Loss of Oxygen

 "Amy, what are you doing?" he said. "Help me get unstuck."

I turned away, thoughts fleeting across my mind. Some currently cheering my decision, others in horror of my decision.

"Amy, can you hear me?" he said, frantically trying to untie himself, "Amy, are you okay?"

I didn't turn around. I had already turned my radio communication off, but I couldn't bear to turn his off.

"Amy, I'm losing oxygen, please, help me," he started desperately crying.

He took a few heaving breaths. "Amy, what are you doing?"

When I didn't answer, he continued, "I'm going to die, Amy."

Such a somber statement, said in such a somber tone, made me turn around. But I couldn't bear to look at him, and so I turned back around.

"Amy, what's happened to you?"

Again, silence from my end.

He started hysterically crying, "Amy, Amy, help me! What has taken over you? I gave your life back! I did so much for you! Why are you abandoning me? You don't understand everything I did for you!"

I snorted internally. I wasn't going to get caught up in him again.

"You useless piece of dirt. After everything I did, here you stand, not moving to help me," he changed his tone to a more pleading one, "I'm going to die, Amy. I'm going to die. And it's going to be your fault."

And yours, I thought.

And now, he started properly shouting, "You piece of shit. You bastard. You were never good for anything, anyway. Get away from me, you piece of shit!"

I could practically see his red face, spit coming from his mouth.

And once he continued, "You—"

I shut him off. And suddenly, silence. All the static that came from communicating from someone, was gone. And so was his voice. I didn't turn around. I was afraid that maybe he would be able to win over me again. Plead, and make me save him. I couldn't let that happen. So, I stood there, for what seemed like hours, staring straight ahead, back straight, trying not to think of anything.

And finally, I turned back around. I don't know what I was expecting to see—but certainly not him on the ground without a spacesuit. His arms were outstretched, and his hands curled into fists. His face was livid. His spacesuit had been cut in half, a long gash on the left side.

His legs were outstretched, as if they were mid stride. And suddenly, I understood what he had been trying to do. I internally berated him. It would be harder to cover this up, now. I stood for a moment, covering all the possibilities, finally zeroing in on one that would give me the best chance.

I finally got ready, myself, by starting to cry and hyperventilate. I then switched radios to the main channel. I started crying, and hysterically telling someone on the other line what had happened. This was something I had learned from him. It was easy, now.

Officials quickly made their way to the scene. Someone pulled me from the scene, coaxing and trying to calm me down. With their help, I pretended to calm down.

I made my way to a room, where she started questioning me, though she called it a chat. I gave my flimsy account of things, claiming it was all a blur. Out of the blue, I started crying again. At this point, I couldn't tell whether I was actually crying, or just faking it.