aside. He reached out to touch her, hesitated, then changed his mind.
"I'm going back," he told her. "I volunteered for a doublt shift."
Marie opened her eyes. She looked at him wordlessly. She reached up her hands to loosen the noose, slipped out of it, and dropped to the floor. The deep purple crease in her neck looked brilliant and artificial, like the latest trend in makup. But of course Derek knew it was real. She raised a hand to either side of her head and pushed it upright. She leaned over and spat a mouthful of blood onto the rug. She looked at him again, her eyes whiter, wider than anyone's Derek had ever seen. "You're always working," she said. "You b*****d. You're always leaving me alone."
"I did the best for us I knew how. You and the baby," he replied.
"A double shift?" she said, walking in circles, gazing up at the empty noose. "How many time is that this week? You're wearing yourself out. You're killing yourself."
Derek started to titter. Then he lost himself in exhausted laughter. Marie eyed him coolly. "Killing yourself?" He laughed again. "Why shouldn't I be working tow shifts? Why would I want to come home when half the time I pretty much know what I'm going to find here? I'm going to find you! How many times is that a week?" he repeated, and gestured at the noose.
She strolled clumsily over to the chair. He didn't think she could move any faster, or better. She moved the chair under the light. "Marie!" he shouted. "You know I don't deserve this!" She climbed up on the chair, weaving as she reached up for the noose. "Ah...Marie," he moaned in resignation.
She positioned the noose around her neck and tightened it. She held her head to the side just so. She kicked the chair out from under her. She kicked.
Once again she had hanged herself, and once again Derek had to look at her and think how beautiful she used to be.
