The Ashes of Marriage

Chapter 2

I jerk awake clutching the sweat-laden bed sheets. I pick up my phone off of the nightstand and push the power button to wake the screen. May 1st, 4:45 a.m. Just once I would like to have a nightmare that left me with a full night's sleep. I return the phone to the nightstand and stare at the ceiling as I rest my hands on my lower abdomen. I haven't had this nightmare in quite some time. My mind is racing. My body feels uneasy. I flex my left hand, stiff with scars.

I look over to the spot where my husband should be. Bram's side of the bed looks untouched. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, and head toward the door, leading to the hallway. The TV is on in the living room. I walk down the hall into the living room to see Bram, asleep in the recliner, remote in hand. I press the power button on the remote to turn the TV off.

I need water. My throat feels unusually scratchy as if I gargled mothballs as I slept. I feel lightheaded, slightly nauseous, and dizzy. The kitchen and living room are one open area. When we bought this house, Bram was insistent on an open concept, light colors, and stainless-steel appliances. All the open space makes me feel very... exposed. I walk to the kitchen and lean my head against the fridge. The cool steel on my forehead is slightly calming. I pull a clean cup out of the dish rack and fix myself a cup of water from the fridge. As the cold water hits my tongue, my thirst kicks in and I chug the rest of the water down. Bad idea. The water hits my stomach, and nausea overwhelms me. I vomit the water into the sink. Wonderful. I rinse the sink out and fill the cup with a little more water. I slowly sip the water until the glass is empty.

I put the empty glass in the sink and head to my room. As I passed Bram, I can hear him lightly snore. I remember when I used to think his light snoring was cute. Hell, to be honest, I used to think everything about him was cute. Now he seems like a stranger that shares my address.

I climb back into bed. The sheets are damp and cold. I don't care. My body feels heavy and tired. I reach out to Bram's empty spot and sigh. Once upon a time, he would fight tooth and nail to come home and sleep next to me. Lately, he spends more nights in front of the television than anywhere near me.

It's because I'm obsessing again. He used to comfort me when the month of May came around and the anniversary of my mother's murder would consume my every waking moment. On the first day of May, I pull out the case files and read them. I call Detective Ronell and ask if there are any new leads, and of course, there are no new leads. I sit at my computers for hours on end looking for a single shred of hope that my mother's killer will be brought to justice. Every June first, I wake up and realize that another year has passed.

Why is it so hard to catch a killer when you know his identity? Candy, Auntie, and I saw Daddy stab Mama to death. I mean step daddy because that's what he is. We witnessed him drive the kitchen knife into her body long after she stopped moving. He created my nightmare and I have never escaped from it.

The rest of my family has moved on. They say it's what Mama would have wanted, and some days I want to play into that idea. Then I look down at my scarred left hand and my rage surfaces. Before step daddy stabbed me, I was left-handed. After he stabbed me, I had to learn to write with my right and I would hide my left hand in my shirt sleeve, because I was self-conscious about what people would think of me. The scars across my palm make it hard for me to spread my hand flat and my ring finger is noticeably slimmer than the other fingers with extensive scarring. I guess the one lucky thing I have going for me is the cut to my leg was shallow and most cannot tell it's there.

It's been 19 years. I should let the past go. It's been 19 years. I should let the past go.

I close my eyes and refuse to let the emotions that were swelling behind my eyelids fall down my face. My nightmare has faded to the edges of my mind, and I can't focus on the sad state of Bram and my relationship. Too much pain for one night. I wrap my arms around myself.

I repeat to myself again.

It's been 19 years. I should let the past go. It's been 19 years. I should let the past go...

I feel myself drifting off to sleep. My last thought is if I put Detective Ronell's new number into my phone.