Lost in madness

36

Dabe

I awoke with a start, my eyes heavy and unfocused. For a moment, I couldn't remember where I was or why I felt so... empty. Then my reality came crashing back, and I let out a groan.

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since I'd seen Andrew, two weeks of... nothing.

Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I believed that he would come after me. He always did. Even during those times when he'd gone silent for months, there would always be a surprise delivery of flowers or groceries. A small reminder that I wasn't forgotten.

But not this time. The calls had stopped. The messages had ceased. Andrew had gone radio silent, and the realization hit me like a physical blow.

"You're such an idiot," I muttered to myself, throwing off the covers and stumbling out of bed. My reflection in the mirror looked back at me accusingly – pale, disheveled, eyes ringed with dark circles. I barely recognized myself.

With a scoff at my own naivety, I stalked to the closet. Enough was enough. I'd been holding onto this ridiculous idea of staying in this house because I thought it would make it easier for him to find me. As if he was even looking.

I yanked clothes off hangers, tossing them haphazardly into a pile. "What am I even doing?" I berated myself out loud, the sound of my own voice harsh in the quiet room.

My movements became more frantic, more aggressive. Shoes were thrown across the room, books toppled from shelves.

Suddenly, my legs gave out from under me. I collapsed to the floor, surrounded by the debris of my life, and finally allowed the tears to come.

Time seemed to lose all meaning as I wept, mourning not just for the years wasted but for myself. What the hell was I supposed to do now?

Eventually, the tears subsided, leaving behind a hollow ache in my chest. I wiped my face with the back of my hand and surveyed the chaos around me. With a deep, shuddering breath, I pushed myself to my feet.

"Okay, Dabe," I said aloud, my voice hoarse. "Time to get it together."

I began to pack in earnest, methodically folding clothes and wrapping breakables. The task was mind-numbing, but it kept me busy and kept me from thinking too much. Hours passed, marked only by the growing number of boxes and the shifting light through the windows.

Finally, I taped up the last box, scrawling "KITCHEN" across the side in bold black marker. I stood, stretching out the kinks in my back, and surveyed my work. My entire life was packed away in cardboard boxes. It seemed... small, somehow.

A bubble of laughter escaped my lips, catching me by surprise. And then another. And another. Before I knew it, I was doubled over, great peals of hysterical laughter echoing through the empty house.

"Oh god," I gasped between fits of giggles, "What am I doing?"

I collapsed onto the floor, still laughing. It was all so absurd – the affair, the pregnancy, this self-imposed exile. How had my life become this farce?

Lost in my hysterics, I didn't hear the front door open. Didn't register the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. It wasn't until the bedroom door swung open that I realized I wasn't alone.

I looked up, the laughter dying in my throat as I saw Andrew standing in the doorway.

For a long moment, we just stared at each other. He looked... terrible. His usually immaculate appearance was disheveled, dark circles under his eyes mirroring my own. Without a word, he crossed the room and lowered himself to the floor beside me.

I held my breath as he reached out, half expecting him to disappear like a mirage. But then his arms were around me, solid and real, pulling me close and capturing my lips in an ever-ending desperation.

We lay there on the floor, surrounded by packed boxes, just breathing each other in. I was acutely aware of every point of contact between us – his chest rising and falling against mine, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my back, his breath warm against my hair.

Finally, after what felt like hours, I found my voice. "You're here," I whispered, afraid that speaking too loudly might shatter this moment.

Andrew's arms tightened around me. "I'm here," he confirmed, his voice rough with emotion. He gently kissed my forehead and tried to shush me to sleep.

I pulled back slightly, needing to see his face. "Why?" I asked, hating how vulnerable I sounded. "For how long?"

He kissed my forehead again and pulled me closer. I shut my eyes and tried not to think, exhaustion finally overtaking me.

When I opened my eyes again, I was on the bed with a duvet over me, and he was gone.

Did I imagine it? Was I that exhausted? I would have thought so if I hadn't seen the huge cheque on the nightstand and what seemed like a deed to a house. As I looked at them, I didn't know whether to cry or laugh. I chose the latter in the end.

Once again, he had made his choice, and it wasn't me. It was never me.

In my mind, I could hear Sally's voice, cold and triumphant: "He'll never choose you. He didn't the first time, and he won't now."