03:15
Chapter One
I never thought I would be writing my wife’s eulogy. I typed onto the blank sheet on my word processor. The curser blinked at me like a broken traffic light. My fingers were stiff and I steadied my tired eyes. I always wore my glasses when I typed but right now, I didn’t care about the creeping migraine my mind. I welcomed the feeling. I typed again, slowly. Each character like a shedding of pain. I never thought I would be writing my own wife’s eulogy. I stopped. I had finally brought myself to write the damn word. Eulogy.
The curser blinked at me again wanting more words. More feeding. More hunger. But it would have to stay there for a moment. My own wife’s Eulogy. Despite the flowers and the sympathy cards from friends and family, it hadn’t seemed real. Even at the hospital when the doctors told me that there was nothing more they could do for her, I had just felt numb, like I had been walking through a dream world. Only this one you didn’t get to wake up from. Writing that simple word was like a slap to the face, the pain pushing through the numb.
I felt my eyes beginning to sting and well up. I wiped them and they felt like arid sand dunes. I was amazed I had any more tears to give, but they just kept on coming. I stared at the words again, and I thought of her. Eleanor. My dear sweet Eleanor. My breath became staggered and the tears flowed once more. I bit down on my lip to stop it from shaking. I felt the taste of copper slip onto my tongue. Wiping my mouth, I saw a feint red streak across my hand. Must have bitten down pretty hard. The pain pushed the tears away for a second. I reached across my desk and grabbed the open bottle of Jack Daniels. I took a long swig and pulled a face of war. The whisky warming me up like a hug from a good friend.
The room was dark aside from the lamp in the corner next to the bed. I took another three swigs and put the cap back on the bottle, Tennessee’s finest whisky, or so it was claimed, was placed back next to me and watched me tap away on the keys.
For years I have written for fun. For money. For a living. But never in my life did I think I would need to write something like this. Never did I think I would be writing my final goodbyes to you Eleanor. God has forsaken me, because if he loved me the way I love you, then he would not have been so cruel. Out of all the words I have written before, these are the most important, and you can’t even hear them.
I stopped on the last sentence. Can’t even hear them. What a dick thing to say. I mean I know she is gone, but she lives on in my mind and memory right? Because she isn’t here in the flesh, doesn’t mean I have to be so final about it. I picked up Mr. Jack again. I mean God, all of her family will be there. I took another shot. I felt my head beginning to swoon and I nearly missed the top of the bottle when I went to put the lid back on. Can’t even hear them? If she could hear them she would rise up from the grave and punch me square in the face.
“Don’t be so rude,” she would say. I smiled. I could see it now. Her brunette hair swaying by her shoulders. Her tiny nose scrunching up and her green eyes like fiery jade. One more drink of old Jack. I put the bottle down. I’ll carry on tomorrow. I wasn’t in the right head space at the minute. I saved the document and closed the laptop down, waited a couple of seconds for the quiet humming of the desktop to drop away and the dim screen light to turn off. I got to my legs.
“Jesus,” I whispered as I stumbled, catching myself on the desk. “Might have sank too much too quickly.” I checked the time on my watch. 00:17. I hadn’t gone to bed this early in over a week. Not since the accident. I could still smell the stench of petrol fumes, like I was still soaked in them. I stumbled over to my bed and fell onto the mattress. Kicking off my shoes, I crawled under the covers still half dressed. The bed was cold and I ran my fingers over the empty pillow next to me. I studied the empty space. You never know how big something is until its only half full.
I lay under the dull light of the lamp for the next hour or so. Jack had joined me on the bedside table, singing me to sleep with the sound of him swishing in my stomach. My face had turned numb and I didn’t know if I was still crying or not. The bright light from my phone hung over me as I stared at my photo album: me and Eleanor in Paris, at her graduation when she had gotten her masters in classical music, us on our first holiday together. She had gotten so sunburnt. It was the fair skin.
“You hogged all the sun cream!” She moaned in the apartment, her back peeling.
“I didn’t!” I protested. “You’re the one that insisted on giving it to the local kids!” I was referring to when we had gone to South Africa to go cage diving with sharks. I had always been terrified of the ocean and she knew it.
“Face your fears,” she had said. Because there’s nothing rational about a land walking creature wanting to stay out of a literal sea of monsters with big sharp teeth. I had scoffed at this, and I had warned her to stop being so generous to the locals who couldn’t afford sun protection, and even the other tourists’ children that obviously could. Her generosity warmed my heart, and it made the bed feel that much bigger. I squint my eyes, swiping through the photos even more. A meal out, a water fight, a day at the races. Then I saw it. And my god the motherload of tears came pushing through. It was our wedding day. Her in a flowing white dress holding a bouquet of red and white roses, me holding her waist in a dark blue suit, my once proud hairline boasting to the camera, both of our smiles beaming. We were never church goers, and despite the protests of family members, we decided to not go traditional. We picked a beautiful cottage registry office up in the hills of Scotland. It was small, quiet, and intimate. Friends and church lovers travelled to see us in our union.
The irony of looking at the same photo ten years later, and it isn’t complete. Like a solar eclipse. You know what it’s supposed to look like, but there’s a big ugly shadow in the way. I sobbed into my bedcover as I stared at her face. Her beautiful, oh so pretty face. I could smell the petrol fumes again. The sound of the rain on the top of the car hood. The screeching. The screaming. I lunge for the bottle of whisky, tear it open and throw a third of the remaining liquid down my neck. It burns like hell but I take it anyway.
“Leave me alone,” I whisper into the dull light. “Just leave me alone.”
Chapter Two
I awake with a sharp gasp. My head is spinning and I struggle to turn on the light. The lamp had been turned off. I couldn’t remember doing it, but then again I couldn’t remember closing my eyes. I look at the bedside table. The bottle of whisky empty and on its side, its little contents dripping onto the carpet. I can smell it. I burp and try to stop the bad decisions from my stomach from coming back up to say hello. I wince at the taste, putting my fist to my mouth. The bottle had spared me from dreams thank God.
I fingered for the light switch, finally catching it. It burned my eyes and the feeling danced with the drum beat in my head. My eyes closed; I rummage for my phone on the bed cover. I squint as I looked at the photo of me and Elenore still standing there, captured in timeless perfection. 03:07. I was surprised. I hadn’t slept so long for a while. My body felt strange. As well as being accompanied by the hangover or still completely shit faced, I feel like I am being pulled. I can’t describe it. It’s like when a kid in school tells you to put a basketball in your hands and push it inwards as hard as you can and then takes the ball away, your hands still feel drawn towards the ball which has long since boarded the Mary Lou. It took me a few moments to get used to it, but it was certainly there. A feeling of being drawn to something, like I was hooked by an invisible fishing line.
I got to my feet, woozy and a little shaky. A few steps and I found my balance. I pinched my arm to make sure I was awake. I felt the pain but it felt far away, like it wasn’t my own. Wandering through the halls, the invisible line pulled me to the base of my bathroom door. Under the crack I saw a golden slit of light that pushed through the darkness. I listened to the silence. Scratching. I could hear scratching coming from inside the room. My heart began to beat quickly and my inebriated state began to sober. I felt the ethanol-soaked sweat form on my forehead and my throat was so parched my tongue felt like leather left in the sun for too long.
“Hello?” my voice cracked. The scratching seemed to grow louder, like long fingernails taking long strokes against the back of the wood. “Hello?” I repeated. I found myself touching the cold metal of the door handle. Without realising, I pushed it down. I didn’t want to see; God knows I did not want to open that door and see what was lurking on the other side. But my hand went anyway. With a gentle push the handle dipped and the door crept open.
The scratching seemed to stop with the sound of the creaking door. A lump in my throat the size of a football appeared. The crack gave way to more light that came beaming through. The harsh white stung my eyes as it reflected off the bathroom wall tiles. With a finger, I gently nudged the door open again.
I could see steam coming from inside the room. My legs went like rock. I heard the sound of running water. I took a big boy breath and stepped inside. The hot air hit me like a truck and I had to stop myself from hurling. I gasped for breath and moved towards the sound of the water. In the corner of the bathroom was the bathtub, porcelain and rounded. I had bought it for an anniversary present, after my latest book and gone supersonic. It stood alone adjacent to the wall and sink, big silver taps and faucet. A small splash, like a hand gliding through still water, feint droplets falling back to earth. I took another couple of steps. The mist in the air like cotton wool in my eyes. I got a little closer. Then I saw her. She was sat in the tub with her back to me. Long brunette hair falling past her shoulders and sticking to her back. She was rubbing lotion on her arms.
“Are you joining me baby?” She whispered. I knew her voice. But from some dark recesses of my mind, I knew that this wasn’t her.
“Who are you?” I whispered. She continued to wash herself, running her hands over her long legs and shoulders. A small cream cloth in her hand filled with suds. I studied her and my heart swelled. It couldn’t be her. Oh god it couldn’t be her. But I wanted it to be. So much. I wanted it to be real. I wanted to hold her again. Feel the touch of her warm skin to mine. The smell of lavender on her neck. The taste of strawberries on her lips. I wanted it to be her fucking bad.
“Don’t be silly baby. Get out of those clothes and come join me. The water is great.”
“I wish I could.” I stammered. I moved closer. “But I can’t.” I felt my eyes beginning to sting. The steam, it was getting thicker. The harsh light had dipped, no longer a searing white but instead a dull gold that cast long shadows up the walls.
“Am I not beautiful anymore?” Ice filled me. She had said that before.
“What did you say?” The air was getting thick. My eyes were beginning to burn. I could smell the scent of charred wood. I heard music coming from the bedroom. A piano was playing. The crackling of vinyl. Moonlight Sonata. It’s notes long and stretching. The sound of scratching came back. It was wild. Scratching in my mind. Coming from inside my head. Clawing at the back of my skull, like hungry beetles trying to get out. I saw the water in the tub had turned a dull shade of crimson. The cream cloth she ran over her arms now soaked in thick red. She pulled the bloodied rag away and threw it on the floor. Her skin had been peeled away and pink flesh peeked through, mixed with bone and lined in black.
“Am I not beautiful anymore?” Eleanor said. She turned to me and I screamed. Her lips were gone. Black gums hugging yellowed teeth. Her nose was torn and the gaping hole in her cheek looked like she was holding a permanent sickening grin. Her eyes were jellied and hollow. She gripped the side of the bathtub, bones jutting out the ends of her fingers that scraped across the porcelain as she climbed out of it. She stumbled to me now. I pressed my back against the tiles. I searched for the door but it was gone. Long streams of bloodied water fell from her as she moved closer, arms outstretched. I could smell the burning. I could smell her. I could smell her decay and how dead she was. Ribs jutting out from under withered breasts. Skin charred and black. She drew closer. I could feel her rotten breath. I sucked it in as I screamed again and again, until she covered my mouth and lively maggots fell onto my tongue.
Chapter Three
I awoke with a jolt. My alarm blaring in my ears. I slammed my hand on the ‘OFF,’ button so hard I nearly smashed the damn thing. My breathing was ragged as I held my sweat drenched brow in my hands, staring at the drenched mattress under me. What was happening? I hadn’t had dream like this before. Not since the day she passed. But those were of love and happier times. Times where we would walk across the water front of New Brighton Promenade, or when we got lost in the enchanted fairy woods in North West England. Not like this.
These torturous nightmares that pulled you under so deep you forgot what the sun looked like. I felt like I was suffocating. No matter how hard I breathed, it was like my lungs were filled with sand. I reached over to my bottle of Jack and found it to be empty. Fallen over on the side table, leaking onto the floor. Fear struck me as Déjà vu creeped into my mind. I looked through the open door of my bedroom and found the light in the bathroom to be on. The door closed. I could hear water running. I swallowed hard and I wanted to hide under the covers like a terrified child when thunder roars outside.
I bit my lip and got to my feet. I stumbled. The swishing of whisky rocking my stomach. One step, and then another. I moved slowly to the bathroom. I pressed my ear against the door and could hear the tub running. I fought every instinct to run, bolt down the stairs and out the front door. But my feet stayed still. My heart beating furiously.
“Hello?” I croaked into the wood. I heard no reply. Why would I? I clasped the handle and gently turned it. A soft click and a quiet longing creak and the door crept open. The room was misty and I stepped inside. I peered through the haze expecting to see her again. Her maggot filled mouth scraping along the ground to hold me. As horrible this thought was, I did desperately wish to hold her again too. And when I moved closer and saw the tub to be empty, a hit of sorrow entered into my gut. I leaned forward and shut off the tap and silence enveloped me once more. Why had the tap been turned on? Had I done this in my alcohol black out? I remembered my alarm. Why had I set one? Then I remembered my eulogy and knew I had more work to do. I took out the plug and the water slowly began to drain. There had been a plumbing issue and it would take while. I had been meaning to get it fixed but when you haven’t taken a bath yourself in over two weeks, it didn’t seem like a high priority.
I returned to my bedroom and cleaned up the spilled bottle of whisky and remade my bed. I looked through the window to the quiet street outside. It was still dark out. I had either slept all through the day, or I hadn’t slept much at all. I went back downstairs. The lamp was still on. The room was still. No spectres lurking in the shadows. But as I remembered the sound of her bones scraping across the floor tiling, I quickly turned on the main light just to be sure I was alone. I heard the soft speckling of rain tapping against the windows and the whistling of wind seeping through the cracks.
What time was it? I checked my watch. To my surprise I found that the hands had stopped moving. I tapped it and called it a piece of shit, knowing I had to stop buying the cheapest thing on the internet. “Buy cheap, buy twice,” I muttered. I took the watch off and tossed it onto the couch. I moved through to the kitchen and fired up the kettle. Making a cup of tea, I returned to my desk to write the rest of my piece. Piece. I thought. What a sad way to look at it. I sat on my desk chair which yearned under my weight. I touched the lid of my computer like it was a box of coiled snakes. I didn’t want to look at what I had written. I didn’t want to read my goodbyes to Eleanor. But I had promised her. As I kissed her head while she lay cold in the hospital bed, wired up to all sorts of buzzing machines that no longer beeped the way they should, and after the doctors had told me that there was nothing else they could do for her and they were just prolonging the inevitable. I felt fresh tears fall from my eyes. I let out a long sigh. I opened up the computer and the black screen lit up. Black writing on a white canvas. Something so simple, yet so powerful. I drank with long slurp, trying to control the shaking in my hands. I needed something a little stronger than tea.
I got up and trudged slowly to the kitchen once more. I pulled out a small bottle of vodka from under the sink. I kept them right at the back inside a small black toolbox. Something I still did out of habit, in the two weeks since I longer need to hide my drinking. I chose vodka for the simple fact it was cheap and most people couldn’t smell it on your breath.
I cracked the cap and took a long drink. It tasted like gasoline and hit my stomach with a thump. I emptied the rest of the bottle into my tea and placed the empty bottle on the side. Then, I open up a small cupboard and pull out a pack of pain killers. I empty them out onto the counter. They rattle on the work top and one fell to the floor. I would get that later. I crunched the remaining ones up with the base of the empty bottle and stir the powder into my cup. I drink. It tastes bitter but it’s still good. I needed to try and shut the marching band in my head up for just a minute. “Take five guys. Your arms must be tired by now keep hitting that snare drum.” I put the half empty blister pack back into the drawer with the rest of them. For a second I thought about just taking them all and drinking myself to death. But that would break my promise to Eleanor. I made a mental note as I closed the drawer with a quiet thud. “Soon,” I whispered. I took a long drink and felt my shakes begin to slow.
I moved back to the living room and sat down at the desk. I fired up the black screen again and my heart stopped in my throat. My eulogy. It was gone. I felt my nerves begin to fire and my bones started to rattle. Red hot flushes wrapped me. “Where is it?” I tapped at the key board, frantically hitting the escape button. Where had it gone? Nothing was left on the document. I had left it open. It was all erased. My love. My heart poured out onto the page, as if that was all I had left of her. It was all gone. Just a blank page with a blinking curser taunting me. I slammed my fist onto the keyboard, dislodging a few of them. Enraged, I screamed at the machine and pulled it from the desk. The plug ejecting from the wall as I screamed and launched the infernal machine across the room where it smashed against the wall.
The monitor went black and fuzzy, thick steaking lines of blue and red marring the fucking white canvas that continued to laugh at me. The black curser dancing away. I thrust my head into my hand and I wailed to myself. I cried until my ducts became barren and my throat went hoarse. My work. My promise to her. It was gone. I couldn’t replicate what I had written, as words from the heart can never be spoken out loud, or ever repeated without becoming a feeble imitation of what the soul was really feeling. I had tried to make it up to her. I had tried so badly. And it was all gone. Lost through a god damn system error. “I’m so sorry Eleanor,” I wept, “I am so sorry. I tried. I didn’t mean to do this to you. I am so sorry.”
I stood and moved to the kitchen once more. I thrust open the drawers with the blister packs of chemical happiness. I pulled out three and crunched their bitter powder, washing them down with another bottle of vodka. I took another two, drowning my pain. I tossed the empty packet and did another two. I convulsed and retched as I tried to keep them down. Pressing my stomach as hard as I could. “Don’t fail me now.” I took another few pills and found the vodka bottle to be empty. My head was swooning and my mouth so dry. My throat burnt like fire and my stomach cramped and twisted under the barrage of self-immolation.
Something pulled me out of my despair. The phone was ringing. On impulse, I checked the time on my dead watch. The hands showing 03:15, as they had done before. I wanted to sleep. My god I wanted to sleep and just never wake up. But the phone was ringing, and I had the strongest urge to pick it up and tell whoever was ringing me as this ungodly hour to go fuck themselves and to never bother me again. I remember the bath running. Had I done that? Had my nightmare bled into my reality, or was it the other way around…
I pick up the phone and rest my head against the living room wall. I closed my eyes tight, and upon reopening them I found I was staring at a picture of Eleanor. Her dark hair waving in the wind on the sea front, ice cream in hand. Wearing the red dress. The same red dress she had worn on that night. A small voice came from the receiver and tickled my ear. It took a few times for me to register what was being said. It was a woman. Her voice familiar. Urgent.
“Are you okay?” she said.
“I’m fine Cara.” It was the neighbour. Eleanor had given her our home number in case of emergencies, when in reality she was just a nosy bitch.
“I heard banging. It woke me and Jim up. Do you need us to come round?” Banging. Typical. Any excuse to stick your snout into someone else’s business. Tonight it was banging, yesterday it was I was being too quiet.
“Yeah,” I rasped, looking into the still eyes of Eleanor in the photo frame. “I fell over my computer. Goodnight.” I went to put the phone down and the protesting voice hurried on the other end before it was silenced with a click and a beep as the phone basin continued to charge the hand set. Curiously I checked the time on the phones small blue screen. “03.15.”
I looked at the blinking time puzzled. I remembered the watch. I needed more sleep. I rubbed the back of my neck and lifted up the picture of Eleanor. I fell into a heap on the couch and I cradled it. That red dress. How beautiful she had looked in it. We had been out celebrating my latest book that had landed me a lucrative publishing deal with one of the big houses. I was to become a household name and we were out riding the high of the wave not believing it could ever fall back to earth. I could still smell the gasoline on her clothes. The feel of the steering wheel as I yelled at her and she reciprocated. The taste of whisky on my breath. A ferocious fight that didn’t need to happen. A war of words that ended so horrifically. The roads were wet, and the wipers were on full. The flash of the street lights blurring faster and faster as I pressed harder on the accelerator. The sound of the metal crunching around us. The flashing of blue and red lights as I stared at her trapped body from the tarmac. The smell of the engine as it caught fire. The look of terror on the emergency crews faces as the flames spread. Her screams as they ate her alive.
Chapter Four
I jolted awake, still cradling her photo. I cursed myself for still being here. I clenched my teeth and searched with my tongue for the bitter powder that clung to the corners of my mouth. I kissed her photo and placed it delicately back on the mantle. The broken computer still blinking at me as it lay dying in the corner of the room. I rubbed my eyes. Fatigue had wrapped its heavy chains around my body, but sleep still eluded me. I got another bottle of vodka and swallowed more pills. The phone began to ring again. It was still dark out. Who the hell is ringing at this time? Had Cara not gotten the message? I had told her everything was fine but she obviously hadn’t gotten the hint. I marched to the phone. My footsteps heavy. Angry. I yanked up the receiver and hit ‘Answer.’
“Look Cara. I told you to leave me alone. I’m fine. Now do me a favour and go to bed.” A silence met my words. I heard the feedback of my breath on the receiver. The void drew on longer and I felt my body grow cold. I checked to see if it was still connected and the call timer continued to move. I checked the time. “03:15.” I licked my lips. “Hello?” A small voice crackled shallowly on the other end of the receiver.
“Am I not beautiful anymore?” I dropped the phone and staggered back until my back met the wall. My lip quivered in fear and my eyes were wide. The phone lay still connected on the carpet. The blue screen reflecting back at me. I stared at the hand piece like it was a rabid dog and had pinned me into the corner of my home. What was happening? I rubbed my eyes hard and slapped my face. I didn’t awaken from the nightmare I had found myself in. I was still here. This was real. It was her.
“Leave me alone!” I yelled at the spectre. I ran and kicked the phone across the room where it exploded against the wall. I heard the rain bombard the windows furiously, as the smell of burning wood pushed itself up my nostrils.
I could hear it again, the crunching of metal. Her screams in my ears. I fell to the floor, jamming my hands to my head, trying to blot the horrid shrills out. To keep my mind intact. What little of it was still left in one piece. Icy fingernails crawled up my skin and up the back of my neck. I heard banging. Loud banging as I called, no, screamed her name into the carpet. “Eleanor! Oh god Eleanor I’m sorry!” The banging continued. Loud and erratic. It was in my head. I had to get it out. I beat the side of my temple with my fist and hot fiery pain ran through my head. The marching band now back with a brass accompaniment. I couldn’t make it stop. I thrashed at my face until I was bloody. My throat was tearing and my eyes bulging with pain. I could see her standing in front of me. Bloodied and burnt. The smell of whisky and the screeching of tires. The wailing of sirens and the pelting of rain. I was there again, on the tarmac calling to her. Beating on the windows of our overturned car. They wouldn’t break. Wouldn’t smash. Wouldn’t let me get to her, to be with her.
Am I not beautiful anymore? Her voice running around my head like fare ground music on repeat and turned right up. I dug my hands into the carpet and sobbed.
“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry,” I muttered to myself. My mouth tasting the salt from my tears. “I didn’t mean to do it. It was all my fault. It was always my fault.” The smell of burning began to fade and the visions of mangled metal slipped away from my thoughts. My breathing slowed. The room was quiet again other than the sound of rain rattling on the glass. I heard another round of banging and I realised it wasn’t in my head. I looked around and saw the room to be empty, the source of the banging eluding me.
Thump thump thump. There it was again. I moved to the front door. The banging was slow and heavy. Thump…thump…thump. I touched the handle and looked through the spy hole. Nobody there. I went to move away but the beating continued. Thump…Thump… Thump. Slowly I moved to the phantom knocker. The lights in the living room had turned dull, like they were shining through frosted glass. I could see my breath in front of me, the condensation lining the back of the front door. I thrust it open. The howling wind stopped and the rain ceased immediately. A sight of a tranquil night sky met my eyes, as she stood there to greet me. Her red dress still loose around her shoulders. I fell into her eyes like I did the day I first saw her. She stepped in past me, touching my face with her bare hand. They were cold. So very cold.
“Aren’t you going to close the door?” Eleanor said, looking at me standing there dumbfounded with the door wide open. I didn’t reply. I closed the door with a gentle click. We faced each other in the quiet of the moonlight. The lamps in the living room now completely dead. “Are you happy to see me?” My throat was dry like sand. I tried to speak, but all I could do was look at her. I must be dreaming. This couldn’t be real. I was sure I was going to wakeup on the carpet with my head in my hands, or even still awaken in a psych ward with my arms bound screaming her name into rubber walls.
“You’re not real,” I whispered. It was the only thing I could think of. The only thing my mind would allow me to say. She smiled. Her teeth were white as pearls. She moved towards me. I stepped away and my back met the wall. She laughed. Floaty. Innocent.
“That’s no way to speak to a lady.” She leant in and kissed me. Her lips were sweet like honey. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
“How is my speech coming along?” I remembered the eulogy. My promise to her. She was here to collect it and I had nothing to give.
“I’ve had some setbacks,” I said pointing to the heap of broken computer in the corner. She flowed my finger and shrugged.
“It’s okay. There’s only so much words can say anyway.” She rubbed my chest. “So warm.” She leant in and pressed her ear onto me. “I can hear your heart beat.”
“What are you doing here?” I croaked. I was so rigid, like to touch her would wake me from this and take me away from her. I felt my eyes beginning to swell. “I missed you baby.” She looked up to me.
“Did you finish running the bath?” I remembered the tub running earlier in the night.
“I turned it off. I didn’t know that was you.” She smiled and took my hand in hers, locking it in her icy grip.
“Let’s go.” We walked up the stairwell and into the bathroom. The tub was still half full and she began to undress. Her body was as perfect. The way the bathroom light licked the sides of her hips. Dark hair falling over her round breasts. The shape of her neck and jaw bone. And her legs. My goodness how people would kill to have those legs. She ran her hand through the water. “Just right.” She stepped in the tub and laid back, letting the water soak into her. “So warm.” She ran water over her hair and leant over the side of the tub. “You joining me baby? “I did just that. I took off my clothes and tossed them in a bundle in the corner. I slowly stepped over the porcelain and stepped into the tub with her. The water was hot and my skin danced as I submerged myself under it.
“Am I dreaming?” I asked. She kissed me and handed me a sponge lathered in fragrant bubbles. She turned her back to me and parted her hair. I traced her skin with smooth strides. The bubbles sticking to her and filling her skin with thick foam.
“I’m sorry for how I acted on that night,” she said holding herself. It was like she was speaking to herself. It was more of a mumble than an apology. Still, it cut me in half just the same.
“You did nothing wrong,” I whispered. “I was the one that should be apologising. These past couple of weeks have been the worst of my life. I haven’t slept. I haven’t eaten. I haven’t done anything other than think of you and how it ended. How badly I messed up. How badly I made it all go wrong. It was all my fault down to the last detail.” I continued pushing the sponge across her skin. “I have wanted to hold you and tell you I love you over and over again. And even if I can only do it here, whatever here is, a dream, a drunken hallucination, then so be it.”
“Is that what you think this is? A dream?” I stopped for a second, questioning my words.
“Whatever this is,” I said quietly. “It’s perfect.” We continued in steady silence for a short while. I washed her back and cleaned her up before we moved to the bedroom. There, we held each other under the covers. Her body close to mine. The heat of her seeping into my skin. I ran my fingers through her hair and told her over and over again how much I missed her, how much I loved her.
“I love you too,” she said. Such simple words and yet, they broke me in to pieces. I began to sob quietly as I fell into her chest. She placed her hand on the back of my head and ran her digits through my hair. She kissed my crown and rolled over. She opened up the bedstand and pulled out a fresh bottle of Jack Daniels and a blister pack of pills. “We can be together forever. Like you always said we would be.” At that moment I understood. I took hold of the pills and plunged them down with a large mouthful of whisky. “Good,” she whispered as she stroked my face. She kissed me and I felt the taste of dirt in my mouth. I looked down and saw thick mud covering us both, and in the bedroom, thick muddy footprints lined the floor. A muddied shovel sat in the corner of the room. The alarm clock blinked at me.
“03.15,” I whispered. “The time when my life stopped. The time when the accident happened.” I kissed her hollow eyes and squoze her corpse. Her hair stringy, clinging to her skull, as maggots writhed under us as they fell out of her gaping mouth onto the bed. “You were always so beautiful,” I whisper to her as I fell into an eternal sleep. Her cold embrace pulling me into the grave as I had pulled her out of hers. The pelting of rain on the window. The howling wind flying up the stairwell from the open door. And in the morning, the screaming of the concerned neighbour that had followed the mounds of gathered mud up the stairs to the bedroom, where she discovered us.