6 Feet Between Us

Lying dazed on the floor, I cringe into the crook of my arm as another teacup smashes into the wall above my head, sending jarred bits of porcelain flying in every direction. Peeking momentarily, I see her grab a butcher’s knife from the drying rack.

“Ok, stop, STOP IT!”

Her chest heaving, her face flushed, she pauses with the knife nested in her trembling hands. For several long moments, we do nothing but stare at each other, my bloodied hands raised protectively in front of my face, the silence broken only by the faint tick of an ancient clock.

After what seems like an eternity, her breathing starts to slow. She lowers the knife, brimming tears starting to replace the accusatory glare in her bloodshot eyes. I stagger to my feet, still holding my hands out in front of me, wincing slightly as my bare feet slip on the broken china.

As the shock fades, I do a slow circle to survey the damage.

The kitchen floor is a minefield of shattered ceramic. Pots and pans litter the dining area. A pool of blood is growing at my feet by the minute, courtesy of my cut left hand. Cursing, I grab a dish towel and wrap it securely through my fingers.

All the while, Steph hasn’t moved one inch.

“When?”

That single word, uttered quiet as night, scares me more than anything that has happened this evening.

I drop my eyes, afraid to meet her teary gaze for fear it will pierce right through me, wounding me worse than any amount of broken glass.

“When?”

Although my eyes remain firmly trained on the floor, I can’t suppress an involuntary shiver. Steph’s voice takes on a foreboding chill, a sub-zero quality I have never before heard in our 10 years together.

All of a sudden, I am genuinely afraid for my life. But I dismiss that in a heartbeat, because Steph and I are nothing short of soulmates.

My eyes dart up to meet her’s.

But the tears are gone.

I want you to picture something for a moment. Have you ever lifted your brother’s eyelid while he was asleep, to see what was lying underneath?  

Her eyes are just as unfeeling, just as deadened.

Involuntarily, I take a step toward her.

“You don’t need to worry”.

Step.

“I’m right here”.

Step.

She simply watches as I edge my way toward her, gingerly moving pieces of glass out of the way with my foot. I could be speaking to an ice statue, for all the impact my words seem to be having. I search her eyes, desperately looking for the slightest concession, the slightest degree of warmth.

But I get nothing.

Somewhere in the depths of my brain, a new voice has awakened. A voice that seems a little old and drowsy, like it hasn’t been used in a long time.

What are you doing?

I ignore it. I would sooner die than see Steph hurt this way.

I take another step toward her, and then another. There must be less than 6 feet between us now.

The new voice, still hoarse from disuse, is getting louder.

Stop it. Stay away from her.

I pause, frowning.

Why?

The voice hesitates. It seems confused as well.  

I wait for a few seconds, but the voice stays quiet, maintaining an uneasy silence.

I look back at Steph, and see no change. Dead eyes, dead stare, dead girl.

But I’m going to bring her back to life. I take another step toward her.

“It’s only going to be for a year,” I croon, my hands still raised protectively in front of me.

5 feet between us.

“It’s going to pay me so much more.”

4 feet between us.

“And then I’ll be able to buy you that pretty dress you’ve always wanted”.

3 feet between us.

Ok. That’s it. Stay right there.

The voice speaks up again, but louder than before, reminding me of everything I have ever been afraid of. Snakes. Heights. Dogs.

I pause again, this time annoyed.

What is wrong with you? What do I have to be scared of here?

The voice doesn’t say anything more.

Shaking my head, I take another step towards Steph.

“You know what dress I’m talking about, don’t you babe? The red one, with the satin?”

2 feet between us.

I’m close enough to make out every detail of her perfect face. The way her jet-black hair cascades over her shoulders. The way her delicate ears fold over like seashells on a beach. But most of all, her eyes.

The way her almond-green eyes peer out defiantly at the world under a curtain of glossy eyelashes.

Looking at her, I see everything I’m alive for. I see the reward for my sacrifices.

I smile to myself, ignoring the panicking voice that is growing louder and louder by the minute. What is a bloodied hand and a destroyed kitchen when I have Steph by my side.

1 foot between us.

I reach out, and take her soft hand. But it remains limp and unmoving in my grasp.

So I take the final step.

Hesitantly at first, I gather her in my arms, resting my head against the base of her neck.

“I’m right here.”

I embrace her more tightly, more fiercely, becoming angrier as she doesn’t respond.

“I’m right here, goddammit!”

Still nothing. And then, the panicking voice finally stops. And utters a suggestion. No. A command.

Get away from her. NOW.

My ear still resting on the base of Steph’s neck, I’m puzzled. This is a voice beyond fear. This is something else.

I’m so busy trying to work out what it is, that I don’t register Steph’s carotid artery begin to pump faster, her breathing start to elevate again.

MOVE! GO! NOW!

And in an instant, it clicks.

Steph never dropped the knife.

I feel the first flash of fire in my lower back before I even have time to pull away. I buckle under the second flash, as the blade is yanked out. I’m saved from a jarring fall only by Steph, who kneels down with me as I slump to the ground.

People say that when you die, you will see your life flash before your eyes. But lying curled on the ground, staring into the eyes of my soulmate, I can think only of the glorious person whose arms I am in. Smiling, I let my final breath slip away as I entertain a thought sweet enough to give my short life a sense of profound meaning.

The girl who loved me so much, that she wouldn’t let me work abroad for even a few months.