Over

An old story of mine.

Keeping the light out and the curtains closed, I let only the TV illuminate the tiny living room in which I spent the entire morning, afternoon and night. By the end of the day I could no longer remember the last time I had been up off the sofa. An unpleasant stench began to spread around the house, and I pulled the neck of the sweater over my nose.

 

”You’re disappointing me, Sarah,” he said, with the vulnerable expression of someone who has been deeply wounded, while caressing her cheek softly, gently. The inside of his hand was dry and rough, like sandpaper, scratching uncomfortably against her skin. She trembled by the touch, but tried not to show it.

            “I don’t know if I can forgive you this time.” His voice was soft, but couldn’t hide the threat shining in his black eyes. After two years of living together she was all too familiar with it. Resisting the urge to pull away, she concentrated on keeping her breath even and steady.

            She knew what was in store for her if she didn’t.

 

Even though the door to the basement was closed and locked, a cold draft was rising from it. The accompanying smell was beginning to really bother me, so I grabbed an old woollen blanket and stuffed into the gap underneath the door, closing it completely. It helped, at least for a little while.

            I wanted to do something, anything. Take a walk in the park, paint a picture, pack my suitcase and take off to Italy. Anything to help me feel alive. But the only thing I was capable of was lying curled up in foetus position on the sofa. With the curtains drawn, I watched an old black and white movie, and the only movement I managed was to change the channel as the transmission was cut for the night on this one.

            My eyes were sore from crying. Or not crying, I wasn’t sure. I was filled with a pressing desire for something. I didn’t know for what, only that it was something I couldn’t live without. It was painful. I hadn’t been aware of the fact that an emotion could feel physically painful like this. The clammy restlessness made itself known by small electrical shocks at my wrists, leading all the way up to my neck and shoulders, following the way of the nerves down my spine, manifesting itself as a deep stir at the small of my back.

 

“Come on, let’s be friends, eh?” He tightened the grip around her arm and pulled her closer, putting his free arm around her narrow shoulders. She was too tired and too scared to object when he buried his face against her neck, even though the feeling of his unshaved face against her skin made her nauseous, and her body ached to get out of the forced embrace. His shirt gave off a sour stench of sweat, so penetrating it almost made her sick.

 

Am I going crazy?

 

”Relax, dear. Come on, we love each other, don’t we? Don’t you love me anymore, Sarah?” He forced her arms to embrace him until her hands made contact with his back, and she could feel his shirt being soaked with sweat. She heard him breathing heavily, and felt the hot, damp breath against her neck in short puffs. She was stuck, shaking of an inner cold although heat made the sweat pour down her own back. She felt as if they’d used all the oxygen in the room, now suffocating slowly.

 

Nature finally made its call, and I had to get up from the sofa. Washing my hands in front of the mirror, I met my own gaze for the first time since forever. Old, black mascara had gathered in the web of fine wrinkles underneath my eyes, my skin was ashen, and my lips dry and cracked.

The pipes gave a loud, startling thump as I turned the tap.

 

Am I going crazy?

 

She kissed him. At first slowly and carefully, then more passionately. Pressing him up against the wall, she kissed him until he let go of her hands to embrace her and pull her even closer. She no longer felt disgusted by him as his lips brushed against her neck. Not even when he bit her, hard. Behind his back she let her hands glide cautiously across the wall, searching. She couldn’t see clearly in the dark, but she knew where to find what she needed. She had put it there herself, as a decoration.

            “I knew you’d come to your senses,” he murmured, just as her fingers closed around the handle of the beautiful hunting knife they had received as a wedding present two years ago.

 

So tell me now, am I going crazy?

Author's Note

I originally wrote this in Norwegian, so I had to translate it in order to post it here. Unfortunately, I�m not very good at doing just that� So if something doesn�t make sense or just sounds weird, please don�t hesitate to let me know!