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Sad Fiction Romance

Most of my life, I never thought that something could hurt more than a broken leg. But as I stand by the bedroom door, I soon realize that there are pains far worse than broken bones.

Leaking through the door cracks were the sounds of smacking lips and soft moans. My trembling hand reached for the doorknob but it was the sound of a familiar voice that stopped it in its tracks. 

“I was getting so lonely without you.”

It was my wife’s voice. So soft and sweet, it was almost like she was talking to me through the door. But I wasn’t the one to respond. 

“I’m here now, darling.”

The sounds of lips smacking continued. Giggles accompanied the sounds that leaked through the door cracks. It almost seemed like they were laughing at my naïvety, which was fitting. Now more than ever do I wish the pains of broken bones were the worst pains I knew. 

With every inhale I took the air became stifling, my eyes began to feel hot and heavy. The sounds emanating from the room were now being drowned out by my corroding mind. I say nothing and feel everything, all at once. 

Every nerve in my brain is telling me to open the door. But my hands are deaf to their calls. I kept that door closed and walked away, silently carrying the burden of knowing too much. 

When no one’s around, I pour myself a glass of whiskey. It burns my throat and tingles my insides, but I welcome it. Drinking whiskey is best when you want to forget reality.

While drinking, I think of the daydreams I would have. Sometimes, there would be a baby swaddled up in her arms, the sun kissing their features with its warm rays. Sometimes, there would be a kid running around the house with my smile and her eyes. The sounds of her laugh permeate through the house as she watches us play. These kinds of dreams would elicit the warmest of feelings in me. 

I see my future in this woman and no one else. 

That’s why I still believe her when she tells me she loves me. That’s why I still kiss her good morning and good night. That’s why I turn the other cheek. 

But behind my tired eyes and calm expression, lies my soul. Damned and dying. I drown it in whiskey to numb the pain. In hopes of soothing its wounds, I retell it the future I would like to have. But it tells me I’m selfish so I drown it in more whiskey. Making it forget it said a word at all. If only I could stay oblivious till the day I die.

I pour another glass in silence.

It’s been months since I’ve found out about my unfaithful wife, but I don’t say anything. Neither does she. 

Sometimes I see the lights in her eyes waver. Her sighs hide an undertone of sadness in them, so I’ll try and sooth her grieving cracks with these lips of mine, assuring her that everything will be okay, even when it’s not. Even when I’m not. 

I let my lips meet hers and they make their way to the crook of her neck. It’s when my nose is met with a faint scent of a cologne I don’t recognize, I’m reminded of that night. Now more than ever do I wish I had a bottle of whiskey to drown out my senses.   

There were times when I wanted to say something, confront her as to why my pillow has the overwhelming stench of hair gel and sweat but the words I want to say die on my lips. I can never bring myself to say it because I’m scared of what may happen next. The uncertainty of our future scares me. That’s why I escape into the dark crevices of my mind where I replay our past. Back when the sun shined a little brighter in the morning and the tendrils of her hair would brush my chest. She would wake me up with a toothy smile and I would fall for her all over again. It mends my soul, just for a little bit.

I told her about the future I wanted to have with her. How most of my days were plagued with daydreams of having kids. But she looks at me with apprehensive eyes. She sits at our dinner table made for two and says nothing. 

“It’s just been on my mind,” I reassured her. I give her a wilting smile but when I look at her again, something in my chest aches at the sight of her. Did she always look like this? Sad and tiny, like a caged bird singing in minor. Suddenly I can’t live with myself. Is this reality? Seeing her like this makes me regret ever saying a word. The air between us is uncomfortable. In my mind I try to conjure up anything to say at this moment but maybe there is nothing to be said. I guess this is what our marriage has come to. I can feel my dreams starting to crack.

It doesn’t surprise me when she comes home late the day after. That same unrecognizable cologne scent clings to her skin with a hint of booze accompanying it. I don’t say anything, of course. 

But in my silence, my soul suffers. It wants to be free of the pain I put it through but I ignore it’s cries. I can always drown it in whiskey and reminisce about a time long passed. But sometimes even that’s not enough. That’s when I surrender to it. I let it pass my calm expression and tired eyes. There, it weeps. Tear stains litter the dining table. It cries for help. It cries for an escape from this reality. It cries because it knows too much.  

Someday I’ll be able to tell her what I know. I’ll tell her when the future isn’t such a scary thought.  Maybe then, my soul will stop it’s cries of agony. 

But for now, I sit in silence. Glass of whiskey in hand as I polish the shards of a shattered dream.

May 20, 2021 17:02

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